All At Sea

Greetings folks - today's post is titled both literally and metaphorically.

So let's deal with this 'ere schtuff: 

Photographically, since last October I have felt all at sea. 

It is a weird feeling - part despondancy; part carn't be arsed; part unenthusiastic and part just plain uninterested, and it is a horrible feeling. 

I've been blogging on this 'ere platform since 2012 and I have most of the time found something to say, but I dunno - it's like I've run out of words or something.

In Ursula LeGuin's fine book 'The Furthest Shore', Ged our erstwhile mage travels with a companion to the cities of the dead and finds them mute, both physically and aurally.

For life is all about noise and silence all combined, about laughter, tears, pleasure, pain, loss, regret and hope; but in the lands of the dead, he only finds people going about their business as they might have done whilst alive, but doing so in silence and under a darkened sky.

All life is gone, save the repetitious travails (in a way almost like the Zombie/Shopping Mall thing in Dawn Of The Dead).

When I was younger I found Ursula's description  of the land 'over the wall' both strange and frightening; but now having read it, gosh, ooooooodles of times, I find it to be the most profound description of the silence that accompanies death (as in a house becomes emptier; a once loved contact turns a corner and is gone) and also, indeed (metaphorically) the silencing of all artistic endeavour. 

When I put that and my feelings together in a good ol' early morning thunk, I felt silenced, and not in a good way, because in a good way you can fight it.

This mortal coil shuffles along. 

I am currently surrounded by cancer and age, befudelment and an over-reliance on all things technological.

The world seems intent upon chasing itself up its own backside and me with my little pictures? 

Well we seem pretty insignificant really. 

'Photography', this massive movement of people all a snappin' and a sharin', well it isn't my photography. 

Maybe it isn't yours either, but we can do little about it.

Pretty maudlin eh, but that is the way it has been, and it isn't uncommon! 

Anyway, to these ends, I felt a huge urge to escape and go to a place I only rediscovered about a year ago but have been back to many times since. 

It's a small ex-fishing port along the Angus coast that has the most wonderful derelict old harbour and weird stone formations. 

I've posted photos from there before.

I like it for its NOISE.

The waves can be truly wild there with a great wind whipping in off the North Sea. 

I don't think I've ever been there in 'benign' conditions, and certainly last week. though the sun was out, the wind was punishing and icy.

In other words, it was great!

My mood in the drive out from Dundee was a weird one though.

I was listening to Richard and Linda Thompson's 'I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight' - it's an appropriately weird album - part English/Irish/American/Scots, with harmoniums and brass bands and Thompson's wonderful twangy playing and part longing for change and things that were.

 

For the first track there is this lyric:

Dirty people take what's mine, I can leave them all behind

They can never cross that line, When I get to the border

Sawbones standing at the door, Waiting till I hit the floor

He won't find me anymore, When I get to the border

Monday morning, Monday morning, Closing in on me

I'm packing up and I'm running away, To where nobody picks on me

If you see a box of pine. With a name that looks like mine

Just say I drowned in a barrel of wine

When I got to the border

When I got to the border

A one way ticket's in my hand, Heading for the chosen land

My troubles will all turn to sand, When I get to the border

Salty girl with yellow hair, Waiting in that rocking chair

And if I'm weary I won't care, When I get to the border

Monday morning, Monday morning

Closing in on me, I'm packing up, I'm running away

To where nobody picks on me

The dusty road will smell so sweet, Paved with gold beneath my feet

And I'll be dancing down the street

When I get to the border

When I get to the border

And I think the Thompson's border isn't a physical one, but a metaphorical one, because the lyric is sort of part 18th Century young man running away to sea; part the freedom of The Great American West; part dowdy Great Britain in the 1970's; part Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket.

The only way Thompson's 'singer' can truly escape is in his head and through drink and even death.

 

And the more I thought about that I realised that the freedom of thought that comes from drinking (or whatever) and a profound awareness of one's own end (not that end Simpkins!) is a fundamental part of human-being. 

Death and beyond is a means of escape - yet the border also appears to be hope.

What a dichotomy!

Sorry for getting all serious, but music runs through me like Blackpool (sic) runs through a stick of rock - I like to understand why musician's say the things they do. I also like to think it incredible that music can span the breadth of shite on a pavement, to the stars.

From the crass to the profound; from sheer annoyance to an uplift of the soul.

