Process
What Was I Thinking ?
September 06, 2011 - 17:30
What does one say to a customer when, after shooting at a distant location, the photographer loads the film into the processing tank, gets the chemistry ready, starts to remove the cap on the tank to begin processing, but loses presence of mind and opens up the tank instead? Fortunately, I was my own customer and I put the top back on the tank quickly. I opened the tank in a well lit room but no one could shut the tank fast enough to prevent any damage.
Since I was all set up and had another tank ready, I decided to process the roll anyway to see what I would get. Would it be a black strip of plastic adorned with evenly spaced sprocket holes or would something printable emerge from the soup?
Since I was all set up and had another tank ready, I decided to process the roll anyway to see what I would get. Would it be a black strip of plastic adorned with evenly spaced sprocket holes or would something printable emerge from the soup?
Spy
What really helped this frame, besides being deep inside the film spool in the tank, was that I shot the scene with a Lensbaby selective focus lens. My intent was to have the security camera in the same frame as the sign on the corner of the International Spy Museum in Washington DC, essentially labeling the camera for what is was. What I got was an obscured image overexposed on one side and slightly underexposed on the other. No other shot on that roll survived.
It’s ironic that the only frame to escape certain death by overexposure was the ‘Spy’. The image was exposed for 1/125 second on Neopan 400 monochrome film through a Lensbaby (version 1.0), set to f/8, mounted on a Nikon FM2 camera. The secondary exposure was unrecorded, but perhaps ‘panic’ describes it well enough.
Weave
June 11, 2011 - 16:54
The normal world looks so much different up close. The ordinary becomes extraordinary. The Micro-Nikkor 55mm f/3.5 lens helps a photographer get much closer to the subject than a normal lens can manage. This tack-sharp lens is one of my favorites.
I shot this image about two inches from the surface of a large fibrous mooring line holding a large vessel pier-side at the Bremerton Waterfront Marina. What caught my eye was the braided pattern in the cords and how the fibers geometrically interlocked with each other. Using selective focus and a shallow depth of field, the detail in the fibers come out only to soften toward the edges. The contrast and fine grain of the film bring out the texture in the rope that falls into the shadows along the bottom edge. I think of discipline and order holding fast despite the wear that comes from experience in a harsh marine environment. Strength and endurance. Texture and shadow.
I shot this image about two inches from the surface of a large fibrous mooring line holding a large vessel pier-side at the Bremerton Waterfront Marina. What caught my eye was the braided pattern in the cords and how the fibers geometrically interlocked with each other. Using selective focus and a shallow depth of field, the detail in the fibers come out only to soften toward the edges. The contrast and fine grain of the film bring out the texture in the rope that falls into the shadows along the bottom edge. I think of discipline and order holding fast despite the wear that comes from experience in a harsh marine environment. Strength and endurance. Texture and shadow.
Created with a Micro-Nikkor 55mm f/3.5 lens mounted on a Nikkormat FTn camera loaded with Ilford Pan F+ film rated at ISO 80. Developed in Acufine developer.
See What You Are Missing
June 07, 2011 - 06:36
Digital photographers have a lot going for them. They can see their results instantly. They can manipulate their images electronically to convey a feeling or an expression and tune it on the fly. They can share their work on the Internet within seconds of taking the photograph. There is one aspect of photography that they miss. Anticipation.
When I shoot a roll of film, I do what I can to control the image through selection of film, the speed that I rate it, the developer I use, and the time and temperature that the film sits in the soup. Sometimes, I get what I expect. Sometimes I am deeply disappointed. Many times, I am surprised and delighted at what comes off the negative. Texture. Contrast. Tonal range. Deep dark shadows with subtle details that I may not have seen when I squeezed the shutter. Best of all, I have to wait to see what happens. Sometimes an image that I thought was a waste of film when I took the exposure develops into something all together different.
The anticipation is delicious.
When I shoot a roll of film, I do what I can to control the image through selection of film, the speed that I rate it, the developer I use, and the time and temperature that the film sits in the soup. Sometimes, I get what I expect. Sometimes I am deeply disappointed. Many times, I am surprised and delighted at what comes off the negative. Texture. Contrast. Tonal range. Deep dark shadows with subtle details that I may not have seen when I squeezed the shutter. Best of all, I have to wait to see what happens. Sometimes an image that I thought was a waste of film when I took the exposure develops into something all together different.
The anticipation is delicious.
Soaking in Soup
March 29, 2011 - 11:09
Occasionally, time relative to monochrome development really doesn’t matter. When I read about stand and semi-stand development I was a bit skeptical, but film is cheap so I gave it a try. I picked up my Pentax Spotmatic F, loaded it with a Kodak Plus-X, and took to shooting. I heard that semi-stand development effects contrast and image texture in strange and wonderful ways and I was eager to see what I would find.
My neighbor was having a few of her trees removed before they removed someone’s house on their own. I used a 180mm Takumar lens to reach into the branches where a tree surgeon was working. I could see high contrast and perhaps grainy limbs partially obscuring a human form.
Near my home, there is an old diesel engine slowly returning back to nature while resting on blocks by the side of the road and just begs to be photographed. I have studied it behind the lens often but I have never captured an image of it worthy of keeping. The 50mm f/1.8 Takumar lens allows a photographer to get very close to a subject so I finished the roll exploring the lines and shadows of this once powerful industrial machine.
Back in the lab, I mixed 100 parts water to 1 part Rodinal developer, poured it into the loaded developing tank, and let it sit in the sink for 30 minutes. After ten seconds of torsional agitation, I let it sit for another 30 minutes. I poured out the soup, rinsed the film in water, and then fixed and washed the film in the usual way.
Tree Surgeon shows detail in the trunk of the tree and in the lumberjack. The goggles give him an alien look, perhaps of a tree dweller, but definitely someone who is comfortable in his surroundings. He is curiously aware of the photographer but not distracted by the camera’s presence. The marvelous grain in the leaves and branches is accentuated by the soft unfocused shapes that vary subtly in tone but show the grain as distinct parts of a whole.
My neighbor was having a few of her trees removed before they removed someone’s house on their own. I used a 180mm Takumar lens to reach into the branches where a tree surgeon was working. I could see high contrast and perhaps grainy limbs partially obscuring a human form.
Near my home, there is an old diesel engine slowly returning back to nature while resting on blocks by the side of the road and just begs to be photographed. I have studied it behind the lens often but I have never captured an image of it worthy of keeping. The 50mm f/1.8 Takumar lens allows a photographer to get very close to a subject so I finished the roll exploring the lines and shadows of this once powerful industrial machine.
Back in the lab, I mixed 100 parts water to 1 part Rodinal developer, poured it into the loaded developing tank, and let it sit in the sink for 30 minutes. After ten seconds of torsional agitation, I let it sit for another 30 minutes. I poured out the soup, rinsed the film in water, and then fixed and washed the film in the usual way.
Tree Surgeon shows detail in the trunk of the tree and in the lumberjack. The goggles give him an alien look, perhaps of a tree dweller, but definitely someone who is comfortable in his surroundings. He is curiously aware of the photographer but not distracted by the camera’s presence. The marvelous grain in the leaves and branches is accentuated by the soft unfocused shapes that vary subtly in tone but show the grain as distinct parts of a whole.
Tree Surgeon
The semi-stand technique gives the images of the old diesel engine depth and texture. The acutance of the film comes out in the springs and screw heads of ‘Industrial Mortality’ and reminds me of a charcoal drawing of an art deco fortress. The panel with its screw heads are the drawbridge and the springs are watchtowers. Monochrome gives the image a dark foreboding feel.
