The Legacy Shuffle - One Way Around P.A.S.

Morning folks - been a while I know, however I have been a beavering away again and have only just found time to get into the darkroom. But it has been fine - makes one appreciate the finer things as it were!

Also, not just going in and banging off some prints has made me realise that P.A.S. (Print Accumulation Syndrome) can be largely pointless at my time of life.

A strange statement? 

Well not really, because there comes a time that one realises the mortal coil is moving on and at the end of the day, someone will have to deal with the tons of old prints and negatives you've shuffled away from and left behind. 

Oh yes, one can't beat facing one's own demise to sharpen the mind!

The Late, Great Agfa MCC
Archivally processed
Selenium toned
5x4 Kodak TXP Negative

Luckily I sorted out my negatives years ago. 

It was time-consuming, but simple and ultimately useful in the long run too. 

Am I looking for an image I remember taking a couple of decades back? 

Well, that is easy, refer to the contact print, look at the corresponding details that are written on the back, search through appropriate negatives and bing, you're there.

Shooting across multiple formats as I have done over years meant that rather than just having a big mass of negative sleeves and no idea, I spent a bit of cash and got organised. 

First things first, divide negatives into formats. 

Sadly if you've not written the date on the negative sleeve, you've got a problem right off. You'll need to stretch your mind (if you can be bothered) however it is worth it. 

I tend to number my films in the following manner:

35/001 (for the first one) and progress from there. Luckily I have detailed in notebooks which camera I used, where it was and the date. I then ALWAYS make a contact print of said film and file them away chronologically (and notated on the back) in boxes (old 8x10 paper boxes) for the format, which is clearly marked on the outside: 35mm Contacts 35/001 to 35/999 (whatever number of contacts are in there).

Then there's 6x6, so 66/001 - same procedure as above. Brief dalliances with a 6x9 box camera and the two 6x7 cameras I have owned are marked 67/001 and 69/001. There is a slight twist to the 66 ones - I now have a 645 back for the Hasselblad, so that is lumped under 66, however notated 66/333/645/1 (meaning the Three Hundred and Thirty Third 6x6 negative set, but the first 645). 

It makes sense to me. 

Again, they are all contacted and filed away.

5x4 negatives are treated in exactly the same manner.

I store my negatives separately per format too - it just makes things so much easier. 

The boxes I use are the clamshell CXD ones which have a solid 4-ring binder system in them - they're not massively expensive yet are extremely sturdy. 

The negatives themselves are stored in either Print File or Clearfile Archival sleeves. 

I really hate glassine sleeves simply because you cannot see what is going on without removing the negatives from them - plus, if you've got an accidental wet hand in the darkroom and are trying to remove a new negative, the glassine can become difficult to say the least.

And that's yer negs sorted! 

Easy eh. 

It does take time, but in my humble opinion it is time well spent, especially because it will force you to re-examine your own archive. Believe me, you have some gems in there!

One thing I did a few months back was join (well, not really join, more turn up and introduce myself!) the Photography Forum at Dundee's DCA. 

It is a loose collection of really good photographers, all with their own take on things and, every month, some truly surprising and enjoyable images. 

From my own point of view it has made me focus on what I am going to take along, and this in turn has made me go a huntin' through Ye Olde Negatives And Contacts to find something to print. 

This is a good thing.

Now I could just be going through the old piles of prints searching for chiff chaff, however now I have a point of focus I want to print new stuff. 

Not only that, but a lot of those old legacy prints, are, to coin a common parlance . . S.H.I.T.E. 

Printing is a life-long learning experience. 

There, that is that out of the way.

Aside from the life-enhancing qualities, it is also fun, however it can often be utterly frustrating and demanding (weirdly both physically and mentally) but at the end of the day it beats hanging about on the corner with the lads, smoking tabs and drinking beer.

Also (despite what you've probably seen written or vlogged to death) it need not be complicated. 

In fact, it can be as simple or as complicated as you like. 

A lot of beginners feel they need to dive deep into split-grade/lith/f-stop timing/analysers etc etc etc. Well, I'm here to tell you, YOU DON'T.