So driving and listening and reflecting on my own malaise, I realised that it was pointless feeling down about it. 

It's all going to end anyway, so why not enjoy it (after all, I'd had a couple of good photographic trips since it had started) - I just had to keep on going, but possibly, just possibly become more serious about my intent and the images I take.

In other words, I gave myself a bloody good talking to.

I'd packed the 500C/M with 40mm Distagon again with the PME prism fitted - honest, though bigger than a small fridge as a set-up, the PME makes an enormous difference to composing with the 40mm, and especially so where I was headed.

I also used the A16 back, feeling that would help me more with landscapey sort of stuff.

Film was Kodak TMX 100.

The cliffs of this haunt are weird in that they're composed of pebbles, both large and small, trapped in rock. 

Now when you start to think of it, pebbles generally start their lives as much larger pieces of rock, which get eroded and smoothed by time and water and weather and they're on their way to becoming grains of sand.

But at some point in their lives, in amongst all that erosion, these pebbles have become trapped and sedimented and layered into still more rock, until through the movements of the planet they've become exposed again and the erosion process continues over aeons.

It's a bit of an allegory about life when you think about it.

And my little expedition - well, it's a gnat's fart in the face of time.

 

Yet it was time that confronted me, both physically, in the cliffs and metaphorically, in the lyrics and in my exploration.

There's a small sea-cave drilled by tides through the arm of one of the cliffs - it's filled when the tide is in, and empty when it is out - no seaweed attaches itself because the current through it must be very strong - it's more land than sea, but it is all sea.

Take me back two or three thousand years and it was probably pretty much the same - fascinating and tight. 

Despite my modern 'gear' I reckon I'd be the same person.

Despite the trappings of modern life - all technology-based - at the end of the day, the feeling was forced down upon me in the dark, that really, all we need as humans, is food, company, shelter, warmth and love. 

It's pretty basic stuff.

(I think I might relish an old-style life - yeah, very hard, physically demanding, short, but somehow sweet - like Thompson's border.

But I love my life and I know I am incredibly lucky to have had the one I have, but I think, if the chips went down, I could live the way people lived for millenia and not really miss a beat.)

I looked around at the cave as I squeezed through, and worshipped as my ancestors would have done, and then I started taking photographs.

Low tide had been around 7.30AM and I as there for 9.30, but it was incredible how my usually care-free attitude was changed by the fact that I could easily be trapped on the wrong side of the cave - I had to photograph fast!

But what's that sound? 

Oh yes, it's the sound of the reels going as you use a biro to rewind that C90! 

Let me preface things . . on the way to the cave there is a small hut - which appears to be an artist's studio, though I have never seen it open - it is always chocca with condensation . . . hence the first photograph - I took three but that one somehow surmised my confused state.

Also AFTER I'd been through the cave (literally and metaphorically) I spent a good hour trying to make sense of the pier. 

The original harbour can still be seen in places - it is from the 1100's and it's there as foundings for latter structures the most recent of which is cement but cement that has been exposed for a huge amount of time. 

Also, surprise, surprise, the local pebbles have been widely used as an aggregate and so are taken from their release from the cliffs and entrapped once again in man-made cliffs . . .

It's all a tad cozmik isn't it.

I've split the pictures into two sections - the ones above being my confused state and the even greater weirdness of pebbles released from their bounds of nature's time (the cliffs) only to be caught up again in man-made time (the harbour).

The pictures below are the cave itself - on the surface it is pretty dull and ordinary under the glare of bright sun, but inside light and time fade into one, pebbles drop and are caught on the next tide to become sand at some point in their future.

The ones still waiting to fall or be eroded by the sea form the face of a man - a man from time.

And the final picture, a denouement: rocks, pebbles, sand, time and the sea.

All moves on - including me.

They are all scans off the original prints which are made on very old Ilford MGRC - because it is so ancient I've had to up the Grade to 4 - you can see the age of the paper in the final print with the mild off grey of the sea - hey-ho - it has to be used up - they're also selenium toned - just lightly.

As usual all notes are written in 2B pencil on the back so if I want to do something 'proper' in the future (though given the cost of 9.5x12" fibre at the moment  - £90 for 50 sheets - it seems unlikely) I'll have a sort of ballpark.

Oh and the TMX was developed in Fomadon R09 at 1+75.

And that's it.

As my old Mum used to say frequently:

Hope springs eternal.