Industrial Mortality
‘Fracture’ is just that; a fractured machine stripped of its power. A large crack runs up the wall of the cylinder from the orifice in the foreground and is joined by smaller cracks that radiate throughout the structure. The acutance of the film gives these lines a hard edge and pulls out the pits in the rest of the metal. The little nest built in the hole shows just how long this machine has bee idle, and will likely remain that way for quite some time.
Fracture
Semi-stand development was a wonderful experiment. The results can be unpredictable, but this technique shows just how versatile older photographic formulations can be. Rodinal has been around for more than 100 years and, although Agfa has abandoned the product, still survives under the names R09 or Adonal. You can find them online at Freestyle Photographic Supplies.
Colorblind
March 13, 2011 - 19:00
One of the biggest problems when shooting film is deciding whether to load color or black and white film in the camera. This is really of no consequence with digital photography because the photographer doesn’t need to decide which one to use until post-production. When using nondestructive imaging software, one can compare the color image to the monochrome one and choose then. With film, the decision has already been made depending on which type of film is in the bag, and especially if the camera is already loaded.
On assignment, the film that I load has as much to do with my mood that day as it does with what I expect to see in the viewfinder. I have to decide if the light is better suited for color, or if monochrome is the better choice. Am I looking for the shape, texture, and contrast of a pencil sketch or impressive colors like a watercolor or oil painting? Do I always get it right? No. But when I know that monochrome film is in the camera I have to wear my ‘monochrome goggles’ too. My mind’s eye has to focus on shadow, mood, and composition rather than the nuance and symbolism of color to bring out what I see in the viewfinder.
When I shot “Colorblind”, found in the Capitol Region gallery, I first thought that the stone in the sculpture “Authority Of The Law” on the the Supreme Court House steps would play well with the red, white, and blue of the American flag in the background. What would that say to the viewer? Would it look cliche? I’m sure that every tourist with a camera who stood where I was standing had already shot it. I was also limited by what I had loaded in the camera that day; Kodak Plus-X. I nearly walked away when I realized that, when it comes to justice, America is supposed to be colorblind. I set a wide aperture, a short shutter speed, and shot the grey stone sculpture against the grey, white, and grey of the flag. I don’t think that it will make the pages of a DC tour book, but then I never intended it to.
On assignment, the film that I load has as much to do with my mood that day as it does with what I expect to see in the viewfinder. I have to decide if the light is better suited for color, or if monochrome is the better choice. Am I looking for the shape, texture, and contrast of a pencil sketch or impressive colors like a watercolor or oil painting? Do I always get it right? No. But when I know that monochrome film is in the camera I have to wear my ‘monochrome goggles’ too. My mind’s eye has to focus on shadow, mood, and composition rather than the nuance and symbolism of color to bring out what I see in the viewfinder.
When I shot “Colorblind”, found in the Capitol Region gallery, I first thought that the stone in the sculpture “Authority Of The Law” on the the Supreme Court House steps would play well with the red, white, and blue of the American flag in the background. What would that say to the viewer? Would it look cliche? I’m sure that every tourist with a camera who stood where I was standing had already shot it. I was also limited by what I had loaded in the camera that day; Kodak Plus-X. I nearly walked away when I realized that, when it comes to justice, America is supposed to be colorblind. I set a wide aperture, a short shutter speed, and shot the grey stone sculpture against the grey, white, and grey of the flag. I don’t think that it will make the pages of a DC tour book, but then I never intended it to.
“Equal Justice Under Law”
ColorBlind
Who Uses A Light Meter Anymore?
January 17, 2011 - 21:24
In these days of ‘professional’ cameras, you are unlikely to find a photographer who still uses a hand-held light meter. With through-the-lens metering, 3D matrix metering, and color intelligent meters built right into a camera, why would anyone want to carry a relic like a Gossen LunaPro around?
Modern digital cameras, and even some professional-grade 35 mm film cameras, are capable of calculating acceptable exposures for most scenes using algorithms developed by photographic experts and engineers, but no camera can know what a photographer sees in the mind’s eye at the moment of exposure. Will the highlights or the shadows be most important? Will the print be one of high contrast, or of subtle changes from the dark to light? These decisions should come from the photographer, not the camera. Digital cameras usually have a histogram feature, which measures the number of pure white pixels (255), pure black pixels (0), and those pixels in between (1-254), but they can’t ‘see’ where those pixels are. A photographer needs to look at the image and the histogram together to figure that out. By then, the moment has already passed and, if the exposure isn’t right, it doesn’t really matter anymore.
External light meters are a wonderful tool for the artistic photographer. Many can measure the incident light hitting a subject, which is important for slide film and digital sensors. They also measure the lighter and darker areas of a scene to determine the range, or contrast, between them. Film photographers use this information to determine not only the initial exposure, but also how much to develop the film to manipulate its tonal range and balance the detail in the highlights with the detail in the shadows. Ansel Adams invented the Zone System for this reason and an external light meter is essential to use it effectively. Some meters, like the Gossen LunaPro F, can even measure light from an electronic flash to calculate lighting ratios between the subject and its surroundings, which is useful in the studio.
Most photographers that I have met don’t use external light meters, but rely instead on the computers in their cameras. PhotoShop can do a lot, but a poorly exposed photograph is a poorly exposed photograph. If detail is lost in either the shadows or the highlights, it is simply lost and software cannot resurrect it.
A good light meter can help a photographer better understand light and eliminate the need for digital surgery. After all, without light there is no photograph.
Modern digital cameras, and even some professional-grade 35 mm film cameras, are capable of calculating acceptable exposures for most scenes using algorithms developed by photographic experts and engineers, but no camera can know what a photographer sees in the mind’s eye at the moment of exposure. Will the highlights or the shadows be most important? Will the print be one of high contrast, or of subtle changes from the dark to light? These decisions should come from the photographer, not the camera. Digital cameras usually have a histogram feature, which measures the number of pure white pixels (255), pure black pixels (0), and those pixels in between (1-254), but they can’t ‘see’ where those pixels are. A photographer needs to look at the image and the histogram together to figure that out. By then, the moment has already passed and, if the exposure isn’t right, it doesn’t really matter anymore.
External light meters are a wonderful tool for the artistic photographer. Many can measure the incident light hitting a subject, which is important for slide film and digital sensors. They also measure the lighter and darker areas of a scene to determine the range, or contrast, between them. Film photographers use this information to determine not only the initial exposure, but also how much to develop the film to manipulate its tonal range and balance the detail in the highlights with the detail in the shadows. Ansel Adams invented the Zone System for this reason and an external light meter is essential to use it effectively. Some meters, like the Gossen LunaPro F, can even measure light from an electronic flash to calculate lighting ratios between the subject and its surroundings, which is useful in the studio.
Most photographers that I have met don’t use external light meters, but rely instead on the computers in their cameras. PhotoShop can do a lot, but a poorly exposed photograph is a poorly exposed photograph. If detail is lost in either the shadows or the highlights, it is simply lost and software cannot resurrect it.
A good light meter can help a photographer better understand light and eliminate the need for digital surgery. After all, without light there is no photograph.
But It Looks Like Snow
December 21, 2010 - 18:04
I read a post on Rosario Edwards’ website about sharing one’s creativity secrets.
Create. Share. Sustain.
After reading his blog post, I remembered a shot I took while roaming around the National Mall in Washington DC. I was carrying a Fuji S2 Pro digital SLR that day and I was packing an R72 filter. This piece of glass filters out most visible light leaving only near infrared light to hit the sensor.
I came across the Capitol building and wondered how strange it would look in infrared. It became a surreal winter scene in August.
Create. Share. Sustain.
After reading his blog post, I remembered a shot I took while roaming around the National Mall in Washington DC. I was carrying a Fuji S2 Pro digital SLR that day and I was packing an R72 filter. This piece of glass filters out most visible light leaving only near infrared light to hit the sensor.
