MF's Not Dead

Morning folks - I have to admit that I have been quite tearful recently. 

And why's that? you might ask, and I'll tell you . . .

Muuuuum!! It was that Bruce from The Online Darkroom. Muuuuummmmm!

Ilford FP4+ At Work

But first let me explain myself - I was recently incredibly lucky to be allowed, properly allowed, inside a derelict building. 

No mincing about making sure the rozers haven't seen you . . . oh no, someone actually opened the door! The place was Dundee's Maryfield Tram Depot and for nearly all of its life from 1901 to 1956 it was just that - a massive hangar in which to store trams. 

When the trams were decommissioned it saw life as a property for corporation buses and then reached an ignominious end in the hands of Scottish Water.

It has been empty/derelict for roughly 20 years and was in a state of potential collapse before it caught the eye of Dundee Transport Museum. 

Hopefully, with a TON of cash in the form of funding, and most importantly vision from its board, this wonderful (and large) old building will be brought back to life as just that - a museum that reflects the story of the cities transport systems. 

I can't wait. 

I have to say I do have an affinity with lovely old places (like the depot) that have been treated really badly. 

I dunno, I always feel that there's something of the spirit of the place hanging around in darker corners and eaves and so on, waiting for someone who actually gives a damn to come along and rub their chin and say:

"Well . . . . maybe . . . "

Anyway, a bunch of us from the DCA Photography Forum got a chance to go. 

I packed the Hasselblad SW; the Gossen Lunasix-S; a tripod and some FP4 and had a bloody great time. 

I got home, eagerly processed the film in Pyrocat-HD and then next day made a contact print and winged a snap of it over to Bruce ('cos we do such things) and awaited his (always) considered, objective and knowledgable opinion . . . . and this is what came winging back and what set me off a-blubbin':

You’re going to hate me, Phil, but I think digital is better suited to photographing the interiors of old buildings than film. There, I’ve said it. I spent a while looking at Neil’s (Neil, being another member of the forum) pictures and your contact sheet and I can’t really see any advantages from film. 

Take the “comparison” pics I’ve attached - and I know yours is just a contact so it’s very unfair. But do you see yourself being able to get as much detail and micro contrast out of that scene? That Leica must be some camera as I don’t think I’d have got results like Neil’s from the D700. Neil obviously knows his way around Photoshop or whatever but I think he stays on the tasteful side of editing. The highlights in his comparison pic are spot on I think, loads of detail but light enough that you get the sense of the contrast between the darkness in the building he’s standing in and the adjacent building. Did he use a bit of HDR right enough? If so, he’s done it well. The texture in that scene is amazing. You can see the unevenness on the surface of every brick.

You’re going to have a job getting something like that out of the FP4 because film is HARD compared to digital. In the recent past I might have dismissed the digital shots as, “Well, yeah, that’s the computer doing all the work.” But just concentrating solely on the images and not thinking about the processes, then digital produces better results in most cases. I think that’s what’s changed for me: I’m now more concerned about the print in my hand rather than how it got there. Yes, there’s all the tradition behind film, Minor White, Ralph Gibson, Ansel, etc, but the reality is that these guys used film because it’s all they had and most would have used digital had it been available to them. You’re presumably using MF for sharpness and a lack of grain but digital does that much better. If you use 35mm for grain and a (comparative) lack of sharpness then you’re playing to film’s strength. Basically, digital does MF better than MF but film does 35mm better than digital.

Here's two of Neil's photographs - he was using a Leica M 240 and 21mm Elmarit.

© Neil Robertson

© Neil Robertson

They're good aren't they, and even rather film-like - especially the second one.

Hmmmm - was The Robbins right?

Two boxes of Man-Size Kleenex and a day later, I was still upset; so much so that I sobbed all the way to the darkroom.

I had to prove something to myself, because I respect Bruce's opinion and his judgements of both image and print making. I also respect Neil's photography - he's been doing it for a very long time and has probably used more cameras than you've had hot dinners! And (amongst other things) he's a really good street photographer too.

Anyway, with gritty determination, I fired up the DeVere 504 with the 100mm Vivitar and made some prints. 