Spring is here, Summer is just around the corner and I am feeling a bit more enthused - I even found myself looking at gear this week . . so things must be getting better.

And on that note, take care, be good, and I shall just leave you with something the late Ken Dodd said:

"You know you're getting old, because one day you wake up and you've got a bald son."

Have a tattyhillarious time missus.

H xx

To Blakemore

Morning folks - a curious title again, so let me explain.

I was sorry to hear of the death of John Blakemore recently and it struck me as truly sad that he was never really recognised as one of the greats. 

But he was. 

That is as true as a day can be long.

With regard to the photographic representation of the British landscape people will talk about McCullin or Kenna or Godwin or even Ravilious till the cows come home, but John Blakemore? 

No, not so much. 

To me he was quintessentially the personification of British Landscape Photography - a ground-breaker and also grounding-force and I believe that anyone who calls themself a landscape photographer these days owes him a debt, whether they've heard of him or not.

As a young Sheephouse, he was the first photographer I really wanted to emulate.

This was especially the case when I got my hands on a Mamiya TLR, because I felt, truly (and at last, with Medium Format providing a size of negative I found awe-inspiring and satisfying) I could achieve something with photography more akin to what my eyes (and soul) made of the landscape and also what John told me could be done with film and paper.

Regular readers will know that I enmired myself in a certain place after the death of my father and it became a sanctuary of solace. 

There was nothing 'Chocolate Box', or 'The Grand View' there; it was somewhere far more mysterious and atmospheric; very much concerned with the passage of time and my deep sadness; the cycle of life and also the bounteous bounds of Mother Nature herself. 

John's photography made me feel that I could channel my feelings for that place into something tangible . . . and a whole lot more.

As a Graphic Design student, part of my degree show was set aside to photographs of the mystery of the land - it meant that much to me.

Whilst in latter years I never attempted to copy his style, there was a massive something of a hangover from those early years that engaged my perception and made me the photographer I am today, and I thank him for it. 

Lucky to have had two great photographers involved so deeply in one's life - Joseph McKenzie as tutor and mentor and Blakemore as inspiration.

“To be alone in the landscape was a release, a return to the pleasures and pursuits of my childhood which had been lost to me.” John Blakemore

"The Photography Department at Duncan of Jordanstone College Of Art, was the ruby in the pig's arsehole." Joseph McKenzie

Anyway, I recently returned to a place that I hadn't visited for nigh on 15 years.

I'd always longed to get back, but time, circumstances and finances had worked against me, so it was with great delight, that I said YES when my friend Neil from the Forum offered to take me there.

I was suitably equipped (bar one piece of essential equipment - more of that in a minute) with a Gitzo CF tripod and Kirk BH1, the 500C/M with a prism (not a WLF) and the 40mm Distagon. 

The missing equipment was a damn good walking pole to help me get down some impossibly steep and slippery banking, but maybe next time! 

Film was fresh Kodak Tri-X - I've been stockpiling, so it was nice to be able to use something current as it were.

The day though was ghastly, with a wan wind containing a right chill - add that to the water and sheer wet energy (and spray) forcing its way down the gorge and it made for very cold walking. 

The atmosphere though was absolutely wonderful, as was the company. 

Neil bought his digital Leica (the fat one - sorry - can't remember the number) and his 28mm Elmarit - his favourite combination - I suppose when you know how encumbered I was, there's a great deal of advantage to such a set-up. 

Light and unbulky being the main one. 

Also easy to put away if you're dealing with rough as feck ground and semi-dangerous footing.

I suppose the advantage of my set-up was that the tripod made for a good prop going downhill. 

The prism also made it so much easier to view the scene - for a start everything was the right way around and secondly, when working at low angles I was clearly able to see where the tripod legs were intruding into the scene - this has been a bit of a problem in the past as the Distagon is a f4 lens and combine that with Scottish weather and early mornings . . . well.

Anyway, this is all rather moving away from Blakemore and me - I think you can see his influence quite clearly in the following pictures - it wasn't a conscious decision, just stuff that caught my eye. 

"To make a final print is to establish the world of the image, linked to but different from the segment of reality depicted." John Blakemore

They're all printed on Fomabrom Variant fibre with the matt (112) surface - it is DEAD flat and I think somehow lends itself to the images. It also dries very well for a FB. 

I've not tried it in glossy, but in matt (and toned in selenium) it can look remarkably similar to the legendary Forte Polywarmtone, a paper I loved very much.