Actually, you don't need much more than the bare basics:

Enlarger (or controllable light source if you are contact printing)

Easel (always handy but masks made from card, or print corners held down with masking tape can suffice)

Grain focuser (I used to poo poo these, but as my eyesight has got worse, completely rely on one  - the wee Paterson Minor is a good place to start)

Four Trays (or more - they're always handy) 

Jug and measuring receptacles (I use cheap jugs from hardware shops - they last for years)

And that is it. 

Your darkroom doesn't even need a dedicated water source. 

Certainly it is handy, but for myself, I don't have one and get along fine. 

You use a tray as your print washer. Dedicated print washers are expensive though handy, but until you feel you need one, it is easy enough to wash in a tray under a slowly running tap or steeping the print in multiple changes of water. 

If you're printing with RC paper, washing does not take long; if you're using fibre it will take longer, however any of the wash aids (Ilford, Kodak etc) used before washing drop the time dramatically.

SIMPLE.

The Late, Great Agfa MCC
Archivally processed
Selenium toned
5x4 Kodak TMX 400 Negative

All the scans in this post were produced from prints made with the bare minimum of equipment - albeit, given my decades long investment in the craft, decent equipment.

They were printed on my last five sheets of 9.5 x 12" Agfa MCC fibre. 

This was a wonderful paper. 

I got the box from the late, great Sandy Sharp when he was shutting the doors on his darkroom. 

Initially I thought it was fogged, especially given that there is a sticker on the box reading "£30, Mr Cad, 2006"; however a couple of sheets in and it was fine. 

As a paper it has always elicited a response - not down to the printing, more down to the lovely slightly warm quality, and the exceptional D-Max and surface. 

Ah, it was great, and I know Adox still make it's equivalent, however it really is too rich for my blood in these post-Brexit times - well over £100 for a box of 50 sheets. You could make some very expensive mistakes.

Anyway, I'd been sitting on 5 sheets for a few years now, and decided to go for it. With the exception of one print (the brown one) I was very pleased with the results, and passed around at the DCA they got some very kind (and, working as a lone photographer) encouraging, comments.

Anyway, that was a brief aside.

As I said I have boxes of old prints. A lot of them I like, and a lot of them I think are pretty awful. 

I'll keep the ones I like.

But, and here's where my new point of focus comes in - I am now re-examining my archive of negatives with a view to creating an archive of prints that might not necessarily end up in a skip. 

In other words, I am trying to imbue my decades of photographic tinkering with an air of GRAVITAS. 

And I think there is only one way to do that, and it is to present your prints as if they mean something. 

In other words, they're not just a collection of random images presented on varying paper formats in varying ratios of image size. 

Bruce from The Online Darkroom and I have slightly conflicting views about this - he thinks getting a book or two made by the likes of Blurb is the answer. To an extent, yes, I agree with him, however I think that is really just the gravy on the main feast. 

Books perish. 

Yes it can take a hell of a long time, but they do. 

They get handled a lot if they're good; people are less than careful with them so pages get scubby and dog-eared; they can suffer from poor storage and get foxy - a ghastly thing! 

They can be leant out to other people to never return . . . you know the sort of thing. 

So while they may be precious to the next generation along, two generations down they are just some old books produced by someone you've never known, but who was related to you.

There are no guarantees a proper archive won't be treated in the same way; it could well be lost or disposed of, however, I feel it might have more of a fighting chance. 

You are sort of armour plating it for an unknown future. 

As such, it has to be as damn near perfect as it can be.

It has to say, to someone in the future: "There Is Worth In Me." 

And not just monetary worth, but worth garnered from your (the photographer and instigator) images of a world passed by.

It is no wonder we look at the collections of vintage prints held in archives around the world and hold them in some sort of reverence. Granted, the majority of photographic collections are from The Gods Of The Shutter, but all the same, there must be, in cupboards or dusty attics, cardboard boxes and plastic boxes, an Everyman Archive.

Images too precious to be disposed of: Mum, Dad, them in love; a lost sibling; a treasured pet long gone; a carefully made and contact printed 8x10" of some trees you thought were beautiful. You know the sort of thing.