It can be unusual making 8 prints from a film that only has 12 frames on it, but I was happy with all of them; in actuality I could probably have printed 11, but stuck at 8 as it gets really hard to dry that many big prints in my tiny darkroom - especially so when you're using a caravan retractable clothes line as your hanging source!

My current image size is 8 x 8" on 9.5 x 12" Ilford MGRC Pearl - that will continue as long as I have that size paper left, after which economics will dictate that I revert to 10 x 8".

The developer I used was some truly ancient Adox MG (it had been in one of those soft pack things for at least a couple of years); they were then double fixed and selenium toned. 

I'm really happy with them.

They're different to Neil's photos - he bought some really fine inkjet prints of them along to the last meeting and we compared notes. 

As I said before, he'd been using a Leica M 240 with a 21mm Elmarit. 

To my eyes they look different, yet in some ways quite similar - especially my sixth one down (compared to his first photograph); his camera picked out details on the wall that were virtually invisible to me (my meter reading for those shadows was EV 1) - such is the nature of modern photography!

Anyway, here's my prints - all scans of the original silver gelatin jobs.

I still think MF is a very valid format - OK it isn't all bells and whistles and hyper-reality, but it does a very good job of conveying space and light and atmosphere (though how you can judge that I have no idea). 

As with all these things, it is also the process itself that ensures its validity. 

I simply wouldn't bother if I were able to check things immediately and then spend the afternoon dealing with them on a computer; I just love the sheer footeriness and downright challenge that Medium Format photography brings; it's a considered and methodical way of doing things to me, and I will continue to do it for as long as I am able.

The thing I would say about MF is, definitely 'professionally' it's as dead as a dodo - you just have to look at the slew of images in this year's Hasselblad Masters competition to realise that THE name in MF, has little interest in its heritage. 

And yet, I'll pose you this question . . how come, old Hasselblads, Rolleis, Mamiyas, Bronicas and Fujis STILL keep selling? 

They're not exactly cheap these days - in fact if you'd had enough money to buy a bundle of 500C/M bodies back in the heyday (1980's) then you'd be making approximately three times what you paid for them.

Is there really a deep-pocketed army of 'advanced amateurs' keeping this going? Or is it the fact that (like me) people realise that roll film is a wonderful and (dare I say it) therapeutic form of photography, whereby you can enjoy a great deal of the scutter that comes with Large Format, with little of the weight and hassle. 

There's no doubt about it, Large Format photography makes you (well it does me) feel like A Photographer. 

There's something primal from photography's early days that fires up every time you see an upside down and reversed ground glass . . .

But the thing is, when I am out somewhere wild with the Hasselblad and I've chosen my point of view and composed, locked the mirror up, watched the scene and then squeezed the cable release, that quite and precise whirr of the shutter makes me feel the same way.

 

I guess it is the Visual Heritage of Medium Format - from Callahan to McKenna (and all points inbetween). 

So much incredible photography has been made with roll film, how could you really go wrong?

MF makes me feel like I am walking in some pretty important footprints and more to the point, makes me feel responsible for preserving a legacy that shouldn't just be allowed to be side-lined by advances in technology.

There, I've said it, Medium Format photography isn't dead . . it doesn't even smell funny. As long as 120 film continues to be made, there'll be a bunch of nutters (and I would call myself a chief nut) out there, revelling in the freedom of (sic) a roll of film.

Bruce and I are still friends by the way - I just wish he'd use his film cameras more these days, and whilst he is currently having a whale of a time with his ancient D700, an as-ancient Epson and some old software, he is (still in my opinion and he can disagree as much as he likes) a film photographer at heart (as he might say, whatever THAT may mean these days).

As always, thanks for reading . . . keep on thinking!

H xx

Mottley Crue

Morning folks - hope you are all feeling chipper, chopper and wearing your chaps, because Spring is coming! 
Up here in the nether-regions, the nights are starting to get lighter, as in you no longer have to shut the curtains at 3 pm.

Today's post is a tale of woe regarding the dread Ilford Mottle. 

You'll know about this, so I'll not bore you to death, however were you aware that you can sort of skirt around it, simply by changing what you photograph? 

Yeah, I sort of went WTF when I realised it too.

Regular readers will know that I have often been regaled by a certain Mr. Bruce Robbins of The Online Darkroom with regard to the fact that I "don't take landscapes with horizons". And you know what? it is true. 