If you're a printer I have to say, buy some, you get tremendous satisfaction using it, just be aware of the extreme flatness of the image - the paper has not even a whiff of sheen.

Yes I could probably have produced the same thing on Hahnemuhle art paper for a tenth of the cost, but I didn't. 

They were processed in Bellini developer and double-fixed in some Bellini fix with a wee tweak in Selenium just to add some more ooomph to the lower D-Max of matt paper . . oh and on that front, you wouldn't think it, but they were all printed at Grade 4.

I have also had to tickle the black point and contrast in scanning, because the paper is incredibly hard to scan well - the way they look on screen is fairly close (but not quite) to how they look as physical prints.

What you are seeing in the sequence is how I exposed the roll of film, bar the first frame which I didn't have time to print! Not bad going though, considering. 

Oh and if you know where this is, please keep it under your hat - next thing we know it'll be groaning with Insta photo-shoots.

And that, as they say, is that. it's hard to say from blog to blog what is going to come out - sometimes I wheel out the same old guff and other times I surprise myself. 

What I do think though is that writing this blog gives me empetus to keep on creating and that in itself is a positive thing.

That and the inspiration from Mr. Blakemore - weird how something can live with you for decades until you put your finger on it. I have clearly been inspired!

So on that note, take care, be good and remember that rubber trousers are terrible for your skin.

H xx

The Instagram Archive

Morning folks - as you'll know, if you read this nonsense often enough, last July I stopped posting to Instagram after some 120 posts.

Why?

Well I actually have no love for data-harvesting technology, nor am I happy with the way the world is going.

When I was young, if you wanted to be arty that was the way you were; you created, you did the stuff, you practiced until your hand cramped from holding pencils, or more pertinently, went out with a camera and some film and processed it and in the end printed it. 

Now certainly, not a lot has changed, but in a way everything has because nowadays EVERYONE CAN BE AN "ARTISTE"

And I have to say, my generation caused it. 

We made creativity so damn easy that even a farting three-legged dog can make a video, write a book, get a trillion 'likes' and become a celebrity.

And if that floats your boat, FINE, please just don't tell me about it. 

I'm not saying that creativity should be an exclusive thing though, because clearly today it isn't; it's just that I am probably one of many 'sensitive' souls, for whom 'creativity' (natch) is truly a personal process, and probably one that's as deep set in me as which hand I hold a pen with (for want of a better thought.)

And what are us lot doing? We're probably sitting at home, wringing our hands and wondering what on earth we've done.

Because it seems to me, rather like violence, as a society we're become desensitised to the creative process - at least that is my take on it.

Now that everyone is a "CREATIVE", an egalitarian thing which can often be a good thing, old skool creativity seems to be very much at the back of the class (which is fine by me because that's where I always sit.)

And talking of classes, doesn't it seem to you like the whole world is being over-run by some weird, fucked-up version of the 'classic' series 'Fame' . . cough, or even . . cough . . . 'Glee'?

How fucking sad.

Anyway, in my usual Sheephousian way, I am skirting around a point (which is) to Insta or not?

Not only is that the question, but also, how about this . . . . if you do, is there actually any purpose to it?

It's a question that has divided people; some see it as the world having a wee peak into their creative process or a way of staying in touch with like-minded creative souls around the world; sort of like little postcards mailed out en-masse to people you have and haven't met. 

Personally I came to regard it as utterly pointless.

If you're doing it to be noticed (and I think that might have been part of my thinking when I started) it is futile.

You're like a mouse coughing in the midst of a crowd at a football match - nobody is going to hear you. 

Or in Instagram's case actually see you.

It's awash with "creative" stuff.

Petabytes of people doing roughly the same thing - trying to get noticed, or else, as I said earlier, sending postcards.

Yes there is definitely some interesting stuff up there - no two ways about it, but for me, being a grumpy old Hector and at times being extraordinarily proud of both my photographs and prints, and not being able to cross that 2-D divide that splits the whole of image making in two, I thought:

"What's The Point?"

And stopped posting.

And then I tried to get my images and words back, and it was (initially) a total fecking nightmare, until just recently, whereby I discovered I had to do nothing more than export it as a PDF and then merge all the files to achieve that proto-roll of toilet paper that you can see below.

Oh and I needed to print it as a PDF to get rid of all the metadata and then redact all the names of 'likes' . . . . Phewy!