So what I am saying is: solidify, for future generations, the importance of that.

The world of the photograph is dying. The world of the image lives on, on SD cards, hard drives, in servers around the world, and yet, for want of a better expression, it is ephemeral.

I won't go into the whys and wherefores of 1's and 0's vs. physical media - it is too long and too dull, however what I will say, to you . . . yes, you there with a print in your hand . . . is that what you are holding is a precious object, of value far more than its physical form. 

You are holding time. 

You are a Master Time Lord. 

That moment you have captured and decided to make physical will never exist again, so why not give it a decent chance of a future.

The prints have to be the best you can make - they have to be consistent, printed beautifully and processed to archival standards. 

They have to be presented in archival polyester sleeves and stored in archival clamshell boxes. There are archival sleeves and archival sleeves - I can truly recommend Secol HC. 

I use them.

They are not flimsy; they protect a print perfectly and are manufactured in the UK from completely inert and Acid-Free 80 Micron polyester film, making them safe for photographic and paper long-term archival storage.

They are not cheap, but they fill one with a confidence that 100 years down the line they'll still be doing their job.

Museums use them . . . 'nuff said.

Now all this sounds a bit extreme, but in reality I genuinely feel it is worth it. 

And you know what? If you're a digi-bunny, you can join in the fun too! 

There are archival inks out there (albeit probably more expensive than making a silver print!) and printing them onto an archival paper will give you a good running chance. 

Your main danger (as is also the case with a silver print) will be exposure to UV. 

It is a killer. 

Even reflected UV can take its toll - you can see that on the spines of books, CDs, DVDs that you might have on display, but not stored in direct light. The spines will be faded. It isn't always the case, but especially with modern books it often is.

So beware. A good quality clamshell is probably sensible.

Anyway, if this has set you thinking, GOOD.

It has always been the aim of FogBlog to get people thinking about things.

The Late, Great Agfa MCC
Badly printed, saved by bleaching.
Archivally processed
Selenium toned
5x4 Kodak Ilford HP5 Negative

The Late, Great Agfa MCC
Archivally processed
Selenium toned
5x4 Kodak TMX 100 Negative

The Late, Great Agfa MCC
Archivally processed
Selenium toned
5x4 Ilford Delta 100 Negative

And that, as they say, is about it.

You can do it. 

Think about it and give it a damn good shot.

Someday, decades from now, someone could be looking at your stuff and saying: 

"Damn, how did this survive?"

As with all things in life, there are no guarantees, you can only give it your best shot. 

But rather than sending off a wee balsawood craft into the stream of time, why not make it more seaworthy?

"Ship-shape and Bristol fashion!" is what my dear old Mum used to say, and who am I to disagree with her?

And that's it for this year folks - normally I do a round-robin, but it was becoming old hat and besides the robin needed his bonnet back. 

There will be more posts next year, but until then, Season's Greetings to you all. 

Peace.

H xx

Scouringburn Memory

OK, this was called "Adventures In The Poley Triangle" - an intriguing title I grant you, however, not very inspiring, so I changed it.
So if you'll excuse me, I'll skip the guff and just plop you down on a map, oh, and there's a Mace bag with juice and oatcakes and an emergency flare or two just in case we get separated over there . . .

Poley Triangle

There, that's better isn't it!

(OK map and accurate angles fans, as you can see I have overshot the mark, and then corrected my mistakes with an oval; this is simply because it's not an accurate triangle, more of a metaphorical one, but it is sort of triangular isn't it . . .)

Before we start, the correct pronounciation (though if I'm wrong I'm damn sure Bruce [Dundee's own Viv Meier] will tell you) . . anyway Poley (as in Polepark Road, as in Poley Triangle) is pronounced round 'ere as "Pole-Ee"

OK? 

Good - before you know it you'll be able to say:

"Meh wa's are a' baa dabs."

"Eh. Meh wa's are a' baa dabs an a'"

Which sort of means:

"Goodness me, the children have been kicking a muddy football against my wall."