I came across the Capitol building and wondered how strange it would look in infrared. It became a surreal winter scene in August.
Surreal Capitol
Perfection Is Not The Goal
October 23, 2010 - 08:08
Too often, we try to attain perfection.
With all of the automation available in cameras these days, you would think that photographers demanded perfection in everything they do. But when is perfection not the goal? Perhaps perfection doesn’t matter if the photograph expresses how we felt at the moment the shutter was tripped even if it wasn’t what we saw through the lens?
A few years ago, I took a Nikon N90s camera and several rolls of monochrome film on Christmas vacation. We rode the train to Minnesota and I imagined enormous potential in the winter landscapes that would come along the way. At a station stop in Montana, I saw ice and snow encrusted around the wheels of a sleeper car. The heat from the brakes melted some of the ice, which then froze around a wheel hub in the cold winter air. A starburst pattern formed in the ice as the train pulled into the station. This was the photograph that I thought I saw.
When I processed the film, I loaded it on the processing reel improperly and the layers of film came in contact and stuck together during development. This mistake all but ruined most of the roll, except for this frame. There were defects in the negative caused by the disaster, but the imperfections added texture and contrast to the final image and it remains one of my favorite photographs. I don’t think that it would have been nearly as interesting if it had been ‘perfectly’ developed.
‘Winter Rails’ won second place at the 2008 Kitsap County Fair in the monochrome travel category, advanced division.
With all of the automation available in cameras these days, you would think that photographers demanded perfection in everything they do. But when is perfection not the goal? Perhaps perfection doesn’t matter if the photograph expresses how we felt at the moment the shutter was tripped even if it wasn’t what we saw through the lens?
A few years ago, I took a Nikon N90s camera and several rolls of monochrome film on Christmas vacation. We rode the train to Minnesota and I imagined enormous potential in the winter landscapes that would come along the way. At a station stop in Montana, I saw ice and snow encrusted around the wheels of a sleeper car. The heat from the brakes melted some of the ice, which then froze around a wheel hub in the cold winter air. A starburst pattern formed in the ice as the train pulled into the station. This was the photograph that I thought I saw.
When I processed the film, I loaded it on the processing reel improperly and the layers of film came in contact and stuck together during development. This mistake all but ruined most of the roll, except for this frame. There were defects in the negative caused by the disaster, but the imperfections added texture and contrast to the final image and it remains one of my favorite photographs. I don’t think that it would have been nearly as interesting if it had been ‘perfectly’ developed.
‘Winter Rails’ won second place at the 2008 Kitsap County Fair in the monochrome travel category, advanced division.
Automation Is A Mixed Blessing
September 25, 2010 - 21:05
While attending the fair in Puyallup a few weeks ago, I used my Nikon F100 camera so that I didn’t have to worry about managing exposure and focus settings or load the film by hand while life proceeded on without me. The F100 is famous for its highly accurate exposure and autofocus systems. It’s so fast that I don’t have to think about it. I spent four rolls of film that day and got some great shots. A few of them made it to my gallery.
Some photographers complain that automation disturbs the creative process because the ‘cookie cutter’ settings of the camera assume too much about depth of field, exposure balance, and center of focus decisions. For those artists, all they need to do is disable the automation and use their own judgment, but there are consequences. Switching between automated photography and 'rolling your own' can be hazardous to your images.
For some portrait work that I will soon attempt, I wanted to familiarize myself once again with the process of balancing available light with electronic fill flash. I used a Mamiya C220 camera, a Vivitar 283 electronic flash, and a Gossen LunaPro F light meter which was useful to find acceptable flash and camera settings. Light reflected from the different elements of the scene must be ‘metered out’ to balance the exposure without blowing out the highlights or darkening the shadows. Electronic flash helps achieve that balance.
The Mamiya C220 twin lens reflex is a completely manual camera. Turning a crank advances the film. The shutter must be manually cocked before each shot. The lens aperture, shutter speed, and focus must be set by hand. The C220 is as far away from fully automated modern digital equipment as a Ford Model T is from a Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano. Manual adjustments in photography are part of the art, but sometimes my experience with automated equipment makes me a bit complacent.
It didn't occur to me until after the first roll had passed through the camera that even when the exposure is correctly set for ambient light in the background, the flash insists that I use its lens aperture suggestions to get the exposure right in the foreground. In the prints, the subject looked as if he were standing in front of a nuclear blast at close range only milliseconds before incinerating the pleasantly exposed landscape in the background. If that were not enough, I wasn't watching the focus closely because I became accustomed to the Nikon F100 automatically focusing the lens for me. That old Mamiya has no idea how far away the subject is unless I tell it. At the end of the day, I had whole roll of grossly overexposed and unfocused portraits. Fortunately, I woke up before I shot the second roll so all was not lost.
I'm sure glad that film is cheap.
But That's Just The Beginning
September 08, 2010 - 19:37
It’s a hassle to load film into a bulk film loader in total darkness, in my bathroom, at night, and praying that my kids don’t turn on the lights and ruin the whole roll. I go to Costco and ask for as many spent 35mm film cassettes as they can spare. It takes time to load a one-hundred foot roll of film into at least 18 film cassettes and then trim the end of each roll to allow for the camera take-up spool.
Then there is the camera itself. Finding button cell batteries to power a forty year old light meter is getting harder these days. I load the film into the camera, set the film speed, find the right subject, focus the lens, check the light meter reading, set the aperture, and then the shutter speed. How should I compose the shot? How much depth of field do I want? Do I risk camera shake by choosing a slow shutter speed? Is the light coming from the right direction? How about lens flare? Do I meter for the shadows or the highlights? The meter is useless at night so I just guess at the exposure settings. No 3D matrix metering for me.
But that’s just the beginning.
After the film is exposed, I wind it onto a stainless steel developing reel in a light-tight cloth changing bag, taking care not to kink the film and damage it. Into the processing tank it goes. There is the developer, the stop bath, the fixer, and the hypo clearing agent to mix and keep at just the right temperature. Is the right time set on the timer? Is the developer mixed to the right dilution? After it’s mixed, it’s hard to tell.
Pour the soup into the tank and agitate it with slow, deliberate inversions for 10 seconds every minute for 6 to 20 minutes. Stop bath. Fix for 8 minutes, wash, and then hang the film to dry. An hour has passed.
. . . but that’s just the beginning.
Then there is the camera itself. Finding button cell batteries to power a forty year old light meter is getting harder these days. I load the film into the camera, set the film speed, find the right subject, focus the lens, check the light meter reading, set the aperture, and then the shutter speed. How should I compose the shot? How much depth of field do I want? Do I risk camera shake by choosing a slow shutter speed? Is the light coming from the right direction? How about lens flare? Do I meter for the shadows or the highlights? The meter is useless at night so I just guess at the exposure settings. No 3D matrix metering for me.
But that’s just the beginning.
After the film is exposed, I wind it onto a stainless steel developing reel in a light-tight cloth changing bag, taking care not to kink the film and damage it. Into the processing tank it goes. There is the developer, the stop bath, the fixer, and the hypo clearing agent to mix and keep at just the right temperature. Is the right time set on the timer? Is the developer mixed to the right dilution? After it’s mixed, it’s hard to tell.
Pour the soup into the tank and agitate it with slow, deliberate inversions for 10 seconds every minute for 6 to 20 minutes. Stop bath. Fix for 8 minutes, wash, and then hang the film to dry. An hour has passed.
. . . but that’s just the beginning.