Maybe I've been mottled for a long time given my propensity for having a ton of ancient film hanging around, however, taking the sort of subject matter I take, I can honestly say I've never really noticed it.

It did however come to light recently when I used a roll of Pan F that was older than Methusula . . but I'd used other rolls from the same batch and they had been fine, so imagine my surprise when examining the negatives that there was more mottle on them than a basketful of dalmation puppies! 
I know, you've all gone "Aaaahhhhhh" and cuddled yourself into your jammies and all that and are now thinking about kittens and puppies skipping through fields of daisies playing hide and seek.

Enter the CRUE - feck me, it was horrible: 

A lovely super high contrast shot of a weird graveyard beset by floating alien landers descending in their multitudes. 

Wonderful skyscapes filled with a balloon-fest! 

Sunlit walls covered with blobs of chewing gum. 

You name it, it had it in spades . . . EXCEPT for the shadows. 

You see it only seems to affect the most exposed areas, or rather, it is most apparent in the areas that have had the most exposure; namely anything even-toned like skies or water or sunlit walls. 

Anything in shadow, and even scenes that are nothing but shadow, that is, say, landscapes in woodland, or with some sort of cover, actually seemed to be OK.

My second interaction with the horror of The CRUE was a few weeks back. 

A loch that was nearly totally frozen- it was incredible. 

The ice was beautiful, the stuff that was frozen into place was beautiful. 

I had the Mamiya C330F with me, and was berrating the fact I only had the standard 80mm, but in reality this saved most of my film, because I was forced into a close-view situation rather than my choice of wider views. 

Compositions were tight and often involved homing in on areas that were not evenly toned. 

It still got me of course, ruining a few frames that I really wanted to print. 

But the one image - probably my favourite landscape picture I have ever taken, was untouched and that was because it was 'broken' enough in the lighter areas - i.e. there was enough going on to totally confuse the eye from seeing blobs. 

Plus, there was a large chunk of darkness in it. And remember a Zone III shadow, doesn't really seem to show it at all. 

Now this is all well and good saying, "Only use Ilford film to take pictures of shadow areas" - of course that's preposterous; however in my case and in the case of the older films I have (about 15 ancient, bog standard Ilford) I think I am going to have to think every time I press the shutter. 

This is a hell of a nuisance, though remember I don't take normal landscape pictures so who knows.

The thing I would say about the mottle is that it operates under no rhyme or reason. 

The HP5 (expired October 2022)  I used on the ice shots came from a batch of 10,  8 of which have been perfect. 
The Pan F came from a batch of 5; 3 of which have been perfect for such ancientness. 

Given that the rolls are foil-sealed, the only way the 'moisture' explanation can have occured is its presence in the paper during manufacture. 

But that still doesn't explain why films from the same batches, stored in exactly the same way, can turn out quite differently. 

Nor does it explain why high-toned areas are affected whilst dark-toned ones barely seem to be.

You could go out of your nut thinking about this, but what can you do?
Using film is an operation of trust. 

We trust manufacturers (and kudos to Ilford when I told them about my problems, they were nothing but BRILLIANT) - but photographing is a complex and hope-based thing at the best of times. 

You know: film badly loaded in a reel; off chemicals; bad handling etc etc, but to add to that mix the possibility that what you are using isn't up to snuff . . well . . bring on the straight-jackets.

I now have quite a stash of newer (expires 2025) film - FP4 - lots of it. Plus some  . . . cough . . . Tri-X that I got for the bargain price of £6.40 a roll (I do like it in 120) so I shall put those aside and use my older films first, but only in situations where I am lurking in the shadows, tinkering with my grusset.

Anyway, here's a few pics - the Pan F ones were processed with Fomadon R09 - a very reliable developer; the HP5 ones were developed in Pyrocat-HD  - a good combo too.

 
The icy prints were on extraordinarily old Ilford MGRC (if my box image matching abilities are correct I'd say around the year 2000). 

I simply have to print at Grade 4 with this because at anything less than that it is simply M.U.D. 

But on Grade 4 it looks good - I've got about another 75 sheets of 9.5 x 12" to use, then I'll have to start buying some!