Here

You can access it simply by clicking on the text that says "Here" below the Leica. 

What I am happy about is that I've been able to preserve my writing alongside the images - I dunno - they add  (to me) some of my personality . . kind of  . . cough . . like, erm, cough cough . . . Fay Godwin and Ted Hughes 👀

It should be fully downloadable, but not printable or editable.

It's about 380 MB - go on, use some more of the planet's energy resources why don't you!

Have a look. 

(Hopefully) enjoy it. 

There's a lot of info on there, so have a butchers, because you don't get many of those to the pound.

As for the Instagram account - being updated and cleared out as we speak. 

You can stick your data where the data is 2s and 3s.

Till next time, mony a mickle maks a muckle.

H xx

The Slough Of Despond

No - not that sort of Slough, this is a proper, no-holds-barred, desolate landscape lacking in any creativity whatsoever (actually maybe it IS that Slough after all!) 

It seems that, in keeping other people bouyed up, I've hit a very quiet patch indeed.

I am normally happy, beavering away with my camera at all times, taking pictures of all sorts of crap in the hope that I can print something interesting. I've often been very lucky and at times have surprised myself. 

As it happens, last year I took three pictures that I was truly delighted with - so much so that my enthusiasm tailed off after our holiday and I have neither picked up a camera nor been in the darkroom properly since mid-December. 

This is very unusual for me and was last encountered some 17 years ago when 6 months went by without a glimmer of hope.

I've known quite a few creative types for whom this is nothing unusual - it does seem commonplace actually and I can't really get my head around why it happens.

You've got all the gear (and I mean ALL the gear) and you know you can produce something you're really happy with and yet . . . you get to a point and think wtf am I going to do now?

You will surely recognise it.

I was as adrift as a rudderless and mastless boat on a becalmed sea - a proper Sargasso Moment!

That is until last week.

HP5 And Ilfospeed

My friend and fellow-forumite Neil asked me if I fancied meeting him for a pint in my local boozery as he was in this neck of the woods with his cameras a takin' photees. 

A Holga 6x12 and Nikon FM2 with 20mm UD Nikkor were his weapons of choice. I asked him if he didn't mind me tagging along and I ended up taking the SWC/M.

I was trying to think about well-known SW users and how they approached things and the only two that came to mind were Lee Friedlander and Harry Callahan, so I looked out my copy of Lustrum Press' 'Landscape Theory' and had a look at what Harry had to say and I found this:  

"  . . . (Ansel) gave a short lecture series in Detroit in 1941, and when I saw his closeup landscapes (made from 10 to 25 feet away) I felt I could photograph walls or whatever was available in the midwest. I didn't care about photographing mountains and Ansel freed me to photograph the non-spectacular. I thought I could make a footprint in the sand that would stand as an abstraction of a sand dune in the west."

and also this:

" . . . (people like Gary Winogrand) . . . go out with a certain concept. A picture comes out of their feeling for the situation and their viewpoint in doing it. I think that happens with a view camera on a tripod too. Limitations make for a kind of freedom."

I don't know about you, but these resonated with me. 

I like the idea of limitations - I guess that's why I am so entrenched in film photography - it is the limitations that sort of scratch that it-is-hard-to-do-so-it-must-be-artistic itch. 

I know, I can hear the guffaws from the back - it is a stupid concept isn't it, but limitations no matter what their form really bring out my creative urges. 

I once bought a Paul Reed Smith guitar back in the days of the original factory - it was custom-ordered too and was heaven - easy to play, sounded wonderful, looked incredible, and yet, it all seemed too easy and I actually ended up not playing the guitar AT ALL for about 12 years! 

That's madness. 

That's as mad as Harry Albright reading the end of a book before he starts, just in case he dies.

Anyway, no matter the madness and personal quirks - I almost have always felt that if EVERYTHING is on a plate for you it's not so great for MY creative juices. 

Certainly Bruce from the Online Lightroom would probably disagree with me in his new-found digital evangelist mode (Hi Bruce!) but he is himself and I am myself - for two friends we're as different as Coke and Pepsi.

Anyway, where does that lead us in today's post?

Ah yes, the slough of despond. 

It's a feeling that has been all over me for a couple of months - I've even stopped looking at lenses on Ebay, it is that bad.