The Way, The Truth, and The Life
Prairie Skies and Red #29
August 08, 2010 - 17:54
I grew up on the prairies of Saskatchewan, Manitoba, and North Dakota. Each summer, my family would drive to Alberta or Ontario on vacations to see relatives or go camping. Outside of the city, the tallest buildings were grain elevators spaced about ten miles apart from each other along the railroad lines and appeared to be tied together with the telephone lines passing from pole to pole. These icons of the prairie stand in solitude winter and summer, storing the harvest until the commodity markets were just right. Tractors and equipment harvested the grain, the trucks hauled it in, and the elevator would weigh it, store it, and load it into railroad hopper cars.
Traditional grain elevators are becoming extinct since concrete grain terminals have emerged. It won’t be long until they are all torn down or collapse from neglect. They have been around for more than a century standing like signposts for ‘POOL’, ‘PIONEER’,’ UGG’, and a number of independent brokers. America named its towns after water towers and Canada named her towns after grain elevators, or so it seems.
I began to process the monochrome film that I shot in rural Minnesota last month. I experimented with a variety of film-developer combinations and filtration. Most of the film was shot with a red #29 filter, which is slightly darker than the #25. The beauty of using red filters with monochrome film is that they bring out very dark and dramatic skies but leave the tonality of clouds. That is, they filter out the blue wavelengths of light to darken the sky and enhance the billowing or feathery clouds. Red filtration also draws out the texture of the metal siding on buildings to appear more like engraved lithographs than photographs.
The results are in the Rural gallery. Bright clouds contrast the geometric elevators and ribbed grain bins against the sky. I used Fuji Acros monochrome film shot at ISO 100 and developed in Edwal FG-7 at 1:15 dilution for 9 minutes. Edwal recommends agitation every 30 seconds for 5 seconds, but after looking at the negatives I would rather process Acros for about 11 minutes and agitate the tank once every minute for 10 seconds. The negatives were so thin that they were nearly unprintable and I was surprised to see how well the images looked. They bring out the kind of texture that gives monochrome film its character. I also shot Plus-X at ISO 80 and processed it in FG-7 for 8 minutes which was about right. The negatives were denser and provided a bit less contrast. The Versatile 435 tractor images are good examples.
Traditional grain elevators are becoming extinct since concrete grain terminals have emerged. It won’t be long until they are all torn down or collapse from neglect. They have been around for more than a century standing like signposts for ‘POOL’, ‘PIONEER’,’ UGG’, and a number of independent brokers. America named its towns after water towers and Canada named her towns after grain elevators, or so it seems.
I began to process the monochrome film that I shot in rural Minnesota last month. I experimented with a variety of film-developer combinations and filtration. Most of the film was shot with a red #29 filter, which is slightly darker than the #25. The beauty of using red filters with monochrome film is that they bring out very dark and dramatic skies but leave the tonality of clouds. That is, they filter out the blue wavelengths of light to darken the sky and enhance the billowing or feathery clouds. Red filtration also draws out the texture of the metal siding on buildings to appear more like engraved lithographs than photographs.
The results are in the Rural gallery. Bright clouds contrast the geometric elevators and ribbed grain bins against the sky. I used Fuji Acros monochrome film shot at ISO 100 and developed in Edwal FG-7 at 1:15 dilution for 9 minutes. Edwal recommends agitation every 30 seconds for 5 seconds, but after looking at the negatives I would rather process Acros for about 11 minutes and agitate the tank once every minute for 10 seconds. The negatives were so thin that they were nearly unprintable and I was surprised to see how well the images looked. They bring out the kind of texture that gives monochrome film its character. I also shot Plus-X at ISO 80 and processed it in FG-7 for 8 minutes which was about right. The negatives were denser and provided a bit less contrast. The Versatile 435 tractor images are good examples.
So What Is Fine Art Anyway?
May 31, 2010 - 14:10
Before I knew exactly what the term meant, I was always uncomfortable referring to my work as ‘fine art’. I always thought it was arrogant to believe that photographs produced by a rank amateur, such as myself, could be referred to as ‘fine’ anything. The mere mention of ‘fine art’ to me conjures a mental image of George Bellows or John Singer Sargent paintings hung in posh metropolitan art galleries.
The definition of fine art varies as much as the person asking the question. It generally refers to works produced by the artist’s own hand as opposed to copies reproduced by a machine, like a magazine or a sales brochure. Does that mean that your vacation snapshots qualify as ‘fine art’? Of course it does. Fine art merely indicates how the print was made, but not necessarily its artistic quality. The term is frequently used as a marketing tool because it sells art.
There are a few highly acclaimed photographers in the art world. Ansel Adams, Arthur Stieglitz, and Dorothea Lange have certainly made their mark as photographers and artists, but what is a true measure of success? Is it the artist’s ability to immortalize subjects from a bygone age? Is it technical brilliance? Perhaps the size of the prints that an artist has sold or the reputation of the galleries where they exhibit their work. In Internet circles, the aesthetic value of a photograph could be measured by the number of comments it draws on Flickr or Facebook. Are these artists just experiencing their 15 minutes of fame or will their images become recognizable icons of their generation enjoyed by audiences decades, or even centuries later?
Artists who rely on their work to earn a living are at a serious disadvantage over those of us who have a day job. For the professional artist, there are deadlines, fickle clients, deadbeats, unscrupulous agents, and the persistent threat of copyright infringement or outright theft. For those of us who simply enjoy creating photographs, we have the luxury of time and total freedom from market forces. We blithely snap away at subjects that we want to photograph while experimenting with different image developing processes and techniques in our free time. We don’t have to sell art to eat, but selling a print feeds our ego.
Making a respectable living producing ‘fine art’ may be one measure of success, but enjoying what you do and winning a contest or two along the way is another. If you are proud to sign your name to an image, you can claim to be a ‘fine art’ photographer. How successful you are is up to your audience.
The definition of fine art varies as much as the person asking the question. It generally refers to works produced by the artist’s own hand as opposed to copies reproduced by a machine, like a magazine or a sales brochure. Does that mean that your vacation snapshots qualify as ‘fine art’? Of course it does. Fine art merely indicates how the print was made, but not necessarily its artistic quality. The term is frequently used as a marketing tool because it sells art.
There are a few highly acclaimed photographers in the art world. Ansel Adams, Arthur Stieglitz, and Dorothea Lange have certainly made their mark as photographers and artists, but what is a true measure of success? Is it the artist’s ability to immortalize subjects from a bygone age? Is it technical brilliance? Perhaps the size of the prints that an artist has sold or the reputation of the galleries where they exhibit their work. In Internet circles, the aesthetic value of a photograph could be measured by the number of comments it draws on Flickr or Facebook. Are these artists just experiencing their 15 minutes of fame or will their images become recognizable icons of their generation enjoyed by audiences decades, or even centuries later?
Artists who rely on their work to earn a living are at a serious disadvantage over those of us who have a day job. For the professional artist, there are deadlines, fickle clients, deadbeats, unscrupulous agents, and the persistent threat of copyright infringement or outright theft. For those of us who simply enjoy creating photographs, we have the luxury of time and total freedom from market forces. We blithely snap away at subjects that we want to photograph while experimenting with different image developing processes and techniques in our free time. We don’t have to sell art to eat, but selling a print feeds our ego.
Making a respectable living producing ‘fine art’ may be one measure of success, but enjoying what you do and winning a contest or two along the way is another. If you are proud to sign your name to an image, you can claim to be a ‘fine art’ photographer. How successful you are is up to your audience.
Green Photography
May 14, 2010 - 21:30
Traditional photography, now referred to as analog, uses chemical solutions to change the latent image on film into a printable negative. Hydroquinone is the main active ingredient in black and white film developers. Acetic acid is in stop bath. The ammonium thiosulphate in fixer stabilizes the developed image while washing away excess silver compounds left on the less exposed areas of the film. With all of this chemistry entering our waste water systems, how can traditional chemical photography be considered ‘green’?