"I know what you mean. The varmints have been kicking a muddy football against my wall as well."

And just to ease you in to the accent, here's an old Dundee joke . . .

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Fred.

Fred who?

Fred Eggs.

Anyway, enough of this hilarity - the Dundee accent (which is slowly dying) is a peculiar mixture of Scots, Irish and a certain lilt that was apparently naturally cultivated so that people could be heard shouting above the thunderous noise of mill machinery.
You see, mills were this cities heart and soul and there were many many of them.
When the flax trade stopped (pretty much entirely because of the Crimean War, as flax had been imported from Baltic countries) some bright spark came up with a process whereby you could treat natural jute with whale oils (Dundee's other main trade at the time) and make it a workable product that was exported worldwide. 

To get an idea of how huge this industry was, in the 20 years from 1831 to 1851 the population of the city increased from just over 4000 souls to approximately 64500! That's an enormous increase in a short span of time and it just goes to show how much the industry meant to the city. 

There's now no mills operating at all; the last closing in the early 1990's.

So what happens to the places of work no longer needed? Well, they're either done up for flats or they slide.

I'll draw your attention to the map again:

Poley Triangle

By way of explanation, this is a bit of Dundee, that is slowly crumbling, and is largely un-modernised. ie, it has slid, quite massively post-WW II and is still in need of tlc and thought rather than laissez-fair. 

Twenty years and it'll be gone - mind you they were saying that twenty years ago.

There's empty words here

They've done a couple of installations in the old DC Thompsons building and of course there's the marvellous Verdant Works. 

But that's about it. 

Millions needed to get it looking like anything again . . anyway, you see that bit at the conjunction of Brewery Lane, Polepark Road and Brook Street? That's the Coffin Mill, so called for the apparently horrific death of a young millworker there and also because the courtyard bore a resemblance to a coffin.

(It was also the site of another death-knell - the scene of yer young Sheephouse's adventures into the world of the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal with the band 'Warlord'.

Oh yes, it was an old garage in what was a largely falling apart mill, and it was f'ing freezing.

The band?

I didn't last long - they had ideas above their station and the music was, er, cough cough, shite.)

Anyway, here's what that bit of town looked like in 1947 (apparently).

Poley Triangle 1947

That squared-off U of a building, centre bottom is the Coffin Mill . . . and here it is with its famous mid-air hovering red circle . .

Poley Triangle 1947, with hovering red circle

This is the area we are concerned with. 

As you can see it was a hive of industry, but is now an area of dereliction, some done-up-ness, industrial units in old mill buildings and more dereliction.

Having lived not far from here for over 25 years, weirdly I've never explored it properly. There used to be a Comet electricals retailer in the area, and I knew an artist that worked in the WASPS studios, but that was about it. 

It had passed my radar by. 

My itch started itching again though when (governed by the price of a pint [average £3.50 in yer standard Dundee pubs, £2.05 in the Counting House]) I started my monthly-or-so walk into town (to meet old band mates Chic n' Currie) along a new route, which involved Guthrie Street - site of one the earliest mill buildings in Dundee (a flax mill built in 1793).

The buildings have always been bad to my memory, but I was really taken by how ruinous a lot of them are. 

I think most city councils would have flattened the area decades back, but I am glad Dundee hasn't - there's a ton of history here - I think it is called can't-be-arsedness.

Anyway, wishing to take the M2 out for a walk a couple of Saturdays back, I loaded up some ancient TMX 100 and set to!

I have to be honest, I started off thinking pictures of dereliction rather, how shall we say, not immature, but certainly not the work of an experienced eye, simply because it is too damn easy to make them look great! After all, a bit of dereliction brings with it that certain je ne sais quoi of litter, vandalism and just general run-downness; a soupçon of nature doing what nature does bestest - starting to remove all trace of ugly mankind. It is astonishing how buddleia can be so tenacious, but tenacious it is, adhering itself to the smallest of cracks and beginning its not-so-long work of cracking masonry if left unchecked.

Throw in vandals who get a sniff of potential fire-raising situations, no street cleaning, fly-tipping and general neglect and you end up with easy to make pictures which look great because of all the messness and fallingapartness.

