The Zone

Morning folks - I hope you are well. 

I know it has been a while, and I have been fairly tardy this year in posting stuff, but it is only because life gets in the way and faced with a mountain of house refurbing, something has had to give. 

This being said I have been taking a fair amount of pictures . . . just not telling anyone about them . . you know me . . . 

Shhhhh . . . . 

Secret Squirrel.

Anyway, today's post (and actually probably the last post of the year) concerns a few things. 

The title "The Zone" refers not just to how I use my faux "sorta' Zone System, but also how one can get oneself into a state of mind whereby you become completely unaware of everything, save, taking photographs.

I was recently asked:

 

"How did you come up with that (sic) composition?" 

to which I replied:

"I actually don't think I do."

It sort of goes like this - I see something that happens to be a part of the general scene around me, set up the camera (because as you'll know by now, I tend to do a great deal with a tripod in tow) pop up the viewfinder hood, woggle the camera about a bit until what I see in the viewfinder looks nice and then proceed to take a picture from there. 

There is no pre-visualisation; no arch-method; nothing at all, save, if it looks good in the viewfinder that'll do for me Sal (oh didn't you jut prefer Tiswas to Swapshop?!)

We were recently away for a bit in a part of Scotland we've never been to - glorious Argyll. 

It is the epitome of Scotland - wild mountains; the sea; dense old forests; moorland; mist; castles and (of course) water . . . lots and lots of water.

Just along the road from where we were staying, was a road bridge over a fairly raging (it had been raining) burn, and, to my delight, beside it, another bridge from an older, slower time. 

From the size of the trees growing out of it and the stonework I reckoned it was at the very least 200 years old and probably much older.

It was certainly in place when the first Ordnance Survey of the area was published in 1850, but as I say it appeared to be much older than that.

Above the two bridges a small (but often raging) burn tumbled down a small gorge and was diverted through a small Hydro system. 

Such things are common in rural Scotland, and it's great thinking because the run-off from the hills is pretty constant.

And it was to this point, one mid-afternoon in late October that I took myself, all be-wellied up and most exposed skin covered (ticks are quite prevalent in certain bits of Scotland). 

The tripod was my old Gitzo CF topped with a new (old) Kirk BH-1 head (about a trillion miles better than an Arca). Meter was the trusty Gossen Lunasix and my camera for the afternoon, a 1980's Mamiya C330F.

The more I use the Mamiya the more I remember what a companion it was at college and also what a formidable camera it is. 

Yes you can spend a ton more on a TLR, but save parallax correction and a lighter (much) camera I doubt you'll get as fine an image. 

I also think this goes up the way too - I've never used a Hasselblad Planar, but the Sekor is around the equal of a Distagon and they're no slouch.

So balancing precariously from stone to stone (it wasn't as slippy as I thought it would be, but all the same) and really taking my time, I donned my time-goggles and slipped into The Zone.

My 'faux' Zone System involves downrating the film, metering for the darkest area of the scene, underexposing that by two stops and taking things from there. That's my base time before I figure in things like filter factors and then, FINALLY, reciprocity. And it works well for me and has done for years and years.

The following seven photographs are all printed by me on ancient Tetenal paper (around 25 to 30 years old apparently). 

If I print with it at Grade 3, it is mud, however Grade 4 brings it alive.

The film was fresh Kodak Tri-X rated at EI 320 and developed in 1+75 Rodinal (Foma R09) - it's a lovely combination and given that my exposure times on most of these was anywhere between 5 and 13 seconds, then I think it has compensated in a wonderful way.

I also ganged ND filters on some of these too.

I'm really happy with them. 

What you can't see is the failing light (and my eyes struggling to deal with it) me criss-crossing the mini-torrent with a camera on a tripod carefully cradled to my chest like a very long-legged child. 

And above all else, you can't hear the noise, which was all-encompassing.

I actually think it was this and the need to concentrate at every step that led to two hours disappearing in 20 minutes.

I've called this (pure concentration on the one thing) The Zone (to myself) for a long time, because your creativity is at its apex - the photograph is everything. 

Your will is concentrated on those 12 images and how they will look.

I guess if I were doing it digitally, I'd be checking my screen after every shot just to make sure it was there, or if it wasn't satisfactory, I would take it again. 

But even after trying to work that way (and willing myself to accept that this should be the way to go) with the Sony A6000, I just can't do it like that. 

I am a film nut, and checking things after every photograph in some way isn't really the point, because I guess what you are doing with film, is placing faith in yourself and your gear and then your craft skills at being able to extract something from a rather strange mechanical/chemical process.

 

I would never be able to replicate that afternoon, so in some perverse, semi-masochistic way, I am throwing myself onto the wiles of time (and hope and, that word again, faith). 

Even with the best gear and techniques still available, THERE ARE NO GUARANTEES.

And it is probably that knowledge that ramps up the concentration, even down to inclining my head as close as possible to the camera, to hear the mild thunk as I lock the mirror up (when I am using a Hasselblad) and then the quite whirr, or sneck as the shutter opens and then counting off the seconds in my head to the point dictated by the meter and my old (but faithful and battered) reciprocity tables.

And then, pick up the camera . . careful with that very slippy looking bit . . . oh that looks interesting, and set up and go through the same process again.

If I were being fanciful, I would say it is quite unlike any other creative pursuit. 

Yes I have done the levitating guitar improvisation thing - when you are working with other people and you get the right syzygy of groove, it is quite extraordinary; when you let the characters in your head and heart run wild and you become a conduit during creative writing and you get to the end and re-read stuff and know it is as good as anything you have ever read, that too is wonderful. 

But I guess because photography is a quasi-mechanical-emotional process (that relies in half on mechanics) it is (unlike the pursuits just mentioned) a (hopefully!) reliably repeatable experience; and in much the same way, the negative becomes a repeatable conduit and encapsulation of your creative energies.

Does that make sense?

Hmmmm, am I getting all yogic-flying on myself? 

Probably.

But it is all actually a bit exhausting, because you get to the end and think to yourself, OK, what have I got here? 

And such was my mindset as I made my way back to the cottage and my wonderful (and patient) wife; wound the film to its end; sealed it up tight and popped it in its tube and then (this being the first afternoon of the holiday) waited for a whole week to develop it.

Faith can be sorely tested on holidays.

And that as they say is that. 

Hope you enjoyed it.

It's nearly Christmas, so I shall wind up for this year and wish you all a Merry Christmas and a hopefully Wonderful New Year. 

The world is in the strangest place I can ever remember. 

My Aunt used to have one of those cheesy posters you used to get from Post Offices and the like, pinned to her kitchen wall. 

It was of two kittens. 

One kitten was cleaning the other kitten and the legend said 

"Why can't people just get on?"

I'll drink to that.

Be good

H xx