In very dilute solutions, the hydroquinone in developer decomposes in minutes. The acetic acid in stop bath is of the same kind found in orange juice or vinegar, just more concentrated. The ammonium thiosulphate and silver compounds in exhausted fixer are a different matter. With use, the silver concentration in fixer increases to the point where the fixer becomes exhausted. The silver can be recovered, refined, and reused. The ammonia thiosulphate is treated in waste water plants to remove excess nitrogen and prevent excessive algae growth in rivers and streams. If ‘analog’ photographers work responsibly, all of these chemicals can be treated and neutralized. Commercial processor technology uses color chemistry to its maximum potential. Modern hazardous waste processing later renders it environmentally safe.
Before digital photography, people kept their cameras longer than they do now. For example, a photographer who bought a Nikon FTn would use the camera for years while building an investment of lenses. New camera models were introduced every five to eight years instead of every year or two as digital cameras are today. Photographers would ‘upgrade’ to a new camera body from time to time, but they usually kept their lenses and older bodies until they wore out. Back then, any Nikon lens worked on any Nikon body. Today, photographers need to watch which lenses work with certain cameras. A Nikkor-P 105 mm f/2.5 lens built in 1968 will not function on a Nikon D200 camera. In fact, older lenses used on newer digital cameras can permanently damage them.
I can’t use my Nikkor-P 105 mm lens on my Fuji S2 Pro digital SLR, but I can use my Nikon AF-D lenses on my Nikon F. Now that’s green!
In very dilute solutions, the hydroquinone in developer decomposes in minutes. The acetic acid in stop bath is of the same kind found in orange juice or vinegar, just more concentrated. The ammonium thiosulphate and silver compounds in exhausted fixer are a different matter. With use, the silver concentration in fixer increases to the point where the fixer becomes exhausted. The silver can be recovered, refined, and reused. The ammonia thiosulphate is treated in waste water plants to remove excess nitrogen and prevent excessive algae growth in rivers and streams. If ‘analog’ photographers work responsibly, all of these chemicals can be treated and neutralized. Commercial processor technology uses color chemistry to its maximum potential. Modern hazardous waste processing later renders it environmentally safe.
Before digital photography, people kept their cameras longer than they do now. For example, a photographer who bought a Nikon FTn would use the camera for years while building an investment of lenses. New camera models were introduced every five to eight years instead of every year or two as digital cameras are today. Photographers would ‘upgrade’ to a new camera body from time to time, but they usually kept their lenses and older bodies until they wore out. Back then, any Nikon lens worked on any Nikon body. Today, photographers need to watch which lenses work with certain cameras. A Nikkor-P 105 mm f/2.5 lens built in 1968 will not function on a Nikon D200 camera. In fact, older lenses used on newer digital cameras can permanently damage them.
I can’t use my Nikkor-P 105 mm lens on my Fuji S2 Pro digital SLR, but I can use my Nikon AF-D lenses on my Nikon F. Now that’s green!
Pre-Photoshop Surrealism
May 05, 2010 - 16:37
There are times when an artist has to try something a little different to jar the creativity within. Edward Hopper did this often by moving between etching, painting, and sketching. He would paint portraits, landscapes, railroad scenes, restaurant interiors, houses, and even sunlight striking the interior wall in a house using pencil, pen, watercolor, and oil paint.
I am certainly no Ed Hopper, but I am finding that my narrow focus on military subjects, particularly Navy ones, is starting to feel a bit ordinary. Living in a Navy fleet concentration area, there are many military and industrial subjects to photograph, so I try to capture them in a different way.
Many digital photographers are well acquainted with software, like Adobe Photoshop, to manipulate image color, hue, sharpness, and exposure to some degree, but it can also radically change the image until it bears no resemblance to the original photograph. Artistically there is nothing wrong with this, but to me “re-photographing” digital images in this manner is more akin to the montages that I made in kindergarten with white glue and pictures cut from old Sears or Eaton’s catalogs.
I retired the Monochrome and Infrared galleries today and, in their place, created the Natural FX gallery. This is where I can place strange or unusual photographs that I made in a more traditional way. A couple of weeks ago, I took my 35 mm pinhole camera out of the closet, loaded it with a roll of Fuji Velvia 100 slide film, grabbed my tripod and light meter, and trekked out to the Bremerton waterfront.
Photographs made with a pinhole camera have a soft, ethereal quality that is hard to match with a standard lens. The camera, a teakwood box in this case, has been fitted with a thin piece of brass bored with a very small hole where the lens should be. I’m not sure of its size, but the hole is about one-hundredth of an inch in diameter. In 35 mm terms, that would be an aperture of about f/138. In broad daylight, an exposure on 100 ISO film takes about three or four seconds, hence the need for a sturdy tripod.
You never know what you will get with a pinhole camera. Sometimes it is hard to keep the camera stable on the tripod during the very manual exposure. The shutter is my fingertip. Inadvertent double exposures are common. Sometimes if the light is low, there is a significant shift away from the expected “normal” in color or hue of the finished image. Sometimes this failure of the Reciprocity Law leaves only a dark space on the film where an image should be. Exposure variations can create either unexpected beauty or an imperceptible blur. Variability can give a ‘normal’ composition a pleasing surreal quality, or just junk.
Additionally in this gallery, I placed images that I shot using a digital SLR with an R72 filter over the lens. The R72 filter blocks most visible light below the 720 nanometer wavelength and allows more near-infrared (NIR) and infrared (IR) light to strike the camera’s image sensor. This gives us a chance to see the unseen. Foliage glows brightly while concrete and steel, which reflect less infrared light, assume darker tones. The photographer can adjust the color palette of the image post-production for a general cold indigo, warm blue-green, or copper patina appearance. In any case, the image looks very different from those created by the ‘white’ visible light that our eyes see.
I’m not sure what I will try next. Whatever it may be, I’m sure that I can do it without technology getting in the way or making decisions for me.
I am certainly no Ed Hopper, but I am finding that my narrow focus on military subjects, particularly Navy ones, is starting to feel a bit ordinary. Living in a Navy fleet concentration area, there are many military and industrial subjects to photograph, so I try to capture them in a different way.
Many digital photographers are well acquainted with software, like Adobe Photoshop, to manipulate image color, hue, sharpness, and exposure to some degree, but it can also radically change the image until it bears no resemblance to the original photograph. Artistically there is nothing wrong with this, but to me “re-photographing” digital images in this manner is more akin to the montages that I made in kindergarten with white glue and pictures cut from old Sears or Eaton’s catalogs.
I retired the Monochrome and Infrared galleries today and, in their place, created the Natural FX gallery. This is where I can place strange or unusual photographs that I made in a more traditional way. A couple of weeks ago, I took my 35 mm pinhole camera out of the closet, loaded it with a roll of Fuji Velvia 100 slide film, grabbed my tripod and light meter, and trekked out to the Bremerton waterfront.
Photographs made with a pinhole camera have a soft, ethereal quality that is hard to match with a standard lens. The camera, a teakwood box in this case, has been fitted with a thin piece of brass bored with a very small hole where the lens should be. I’m not sure of its size, but the hole is about one-hundredth of an inch in diameter. In 35 mm terms, that would be an aperture of about f/138. In broad daylight, an exposure on 100 ISO film takes about three or four seconds, hence the need for a sturdy tripod.
You never know what you will get with a pinhole camera. Sometimes it is hard to keep the camera stable on the tripod during the very manual exposure. The shutter is my fingertip. Inadvertent double exposures are common. Sometimes if the light is low, there is a significant shift away from the expected “normal” in color or hue of the finished image. Sometimes this failure of the Reciprocity Law leaves only a dark space on the film where an image should be. Exposure variations can create either unexpected beauty or an imperceptible blur. Variability can give a ‘normal’ composition a pleasing surreal quality, or just junk.