Piece of cake!

Leica M2, 35mm f3.5 Summaron, Kodak TMX 100, Pyrocat-HD

It wasn't a day that commended itself to photos - it was overcast and cold and had been raining earlier on in the day, but sometimes you just have to force yourself to get going!

And you know what?
I had a hell of a whale of a time (a Tay whale no less) blazing through all 36 exposures in around an hour, which was astonishing to me - it normally takes me a while to finish a film! What was going on? Well, there was so much to photograph, that I got caught up in the moment.

This being said, there's a lot of camera shake too, and I'll blame that on my boyish enthusiasm.

This Dangerous Area was all fenced-off.
Did that discourage me?
Nah - not me - I might have stubbed my toe though, so I got off lightly.

Weird place for a beauty parlour.
The picture of the bride (?) is unashamedly '70's

Welcome to Douglas Street!

WTF?
Other wot??

Incredibly, this is the entrance to a Convenience Store.
How welcoming and fresh!

Sorry - couldn't resist.

OK, they're not wonderful photographs, but certainly they helped with one thing - they helped me refine my eye and inspired me to go back with Victor The Hasselblad.

Hasselblad 500CM, 60mm CB Distagon, Kodak TMX 100, Pyrocat-HD

I've been using Victor hand-held a bit recently, but I decided for maximum recording of the fine details of urban detritus, a tripod had to be employed. Lens was as always (it's the only one I've got in the V-system) the 60mm Distagon. It's a great lens. equally at home with infinity as it is with closer distances. Film was 2 years past expiry date TMX 100, rated at EI 50 and developed in 1+1+100 Pyrocat-HD.

Anyone fancy a Solero?

Incredibly I fore-went (?) the tripod on the above one. I could barely see the scene above a wall that was at eye-height, so I threw caution to the wind, hyper-focused the Distagon, rested the camera on the wall, pointed it in the general direction, locked the mirror and let rip. Incredibly the verticals are vertical . . . must be a good wall!

Errata: Not Arnotts' Warehouse, but, apparently Arnott's Garage!

The reason it just says "Arno" is because there's the wreck of a car to the right, and I didn't want to include it. Maybe I'll get the full scene one day.

Scouringburn Memory.

I thought there was something strangely tranquil about this.
The chimneys belong to the now derelict Queen Victoria Works.

For all the detritus photos, this last one is my favourite. I've no idea why the tree is on its side.

Brook Street, only became Brook Street in the 1930's, before that it was known as Scouringburn, a real burn or small river which became a natural source of power to the mills.
It is still there, apparently, under the modern Brook Street. 

Shame. 

I prefer the old name, it speaks of times gone and nature subjugated and old memories.

Anyway folks that's enough for now. I think the area will repay visits, so watch this space (as they say).

TTFN now and remember to clean your teeth and pack a fresh pair of underpants just in case.

Amateur Hour

Morning folks and greetings from the land of night.
Tayside has, for nearly a week now, been caught in a repeat system of low pressure and the sun hasn't really shone at all - in fact it has been a week of unrelenting rain and dreichness the like of which I can't ever remember. So on that note, I thought I'd cheer us all up with a trip back in time!

About 30-odd years ago, after my father had died and I had moved away to the all too distant environs of Dundee, my Mother (a woman of great resources and proper Blitz Spirit) battled on valiantly in our little cottage in the middle of nowhere.
I've written a lot about that place because it still means so much to me, however for her it was a rural solitude too far. She did try, but eventually succumbed to the intense loneliness, and, typical of her nature, decided she had to do something about it. So, aided and abetted by my Sister she decided she would like to move back to my Father's birthplace, Lincolnshire. She got a map, stuck a pin in it (literally) and looked at properties in the environs of the pin, ending up in a wonderful wee village about 20 miles from Boston, called South Kyme.

At the time I thought she was mad, truly barking, but after I visited her I realised that she'd made exactly the right choice. South Kyme had (at the time) a pub and a shop/post office and one of the strongest community spirits one could ever wish for. Community spirit isn't for everyone mind, but for Mum is was perfect and exactly the sort of elixir a sorrow and silence-hardened spirit could wish for. They welcomed her with open arms and she, in her typically ebullient nature, made friends quickly.