The Alien Attack Pan F pics are extreme enlargements from the contact print, simply because I didn't want to waste any paper printing them! Please excuse the quality. Also please note I wanted to try and make something dreamy out of very ordinary scenery, so added in a deep red filter to make an already contrasty film even more contrasty!

Anyway, HP5+ first:

What appears to be 'ice granules' in some of these are in fact mottles - they're most obvious on the last pic of Neil (I accidentally fired the shutter and moved the tripod at the same time and at the wrong speed . . the streaks are Bromide Drag, but the mottling is obvious on his coat) and the one before it with the frozen, sunken jetty.

And now for Pan F Alien Attack:

Och well, them's the breaks as they say - annoying to say the least, especially when the combination of weather and sunshine and shadows is not repeatable again this year . . . . 

As an amendum to this, I shot another roll of the mottled Pan F (same batch number and expiry) and it was FINE. 
Hmmmmmmmmmmm. 
Basically the whole thing is a shit show.

Anyway, that's it - hope it doesn't affect you, but remember, if you've any doubts, get into some dense undergrowth without any sky and start tinkering with your grussets* - you know it makes sense!

That's all for now.

H xx

* You'll need to listen to Kenneth Williams' "Rambling Syd Rumpo In Concert" for this to make any sense.

Close Encounters (Of The Close Kind)

Morning folks - hope you are all keeping well and positive.

Today's little ditty is about a thing that (strangely) over the years I have come to care about deeply:

Dundee's Closes and Pends.

Er, Wot? I hear you say.

Well, basically they're little lanes and cul-de-sacs in the interstitial spaces between buildings - a throw-back to times when medieval cities grew exponentially as populations increased. 

They were/are messy, tight, dark, surprising and, to my mind, utterly wonderful. 

Many cities still have theirs - I am thinking particularly of York and Chester and lots of European cities, though theirs are as nothing to here. 

Well that's not quite true actually. 

Ours might well have rivalled them all had this city not been subjected to, erm, how shall we put it politely, 'improvements'.

Tear-downs; new this and that; bolstering up; neglect; architectural laissez-faire - you know the sort of thing.

Granted, from reading the evidence, a vast amount of upgrading was required, however, to my mind, and certainly to my mind's eye, one can only imagine what this place would have been like had the medieval/post-medieval city been allowed to remain, AND we hadn't had "the most corrupt council in the UK in the 1960's". 

Oh yes, architectural gems, slums, monuments, you name it and it got pulled down

If you are in any doubts about this bold statement, just ask Brian Cox - you know, the gruff Scots actor (not the physicist). 

Brian can remember a time when this city still wore its poverty with a fierce pride and a distinct bonhomie that was as both surprising (to a newcomer to the city) as it was accepting. 

It wasn't for nothing that Jackie Leven penned the ditty "The Bars Of Dundee". I seem to remember him saying somewhere that the city's hard-drinking culture was a special, but ultimately destructive, thing, but that it had helped him out when he needed a friend.

There is quite a lot of written and photographic evidence of the old city; I actually think there's probably been more books written by Dundonians about their city than there has by anyone about anywhere else. It's that pride thing methinks.

If you are interested, there's a wonderful archive called Photopolis. The majority of the photographs were taken by Mr. Alexander Wilson with his plate camera over a period from the 1870's to 1905!

If you have leisure time, you can find them here

They are wonderful.

Anyway, back to closes and pends. 

Sadly these days, they've mostly been closed off, or left single open-ended for access, resulting in the look of the photographs below - it isn't a happy state.

Pullar's Close 1

Pullar's Close 2

These were taken in Pullar's Close.

It is literally across the road from the wonderful McManus Galleries and yet within the space of a few hundred yards you have gone from somewhere that people care deeply about (the McManus is a fine place to visit - I love it) to a place that literally nobody gives a shit about. 

Indeed, broken waste-water pipes at the back of one of the tenements overshadowing the close is resulting in a proper, medieval shit and bath water pool, the likes of which were banished from the kingdom, oooooh, at least 200 years ago!

But that's the thing - nobody cares.

The bits where the buildings have been shored up have been dealt with in a mess of security gates, razor wire, CCTV, and, perhaps the most heinous of crimes . . .  cement pointing. 