Additionally in this gallery, I placed images that I shot using a digital SLR with an R72 filter over the lens. The R72 filter blocks most visible light below the 720 nanometer wavelength and allows more near-infrared (NIR) and infrared (IR) light to strike the camera’s image sensor. This gives us a chance to see the unseen. Foliage glows brightly while concrete and steel, which reflect less infrared light, assume darker tones. The photographer can adjust the color palette of the image post-production for a general cold indigo, warm blue-green, or copper patina appearance. In any case, the image looks very different from those created by the ‘white’ visible light that our eyes see.
I’m not sure what I will try next. Whatever it may be, I’m sure that I can do it without technology getting in the way or making decisions for me.
High Quality, Low Cost Digital Cameras
April 28, 2010 - 19:37
Every week, I see advertisements for the latest in digital photographic equipment that varies from inexpensive low quality mini-cameras to high-end professional grade instruments. Leaving the low quality cameras on the discount store shelf is a no-brainer, unless you want something you can leave in the glove box of your car to document your next accident. If you want high quality photographs, your options are to risk rapid obsolescence by buying today’s latest digital technology, or buy a professional quality film camera from eBay or perhaps a garage sale or local pawn shop. So what does an “old school” film camera have to do with high quality digital photography? Besides the obvious costs involved, more than you might think.
Not even a decade ago, photographs in magazines and exhibitions were created from photographic film exposed in cameras that have changed little in principle for a century. A photograph made with a forty year old Nikkormat or 10 year old Nikon F100 was of better quality than a digital photograph shot through the same lens. Digital imaging technology has improved much since then, but you can still get high quality digital photographs from a film camera if you let the processor scan and digitize the negatives and slides for you when the film is processed. It doesn’t cost much for the casual photographer to get high quality digital images from film. If your volume is low, the cost of the latest digital SLR camera with its dedicated lens is far more than an older film camera using the same optics. If you shoot lots of film, like some folks I know, a quality film scanner can be had for less than $1000.
For less than half the cost of a refurbished $1,300 Nikon D300 body, you can get a professional quality Nikon F100 in excellent condition with a 28-35mm Nikon autofocus lens that produces images, when scanned, rival those from any digital camera. If you prefer a mechanical camera like a Nikon FM2, a Minolta SRT 102, or a Canon AE-1, the cost is even less. In case you didn’t know, a Nikon lens produced in 1975 will fit the Nikon F100, albeit without autofocus. For the price of a few memory cards, you can get a superb Nikon autofocus or a Canon FD zoom lens. There are thousands of them on the market and most are available for a song. Lenses from other manufacturers, like Pentax or Minolta, cost even less.
As a bonus, the photographer also gets low-cost, incorruptible image backups with the negatives and compact discs full of digitized photographs. No corrupt memory cards. No lost image libraries. No missed shots because of dead batteries or faulty electronics, and no confusing menus or settings to fiddle with while awe-inspiring photo-ops slip away.
Besides, good photographers can create outstanding images with any camera, even if it is just a light-tight box with a pinhole for a lens.
Not even a decade ago, photographs in magazines and exhibitions were created from photographic film exposed in cameras that have changed little in principle for a century. A photograph made with a forty year old Nikkormat or 10 year old Nikon F100 was of better quality than a digital photograph shot through the same lens. Digital imaging technology has improved much since then, but you can still get high quality digital photographs from a film camera if you let the processor scan and digitize the negatives and slides for you when the film is processed. It doesn’t cost much for the casual photographer to get high quality digital images from film. If your volume is low, the cost of the latest digital SLR camera with its dedicated lens is far more than an older film camera using the same optics. If you shoot lots of film, like some folks I know, a quality film scanner can be had for less than $1000.
For less than half the cost of a refurbished $1,300 Nikon D300 body, you can get a professional quality Nikon F100 in excellent condition with a 28-35mm Nikon autofocus lens that produces images, when scanned, rival those from any digital camera. If you prefer a mechanical camera like a Nikon FM2, a Minolta SRT 102, or a Canon AE-1, the cost is even less. In case you didn’t know, a Nikon lens produced in 1975 will fit the Nikon F100, albeit without autofocus. For the price of a few memory cards, you can get a superb Nikon autofocus or a Canon FD zoom lens. There are thousands of them on the market and most are available for a song. Lenses from other manufacturers, like Pentax or Minolta, cost even less.
As a bonus, the photographer also gets low-cost, incorruptible image backups with the negatives and compact discs full of digitized photographs. No corrupt memory cards. No lost image libraries. No missed shots because of dead batteries or faulty electronics, and no confusing menus or settings to fiddle with while awe-inspiring photo-ops slip away.
Besides, good photographers can create outstanding images with any camera, even if it is just a light-tight box with a pinhole for a lens.
(This image was created with a 35 mm pinhole camera and TMax 100 film)
High Dilution Development
April 18, 2010 - 22:18
I found a post on the APUG website suggesting that Rodinal developer could be diluted far beyond its design limitation to produce images with interesting tonal and textural qualities. I use Rodinal 1:25 for fine grain film, like Plus-X and Maco 100 Plus, to produce monochrome prints with high acutance and just a touch of grain, but after reading about diluting it to 1 part concentrate and 100 parts water, I just had to try it.
To create the solution with as little variability as possible, I mixed 10ml of Rodinal concentrate with 500 ml water to create a 1:50 solution. After removing 250 ml of that solution, I replaced it with 250 ml of water for the final 1:100 solution. I let the film sit in the ‘soup’ for half an hour, agitated the tank slowly three times in a ten-second interval, and then let it sit for another half hour. To stop development, I emptied the tank and then filled it with water and let it rest for another 5 minutes. This lets whatever developer is left to work on the shadow areas whereas stop bath would have stopped development in its tracks. I fixed and washed the negatives in the usual way.
Many of the images were lost to poor composition, but the ones I kept were rather extraordinary. I photographed an old diesel engine that I found sitting on a lot and rusting into oblivion. The combination of grain and high contrast gives the images a gritty, industrial feel and exaggerates the lines in the machine, especially on the exposed valve springs. I just ‘feels’ ancient.
I also found some arborists removing a dying tree and photographed them. The camera was a Pentax Spotmatic F. The lens that I used to photograph the engine was a Takumar 50mm f/1.8 and, for the arborists, a Takumar 135mm f/3.5.
I wouldn’t recommend high dilution development for that once in a lifetime shot, but I was rather pleased with the texture and tonality that I got from the experiment. You will find ‘Where’s Waldo’ and ‘Arborist’ in the ‘Portrait’ gallery and ‘Industrial Mortality’ and ‘Potential Energy’ in the ‘Ancient Industry’ gallery.
Great fun on a Saturday afternoon!
To create the solution with as little variability as possible, I mixed 10ml of Rodinal concentrate with 500 ml water to create a 1:50 solution. After removing 250 ml of that solution, I replaced it with 250 ml of water for the final 1:100 solution. I let the film sit in the ‘soup’ for half an hour, agitated the tank slowly three times in a ten-second interval, and then let it sit for another half hour. To stop development, I emptied the tank and then filled it with water and let it rest for another 5 minutes. This lets whatever developer is left to work on the shadow areas whereas stop bath would have stopped development in its tracks. I fixed and washed the negatives in the usual way.
Many of the images were lost to poor composition, but the ones I kept were rather extraordinary. I photographed an old diesel engine that I found sitting on a lot and rusting into oblivion. The combination of grain and high contrast gives the images a gritty, industrial feel and exaggerates the lines in the machine, especially on the exposed valve springs. I just ‘feels’ ancient.