Her cottage was a semi-detached farm worker's cottage, it was small, cosy, had no front door (because of the prevailing winds), had an inside and outside toilet, an old pig-shed and a wonderfully overgrown garden that needed licking into shape. For Mum it was a panacea. The wonderful sandy soils of Lincolnshire meant she could grow wonderful veg, and everything she touched seemed to turn to green abundance. It was a little oasis of peace and happiness and very much a place of her making.

Ali and I visited it together before we were married (obviously I'd visited it before that too) and then at semi-regular intervals thereafter. When Alex Turnips came along we took him too and he loved the garden, my Mum's cooking and her slightly dotty happiness. The cottage only had two bedrooms - Mum's was at the front, and the guest room was at the rear. This initially had 2 single beds in it, but eventually this was changed to an enormous double on the bottom, double on the top, bunk affair, which took up the majority of the room, but was fun and comfortable.

Yes OK Sheepy, very interesting, but wot has it got to do with us?

OK - nothing actually, but it sort of does, because whilst staying in South Kyme I was fortunate enough to have several really good photographic adventures, so I am going to detail one of them and explain why I have decided to re-print the negatives.

At the time life was photographically very simple for me - I had a couple of cameras, but really all I ever used was my 1965 Rolleiflex T (called Ollie) and a rather spindly but functional Slik tabletop tripod. Metering was done by the ever-present Gossen Lunasix 3S, and apart from a cable release, that as they say was shallot. Incredibly simple really - I had a 16-on conversion kit for Ollie, but I rarely used it. Obviously though, as is so typical of our hobby, I hungered for better gear.

It is so typical isn't it - you always think the grass is greener and the better image is over the next horizon/new camera and life goes onwards till there really isn't much further to go and I've done that.

LF? Yep - TWO 5x4 cameras . . . no 10x8 though, that always seemed a bridge too far from the lugging around point of view. 

Good 35mm? Yep - got a Leica, got a full range of Nikon F stuff too. 

120? Well, yeah apart from the aforementioned Ollie, I also have a really nice old Minolta Autocord with an astonishingly good lens; I've also got the Koni-Omega rapid with the 90mm Super Omegon - again a truly wonderful lens, and really I have taken my 120 leanings to their nadir with the Hasselblad and the 60mm Distagon which is without doubt worthy of its reputation and the best lens I own . . . so where do I go now?

Well it's kind of perverse and in rather the same way that purchasing a Paul Reed Smith customised Custom 24 back in the early 90's (ordered from the factory no less) made me feel that I didn't ever need to struggle with guitar playing and subsequently meant I virtually never played another note on a guitar, so, buying the Hasselblad has all but deflated my photographic sails for the moment. 

I haven't wanted to buy a single thing since buying it, because where do you go? 

And more importantly WHY?

I love using the Hasselblad so much I feel that maybe I should cut-out everything else and just use it but then I know that won't do and I'll want to move into other formats at other points of time . . . and although this is an aside, it was this feeling about using my old cameras that made me think about my friend Ollie The Rollei again and realise that what I had with him was a very special relationship. 

So I started re-examining the several hundred rolls of film I'd taken with him and that led me to remembering photographic journeys and that led me to thinking about my Mum's hoose and hence this blog! 

You see, being a Sheephouse isn't all random stuff - there are sometimes thought processes involved and sometimes they work out fine!

So you've got the setting and the camera - how about film?

At the time I was using a combination of TMAX 100 and HP5+, but what I had forgotten from the notes was that I used Ilford's incredible Perceptol exclusively. 

I think that was Barry Thornton’s influence - I seem to remember him going on about it in "Edge of Darkness" - a great book by the way and well worth reading. In my notes I have written that I used it at a Dilution of 1:3 and at around 24° Centigrade, which seems way too hot, but that's what I have written.

Oh yeah, here's another aside:

Speaking to Bruce and people at Scottish Photographers meetings it seems like organisation of photographic media is something virtually non-existent. 

