For A Brother

Morning folks - hope you are well.

Today's post if going to go all sombre and yet possibly uplifting on you.

It's funny how other people can touch one's life, and not just in the obvious ways like familiial stuff, the kindness of strangers etc etc etc.

No, it is more how things can percolate down the line, so that years later, the smallest thing can be seen to be significant in a way that you only partly understood at the time.

Back in the early 2000's, I was having a conversation on the telling-bone, with my brother - he lived a very long way away indeed in British terms and I lived here on the East coast of Scotia - anyway, during this conversation he said to me . . and this is a direct quote:

"You used to take a good photograph . . ."

And this alluded to (methinks) those dread Polaroid selfies that I wrote about a while back - he'd sort of liked them. We talked some more and he said it some more.

What?

He hadn't even seen any of my Blakemore-alike college landscapes, nor any of my ambitious (yet who gave a monkey's banana?) 'fine' prints, and yet, to him something had stuck and he said it.

And he encouraged me.

Och, I don't know what happened, but it was like a switch being switched on and I once again began to think photographically.

After I graduated (bleedin' years and years ago) I'd wanted to become a proper darkroom worker, but opportunity never smiled, and I gave up the idea in pursuit of becoming the next Jeff Beck. 

All monies were dedicated to the six string sling, and I forgot about my previous ambition for about 17 years. 

Certainly, I did have a camera (an Olympus MjU courtesy of my [soon to be] darling wife) but family life kicked along and that was purely used in the domain of holiday snaps. 

It never occurred to me to go out and seriously take photographs. 

I regret that - what a shame - this City underwent profound changes in those times and I missed it.

So what did I do - yep - I skipped some pension payments and bought myself (with the encouragement of my wife [thanks hon!]) a mid-60's Rollei T and never looked back.

Anyway, life moves on, time passes and eventually people shuffle off this mortal coil; such has recently been the case with my brother who finally succumbed to the dread Big C.

So this post is for him, because, if he hadn't said those words and kickstarted that way of thinking again for me, I probably would never have produced the pictures in this post.

Nor indeed probably any of the content on this blog going all the way back to 2012.

So thank you brother - you stimulated a creative nerve and re-introduced me to a form of self-expression which I still find ultimately satisfying.

The Beyond

Life Flows

These are scans off of real 'fine' prints made on Bergger fibre paper, by me, in my darkroom.

Apparently the Bergger paper is too expensive to manufacture for the moment . . . oh dear - I reckon it is another R.I.P. 

The pictures were taken with a Hasselblad Superwide, on ancient Ilford SFX.

I used a cheapo Kood R72 (equiv) filter and developed the film in Fomadon R09.

Do I have a big smug look on my face? 

You betcha - I could exhibit these were I so inclined, but above all else I find them enormously satisfying.

I forgot to say, that whilst I was taking these in a quiet gorge, with early morning light lifting the trees and setting them over the dense shadows, something remarkable (well remarkable to me) occurred.

A bat flew past me, gently whisked down to the burn, grabbed an insect and nonchalantly flew back past me. 

I've never seen a bat in daytime. 

It is apparently very highly unusual.

Old friend Canadian Bob always says: "Watch for the signs".

Hmmmmm.

Anyway, life goes on, and as a darkroom worker, despite being painted into a corner by lack of people printing and hence the range of traditional photographic papers diminishing rapidly, I still think the silver gelatin print is as valid a form of expression now as it ever was - I just wish more people did it.

And that's it - short but sweet.

But please do me a favour - listen to people. 

Listen to them properly - not just paying lip service and thinking about the next thing you're going to say.

And do me another favour whilst you're at it - encourage them. 

No matter how small or trite what they're doing is - maybe it is ambitious; maybe it is nothing more than scribbling a million Peppas away on a kitchen table or jotting something short (but beautiful) in a notebook. 

Please encourage them.

I think of all the things you can give to people, encouragement is probably the greatest. 

It makes a difference whether you know it or not.

Over and out and till next time - keep watching for the signs.

H xx