I also found some arborists removing a dying tree and photographed them. The camera was a Pentax Spotmatic F. The lens that I used to photograph the engine was a Takumar 50mm f/1.8 and, for the arborists, a Takumar 135mm f/3.5.
I wouldn’t recommend high dilution development for that once in a lifetime shot, but I was rather pleased with the texture and tonality that I got from the experiment. You will find ‘Where’s Waldo’ and ‘Arborist’ in the ‘Portrait’ gallery and ‘Industrial Mortality’ and ‘Potential Energy’ in the ‘Ancient Industry’ gallery.
Great fun on a Saturday afternoon!
Submarines
April 11, 2010 - 17:22
The hardest part about shooting submarines is finding them. The Navy likes it that way, but it is frustrating for a photographer with a penchant for photographing military subjects, especially those located in his own back yard.
I live just a few miles from the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard and the submarine base at Bangor, Washington. My day job has a bit to do with supporting their mission but I still can’t get near a sub with a camera without running afoul of Navy security officers. The best I can do is use my imagination while lingering around naval museums and, of course, the mothball fleet.
When I took my Minolta SRT-200 for a walk around the Bremerton waterfront, I came across the salvage remains of the decommissioned Sturgeon-class submarine USS Parche (SSN-683) erected as a monument in front of the shipyard gate. “Secret Savior” places the leading edge of this ship’s sail against the mid day sun. I could feel the majesty of this leviathan breaching the surface of the ocean as I framed the image in the viewfinder. “Service Record” is my favorite of the two. It displays the service history of the Parche using symbology well known to submariners. I rather like the highlights of the dive planes and raised access plates against the dark structure. The grain of Plus-X film processed in Rodinal developer provides a cold and industrial nuance to the image. Also in this gallery are photographs of the World War II veteran USS Bowfin, which is permanently docked at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. I gave these photographs the look of color prints from the 1950s. It was the only way I could salvage them from a lousy exposure.
You can see these images in my ‘Military’ gallery. Until I can get access to the submarine mothball docks or stumble onto a ‘boomer’ passing under the Hood Canal bridge, I have to rely on what I can find within public view at the shipyard, the Naval Undersea Museum at Keyport, or whatever else I can find locally.
I live just a few miles from the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard and the submarine base at Bangor, Washington. My day job has a bit to do with supporting their mission but I still can’t get near a sub with a camera without running afoul of Navy security officers. The best I can do is use my imagination while lingering around naval museums and, of course, the mothball fleet.
When I took my Minolta SRT-200 for a walk around the Bremerton waterfront, I came across the salvage remains of the decommissioned Sturgeon-class submarine USS Parche (SSN-683) erected as a monument in front of the shipyard gate. “Secret Savior” places the leading edge of this ship’s sail against the mid day sun. I could feel the majesty of this leviathan breaching the surface of the ocean as I framed the image in the viewfinder. “Service Record” is my favorite of the two. It displays the service history of the Parche using symbology well known to submariners. I rather like the highlights of the dive planes and raised access plates against the dark structure. The grain of Plus-X film processed in Rodinal developer provides a cold and industrial nuance to the image. Also in this gallery are photographs of the World War II veteran USS Bowfin, which is permanently docked at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. I gave these photographs the look of color prints from the 1950s. It was the only way I could salvage them from a lousy exposure.
You can see these images in my ‘Military’ gallery. Until I can get access to the submarine mothball docks or stumble onto a ‘boomer’ passing under the Hood Canal bridge, I have to rely on what I can find within public view at the shipyard, the Naval Undersea Museum at Keyport, or whatever else I can find locally.
So Just How Hard Could It Be?
April 05, 2010 - 06:00
So just how hard could it be to build a web gallery? You see them all over the web and they vary in quality. I was pushed into building a website about a year and a half ago at the request of the owner of one of my venues, the Global Bean Coffee Company.
There was a bit of a learning curve. I had to find a web hosting service and learn how to set up the site and the domain. Then there was the web publishing software to find, set up, and learn to use. It’s not quite as easy as falling out of bed, but it becomes intuitive after some practice.
There are many web hosts available and it wasn’t hard to find a reputable one. There are scam artists I’m sure, but a bit of research should ferret out the good ones. The software needed to build the site was a different issue. I looked at several, but decided on RapidWeaver offered by Realmac Software. The iWeb software that comes with OS X just wasn’t sophisticated enough. You can also download a free version of RapidWeaver. It does everything the licensed version does, but you can only build three web pages which isn’t very useful unless all you need is a homepage and two gallery pages.
To begin with, RapidWeaver is built for the Apple MacIntosh, which is the platform that I use for the native graphics features in OS X. RapidWeaver is supported by a wide range of theme developers from all over the world. A theme establishes the look and feel of a website. Some are rather plain, but functional. Others are highly customizable, such as the one that I used for this website. I used the PageMix theme from MultiThemes, an Italian developer. They offer themes at quite a reasonable price for what you get. They even have a few simple themes available at no cost that help the neophyte learn how they work.
Themes are very helpful, but there are also plug-ins built for RapidWeaver that simplify building web pages. Your Head Software offers a number of plug-ins. My home page was built using the Stacks plug-in and the gallery pages were made with the Collage plug-in. The Method and Resume pages were both built with the Accordion plug-in. All of these plug-ins came from Your Head. For months, I used the RapidAlbum photo gallery plug-in, which is free from Mackie Software. I have never required support from the third party developers, but I needed a bit of help from RealMac once and they were better than any company I have ever dealt with.
There is FaceBook and Flickr, but why not try to be more independent? Even if I am the only one who visits the site, at least I know who created it and the domain name is mine to keep as long as I keep it registered.
There was a bit of a learning curve. I had to find a web hosting service and learn how to set up the site and the domain. Then there was the web publishing software to find, set up, and learn to use. It’s not quite as easy as falling out of bed, but it becomes intuitive after some practice.
There are many web hosts available and it wasn’t hard to find a reputable one. There are scam artists I’m sure, but a bit of research should ferret out the good ones. The software needed to build the site was a different issue. I looked at several, but decided on RapidWeaver offered by Realmac Software. The iWeb software that comes with OS X just wasn’t sophisticated enough. You can also download a free version of RapidWeaver. It does everything the licensed version does, but you can only build three web pages which isn’t very useful unless all you need is a homepage and two gallery pages.
To begin with, RapidWeaver is built for the Apple MacIntosh, which is the platform that I use for the native graphics features in OS X. RapidWeaver is supported by a wide range of theme developers from all over the world. A theme establishes the look and feel of a website. Some are rather plain, but functional. Others are highly customizable, such as the one that I used for this website. I used the PageMix theme from MultiThemes, an Italian developer. They offer themes at quite a reasonable price for what you get. They even have a few simple themes available at no cost that help the neophyte learn how they work.
Themes are very helpful, but there are also plug-ins built for RapidWeaver that simplify building web pages. Your Head Software offers a number of plug-ins. My home page was built using the Stacks plug-in and the gallery pages were made with the Collage plug-in. The Method and Resume pages were both built with the Accordion plug-in. All of these plug-ins came from Your Head. For months, I used the RapidAlbum photo gallery plug-in, which is free from Mackie Software. I have never required support from the third party developers, but I needed a bit of help from RealMac once and they were better than any company I have ever dealt with.
There is FaceBook and Flickr, but why not try to be more independent? Even if I am the only one who visits the site, at least I know who created it and the domain name is mine to keep as long as I keep it registered.
HDR and The Zone System
March 14, 2010 - 13:10
I set up a new gallery today just for monochrome photographs. Monochrome, otherwise known as ‘black and white’, is my favorite medium because it uses shape and texture to form an image rather than color. Monochrome conveys a feeling of nostalgia or timelessness and communicates mood with form and texture. It is also easier for the ‘analog’ photographer to control image contrast and tonal width using exposure, chemistry temperature, and development time.