Why? 

It is easy and about a billion-times worth doing in that you can find things easily. For this blog, I went to my notebooks (which I have kept since film number 28) had a quick trawl through to 2004, scanned the notes, got the film numbers, found the negatives (all numerically organised per format) got the contact prints, again numerically organised and stored in boxes per format and went to the darkroom. The whole exercise took under 5 minutes. 

There was no 

"Oh schhhhhit, where the feck are those fecking negs? I knew I had them here, but they've gone OH SCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIT!" 

Nope, I tra-la-la'd and skipped all the way to the darkroom from my study (a skip of albeit two skips, but all the same). I did the printing and filed everything back where it belongs. 

A Piece of Piddle.

So all I can say to you, is that, if you haven't got your negatives and contacts organised, please spend some time and do so - doesn't take long, can be as simple or not as you like (I like 66/1, 66/2, 66/3 . . or 35/1, 35/2, 35/3, or 54/1 . . . get my drift?) but is so worth doing I shouldn't even be telling you.

Right, onwards with the printing (at last they cry, at last) and here to welcome you to her lovely hoose is my old Mum, Lillian Mary Ellen Rogers - be sure to get some fresh welshcakes and butter too whilst you're on your tenth cup of tea!

Lillian Rogers

Actually, this is from the same bunch of films the prints for the article are from. That one was made on Kodak TMX 100 and developed in dilute Perceptol.
It was made on Ollie the Rollei at f5.6. No idea of the shutter speed though. It was handheld too and demonstrates why Rolleis are probably the ultimate portrait-making tools.
It has captured my Mum perfectly and of a lifetime of photos, I think this is my favourite.
The print of Mum is an older print, on Ilford Grade 2 Galerie - it is untoned, and I made it about 4 years ago. I haven't needed to change any contrast or brightness whilst scanning - it is, as is.

Right, the prints below are all reprints.
I had had a go printing them all back in 2004 when the negatives were made but I always felt the prints made then lacked that certain something and were a bit heavy-handed as it were - you'll know what I mean if you print much - things were either too contrasty or too dark or the balance was off a bit, or I'd just not got things spot on . . . you know the sort of thing.
These reprints were all printed on that ancient Agfa MCC fibre I have been trying to use up, and because of base-fog, they've all been printed at the equivalent of Grade 4 (I dialled in 100 units of Magenta on the DeVere's colour head).
Despite its obvious age, the Agfa is still an extraordinary paper and I fell whilst the scans below are OK, they haven't done any justice to the prints physical qualities - there's an air of the wonderful fenland liquid light visible in the paper which doesn't translate very well to the screen. Och well, that's life I suppose - you could maybe pop over some time and have a cup o' tea and I'll show them to you . . .
The prints are all developed in Fotospeed developer, stopped in Kodak Indicator and fixed in Ilford Rapid and then toned in Kodak Selenium and air dried by hanging from a line in my darkroom using plastic clothes pegs - why plastic? Wooden ones actually transfer splinters to the print! I had to use a little PotFerry on print 3 just to aid the atmosphere, this was thoroughly washed under running water before the selenium - if you don't you end up with mysterious staining.
Oh, and that curious curve to the rebate at the top of every frame? It's the curve of the film as the photographs were taken - these negatives were held in the glass carrier on my DeVere (and were thus utterly flatter than a piece of paper, steam-rollered and then placed under a 20 ton weight - in other words FLAT) and whilst I always do that old photo-journalist trick of braking the feeder spool (with my thumb - thus increasing film tension) as I am loading the take-up spool on Ollie (and indeed any camera that uses 120 film) it has done nothing to take away the horizontal curve across the film's horizontality (as it were) . . . see me afterwards for a more thorough explanation!
See what you think though and I'll detail the wee adventure after . . . just going to go and put the kettle on.

Kyme Fen 1

Kyme Fen 2

Kyme Fen 3

 

 

Kyme Fen 4 

The adventure unfolds:

Now, if you can imagine . . . it doesn't happen very often in this world these days, but I was awoken by a cock crowing! I guess a lot of people would call it annoying, but I think my farm boy genetic roots didn't mind at all - a new day was dawning, so it was up and at 'em!