And the walk with Neil, whilst great fun, great company and ending up in the pub, proved an old adage of mine - you can't force yourself to take pictures. 

My slough was cemented into place by the fresh roll of Tri-X that didn't play ball (even with some thinking I'd done [box speed and Zone II shadows]) and the whole rigmarole was as bad a dog's dinner that had been eaten, brought up and eaten again. 

In other words and to coin a phrase: Shite.

And yet strangely, I didn't let that deter me. 

I read the above quotes again and on another invite, took myself off to Dollar Glen, a place made all the more magical by really misty conditions.

It can often be hard for the solo photographer to be in company with other photographers, simply because you'll often end up taking the same views, when in reality, landscape is more about your own personal reaction to your surroundings. 

However the company was really good - four good photographers and an artist and I felt confident enough to do things I never normally do . . pictures with people in them. 

Also, being the "mountain goat" . . I don't know about that - I certainly have a goat-like quality (eats anything and beard) . . I was able to get ahead of the pack and dash around cradling the SW on a monopod to my heart's content. 

And that contentment was vast with the most wonderfully imposing surroundings and mist. 

Whoever decided to build a castle (now Castle Campbell - originally Castle Gloom) in this setting knew exactly what they were doing - it's a big uphill all the way and its defensive position is really quite, er, impenetrable. 

I loved it and chided myself on how I've never been there or even heard of it.

You see, already my spirits were lifted by thinking about Harry's comments and being in awe-inspiring countryside with people of a mind to do the same thing.

When the day was over we drove back through an incredible late-winter landscape of mist and low sun - the slough was still gone.

Next day I developed the film. I'd used some HP5 I had hanging around and developed it in 1+75 Fomadon R09, a developer I like a lot.

The negatives looked good - a tad thin perhaps, but on the whole alright and surprisingly sharp considering I was using a monopod. 

So, Thursday, after a very long break indeed, I printed and was very pleased with the results, until I noticed something that appeared to be snow on a misty pic. 

FCECKING BTARDINOUS FCKECKERS - it was only Ilford Mottle!

Fortunately it wasn't too obtrusive, however it is there, so now I am of the conclusion (as this is my THIRD Mottle Incident) that I am getting rid of my stock of Ilford 120 film. Radical I know and there's a fair bit including 13 rolls of SFX, but I just cannot trust them any longer. 

I know they say they have worked stuff through the system, but I can't risk it. 

It's nearly 50 rolls in total.

HP5 And Tetenal

HP5 And Tetenal

HP5 And Tetenal

HP5 And Tetenal

Tri-X And Ilfospeed

My day out had involved time, petrol (not mine I hasten to add), more time, physical effort and perhaps most importantly, unrepeatable light. Why risk those things?

If they ditched the paper style backing paper and switched to more plasticky a la Kodak I'd be happy, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

True, it must be a nightmare, however they're swift to blame things like storage conditions

But remember, 120 film is hermetically sealed, so wtf are they on about? 

All my film is kept cool or frozen in air-tight Sistema boxes, and the film within the boxes is covered in thick layers of clingfilm. 

Humidity is another blame factor - is that when the film is actually in the camera? 

I open and load my films just before I start taking pictures and seal them tight right after - it is highly unlikely that say Frame 4 would be affected by an airborne incident. 

Also notice how there's no mottling at all on the rebates.

So that's it.

Anyway, despite the mottle, the slough has still gone - I feel enthused again and it is maybe because Harry Callahan set my mind adrift on different paths, realising that even with a modicum of gear (albeit GREAT gear) you can achieve something you love if you set your mind to it.

The prints btw were printed on ancient (30-ish years old) Tetenal TT Vario - superb paper, but only printable from Grade 4 up and I now only have 3 sheets left.

There's a few other prints I made though . . this time Grade 3 Ilfospeed - a genuinely wonderful paper with an emulsion that to my eye looks different to MG. 

The tonality is extraordinarily smooth, however Ilford have discontinued it . . so in the printing world, pretty much all we have left is Ilford MG in its variations, Art 300, Kentmere, Fotospeed, sometimes Adox, or old stock. 

That's incredibly sad. 

And also might well dictate how I do things in the future.

Anyway, hope you have enjoyed today's post - it was a herculean effort to get it out here with days left to spare in January.

If you feel like you're going through the slough yourself, remember, there are ways out of it, just start thinking a little differently.

Take care and remember to stop picking your nose.

H xx