While at the Silverdale Art Walk last Friday, a photographer who works with digital processes visited my venue. He explained high dynamic range (HDR) imaging to me. This process involves taking a series of digital photographs using successively low to high exposure values. I assume that those exposures are 1/3 to a full stop apart from each other. Using Adobe Photoshop, the RAW format images are blended together so that the lowest exposure values can be printed closer to the highest exposure values to minimize darkened shadows or blown-out highlights, thereby controlling contrast. This requires expensive high-end digital equipment, computers, and imaging software to create the final print.
The Zone System, developed by Ansel Adams, produces a similar effect. Density values on developed film range from Zone I, or pure black on the finished print, to Zone X which is pure white. Zone V is middle grey. Each zone is different from the next by one exposure value, or f-stop. By exposing the shadows at about Zone V and decreasing development time, a photographer can do essentially the same thing. The increased exposure brings out the details normally hidden in the shadows while the reduced development prevents details in the highlights from blowing out into Zone X, or pure white in the final print. Although this process was developed for sheet film, a photographer can make a series of exposures at various exposure values on roll film and choose the best image from the scan or contact sheet. Each film formulation is different so it takes a bit of experimentation to find the right exposure/development combination for a particular film. Modern film quality is consistent, so one roll of Plus-X film will behave like another roll of Plus-X film under the same exposure and development combination.
Although I have never used the HDR method, I can practice the Zone System with a film camera, a daylight processing tank, standard chemistry, a Nikon scanner, and my Macbook Pro. Best of all, I don’t have to worry about my hard earned money fading into obsolescence when the next digital innovation hits the market.
Not better, just different. I do wonder just how long a digital image will last over time, however.
While at the Silverdale Art Walk last Friday, a photographer who works with digital processes visited my venue. He explained high dynamic range (HDR) imaging to me. This process involves taking a series of digital photographs using successively low to high exposure values. I assume that those exposures are 1/3 to a full stop apart from each other. Using Adobe Photoshop, the RAW format images are blended together so that the lowest exposure values can be printed closer to the highest exposure values to minimize darkened shadows or blown-out highlights, thereby controlling contrast. This requires expensive high-end digital equipment, computers, and imaging software to create the final print.
The Zone System, developed by Ansel Adams, produces a similar effect. Density values on developed film range from Zone I, or pure black on the finished print, to Zone X which is pure white. Zone V is middle grey. Each zone is different from the next by one exposure value, or f-stop. By exposing the shadows at about Zone V and decreasing development time, a photographer can do essentially the same thing. The increased exposure brings out the details normally hidden in the shadows while the reduced development prevents details in the highlights from blowing out into Zone X, or pure white in the final print. Although this process was developed for sheet film, a photographer can make a series of exposures at various exposure values on roll film and choose the best image from the scan or contact sheet. Each film formulation is different so it takes a bit of experimentation to find the right exposure/development combination for a particular film. Modern film quality is consistent, so one roll of Plus-X film will behave like another roll of Plus-X film under the same exposure and development combination.
Although I have never used the HDR method, I can practice the Zone System with a film camera, a daylight processing tank, standard chemistry, a Nikon scanner, and my Macbook Pro. Best of all, I don’t have to worry about my hard earned money fading into obsolescence when the next digital innovation hits the market.
Not better, just different. I do wonder just how long a digital image will last over time, however.
Why The Bother?
February 13, 2010 - 21:33
It seems that most photography that I see on the web or displayed in local exhibits began as a digital image. If you see a photograph on the web it has to be digital, but some do not start that way. I see many people with digital cameras taking pictures and publishing them on a website somewhere, like Flickr, Picasa, or Facebook. The photographs that you see on this website are also digital images, but most of them came from scanned ‘analog’ slides or negatives.
Firing the shutter on a camera is just the first step. If you are a digital photographer, the images still need to be downloaded into a computer and then manipulated somehow with Photoshop or similar software. The result can be surreal dreamlike images, false colors, absurd composites, mosaics, or other fragments of the photographer’s imagination. Sometimes digital images are only cleaned up a bit. The color is adjusted or the edges sharpened. These manipulations can culminate into a work of art, but somehow I think a photograph that begins as a digital image is a derivative of photography that I would rather not explore, at least not yet.
I shoot slides or monochrome print film most of the time. Occasionally I’ll shoot color print film, but I prefer the saturated reds, blues, and yellows of chromes, also known as slide film. Chromes are predicable. As long as the film is fresh, Velvia 100 from one batch looks very much like Velvia 100 from another batch. Monochrome film on the other hand, holds a special fascination for me.
Forrest Gump could have said that monochrome photographs are like a box of chocolates. You never know just what you’ll get. A lot depends on the film and developer combinations. Some of it depends on the temperature of the developer, how the film is exposed, or the length of time that the film is in the ‘soup’. Medium format film, of the 120 or 220 types, gives better definition and finer grain than 35mm negatives can on the same emulsion, but often the characteristic grain of 35mm film contributes to the texture and quality of the resulting photograph and the statement that the photographer is trying to make.
Digital? It is very predictable. It is static. It begs to be manipulated post-production. Digital photography is a legitimate art form, but it is not what I consider authentic. I need a certain level of random variability to make photography exciting. It is one thing to get instant gratification seconds after an image is shot, but it is quite another to savor the anticipation of what I think I have captured on film compared to the photograph that is really on the negative. In one instance, I kinked and damaged a roll of 35mm Fomapan 100 because I had a hard time winding it on the processing reel when I processed it. To make matters worse, the film had doubled up on the reel and the emulsion surfaces of the film contacted each other and stuck together during development, leaving only a few printable frames. Winter Rails was on that roll. It remains one of my favorite prints.
That’s why I bother.
Firing the shutter on a camera is just the first step. If you are a digital photographer, the images still need to be downloaded into a computer and then manipulated somehow with Photoshop or similar software. The result can be surreal dreamlike images, false colors, absurd composites, mosaics, or other fragments of the photographer’s imagination. Sometimes digital images are only cleaned up a bit. The color is adjusted or the edges sharpened. These manipulations can culminate into a work of art, but somehow I think a photograph that begins as a digital image is a derivative of photography that I would rather not explore, at least not yet.
I shoot slides or monochrome print film most of the time. Occasionally I’ll shoot color print film, but I prefer the saturated reds, blues, and yellows of chromes, also known as slide film. Chromes are predicable. As long as the film is fresh, Velvia 100 from one batch looks very much like Velvia 100 from another batch. Monochrome film on the other hand, holds a special fascination for me.
Forrest Gump could have said that monochrome photographs are like a box of chocolates. You never know just what you’ll get. A lot depends on the film and developer combinations. Some of it depends on the temperature of the developer, how the film is exposed, or the length of time that the film is in the ‘soup’. Medium format film, of the 120 or 220 types, gives better definition and finer grain than 35mm negatives can on the same emulsion, but often the characteristic grain of 35mm film contributes to the texture and quality of the resulting photograph and the statement that the photographer is trying to make.
Digital? It is very predictable. It is static. It begs to be manipulated post-production. Digital photography is a legitimate art form, but it is not what I consider authentic. I need a certain level of random variability to make photography exciting. It is one thing to get instant gratification seconds after an image is shot, but it is quite another to savor the anticipation of what I think I have captured on film compared to the photograph that is really on the negative. In one instance, I kinked and damaged a roll of 35mm Fomapan 100 because I had a hard time winding it on the processing reel when I processed it. To make matters worse, the film had doubled up on the reel and the emulsion surfaces of the film contacted each other and stuck together during development, leaving only a few printable frames. Winter Rails was on that roll. It remains one of my favorite prints.
That’s why I bother.