The light was just greying into life and I left Ali and Joe soundly asleep in the bunks, hauled my 'outdoor' clothes on, grabbed the camera and tripod and crept downstairs and out into the mild and mystical dawn. Dawn, especially in Spring and Summer is my favourite time of day - the air just smells right and there's no noisy cars around, though this being rural Lincolnshire there was a fair bit of haulage going on - farm produce and livestock - that sort of thing.

The Kyme Eau (which is what it is called) will give you an idea of the areas deep roots, and though that is a Norman name, in reality this little piece of heaven was undrained Fenland occupied by fishers and farmers right back into the Neolithic.
There was a fantastic book about SK by Margaret Newton - it was called "South Kyme - The History Of A Fenland Village" (ISBN 0952481804) . . . good luck finding a copy if you're interested!

Anyway, luckily for me, even though the area is 'proper' working farmland and has been worked and worked for centuries, somehow the light which must have shone over those olden Fens has been retained and there is an air of stepping back in time (despite the telegraph poles in KF 2 and rubbish like the MacDonald’s carton in KF 4).

On that morning that light existed.
It is watery and soft and translates beautifully into silvery greys in prints. Honest, it is so transaparent and fresh and quite unlike anywhere else. The skies are big too around that part of the world due to the flatness of the land and this lends a vast airiness to the overall scene.
As I stepped out along The High Street (actually just a road through the village - if you want to see it - Google Maps - put in the postcode LN4 4AD) I could feel an atmosphere gathering. As I often do when setting out to seriously make photographs, the combined weight of all the old 'tog ghosts lands upon my shoulders willing me on to make the most of it.
I turned left and heading towards the Church following the metalled road and then climbed a gate to access the path that runs along the river. The Church is beautiful and was visited a number of times by Henry VIII - it still retains that air of a place cut-off from the world and it really was like stepping back in time.
The fields shimmered with a really heavy dew and my feet and trousers were utterly soaked in a few steps, but what did that matter to me! The dawn chorus was full-on, spiders webs dripped with dew and light and I can truly say that life doesn't really get much better.

Aware of just how fleeting the dawn was, I shot quickly with the Rollei T mounted on my trusty, Bambi-legged Slik tripod and an old Prontor cable release pressed into action.
I surprised myself, getting more soaked as I strode boldly across wet fields. No wellies for me - pah!

Here are the notes I made at the time:

Please excuse the scrawl, but I can read it . . .
And then the sun arose properly bathing me in warmth and light and making my trousers steam! I knew that that was it, I could take no more, but with a little luck I had got what I wanted to get.
The proof though would be in the developing.
I slowly wandered back to Mum's house breathing the fresh air and listening to the sounds of a world awakening.
I let myself in, quietly climbed the incredibly narrow and steep staircase, snecked the latch on the bedroom door, got undressed and slipped back into bed beside a warm wife and (despite the cock still crowing) went back to sleep for another couple of hours.
We got up to my Mum's clatter and her usual "just-to-get-you-going" mega-feast of breakfast and another day of our holiday.


Now that Mum is dead I can look back on those holidays we had there with great fondness for all the laughter and fun and talk.
Ansel Adams once said someone described Edward Weston's Carmel house as "the little house with the big mood" . . . I think I can say the same about South Kyme.


And on a final note:
 

I know most of you probably think it is a faff, however time and again I've found making notes about every film you expose to be revelatory and totally useful at later dates! My original notes were made in a small Tesco notebook, however these days, my notebook of preference is a nice little ruled Moleskine - they're well-made, have acid free paper and the little band to hold the pages together lasts and lasts. I usually detail everything like exposure, lighting conditions, film, film number, developer, temperature, agitation as well as small details of the trip - here's a recent trip:

They really do come to life, especially after a few months have gone and you've forgotten everything you did to make a certain picture. As far as I am concerned, make notes - it's a no-brainer.

TTFN and remember to phone your Mum.