[The latter just means that because Scottish sandstone is relatively 'soft' (in stone terms not soft, but you know what I mean) and cement is inflexible and impermeable, when the stone around a cement-pointed joint wears (because of weather erosion - and it will, that is the nature of the beast) water gets into the small gaps between the pointing and the stone. 

The stone gets wet, stays wet and when a hard Winter comes, the water freezes causing ice bulges, which split and crack the stone. 

It is a natural process, but cement really hastens it along. 

These joints should have a lime pointing which is flexible and breathable. 

It is kinder to the building.

Here endeth today's lesson!]

Anyway, documenting what is left of these wonderful medieval hangovers is something of a project for me and I am thoroughly enjoying it . . . I just wish I had a time machine.

The above negatives were Delta 400 processed in Pyrocat-HD, but I think my metering was well off that day as most of them seem underexposed. I had sort of resigned myself to filing them away and forgetting about them.

However help was at hand in a bit of wayward thinking. 

I have never in my life printed anything on Grade 4 - have you? 

It never seemed necessary, and not only that, on a 'normal' negative, you'll just get pretty much soot and whitewash, so harder grade printing was filed away as a WTF's The Point thing.

However, having recently had Bruce (from The O.D.) enthuse about Wynn Bullock's Stark Tree print - a masterpiece of printing - I revisited his section in the book 'Darkroom' where he mentions using hard grade papers for underexposed negatives. 

A big 'Duuuuuuuuuuuuuur!' thunderclapped over me, of course, that's the whole point of harder grades.

I'll put my forgetfulness down to the fact that most of my negatives are perfect all the time - naturally (he said, tongue in cheek).

So, both of the above were printed on Grade 4 at very short exposures (8 seconds at f22 on the DeVere/Vivitar combo) with about 4 seconds extra for each edge and the skylight bits (which were hard sunshine) got an extra 8 seconds.

I could see, as they emerged in the developer, that they looked lovely, with a glow that made me feel quite proud.

The scans don't really do them justice, but they work as prints.

The paper was bog standard Ilford MGRC and I'll need to print them properly at some point.

The camera was the SWC/M on a monopod.

Seeing as it worked this time I also intend to go back over other underexposed negatives that I have given up on and try the same technique - it was an eye-opener.

And that as they say is that!

I've loads more stuff to come, but am still mid-decoration, so am having to balance time and ladders.

Until we next meet, be good, take care and stop feeding those seagulls.

H xx

Kung Fu Rescue Job

Morning fiends, er friends. 

This morning I am going all glasshopper again, because I was severely let down by an errant roll of film over Christmas and would like to recount the whole sorry tale.

Why Kung Fu?

Ah, the good old 1970's!

Well, if you remember the program, David Carradine always seemed to pull off the impossible no matter the odds.

I felt myself to be in a similar situation when some interesting pictures (conjecture of course - that's my opinion!) were nearly rendered null and void by weirdness.

Despite its epithet as 'Scotland's Sunniest City', weather in Dundee can be overwhelmingly ghastly at times. 

We're shielded by the Grampians from the North and West; we don't poke out into the North Sea to suffer the same banks of fog and extremes that the likes of Fife does; we're too far South and not far enough North (and coastal!) to render most snowfall null and void. 

All in all we can be incredibly grey, and when we get The Grey, we get it in spades.

Into this mix add haar (a lovely Nordic term for cold river and sea water meeting warm air and thus creating banks of weird fog) and you've got a brew made in mad weather heaven. 

You can see haar building in the middle of the Tay; it can start as a whispy white mohican on the river and the next thing you know the whole town is blanketed in chilly mist. 

In the Summer it can be (dare I say it) pleasant, however in the Winter when it has been grey for days, that chill dampness gets into every single fibre of your body. 

I call it East Coast Raw and it really is.

On the other hand, the light on the Tay can be extraordinarily beautiful. 

It was enough to anchor Joseph McKenzie here for decades, and I can quite see why - he once described the light so beautifully to me that it is worth recounting it, albeit through the filter of decades passed. 

There's a liquid silvern quality to it that is at once ethereal and distancing; with the haze and moisture of the river, distance is extended; on clear, haze-free days, distance is compressed; daylight on the river can at times act like a reflector, and if that reflection is caught by cloud it is reflected back onto the city; it is like a solar North light that evens illumination.

That's the gist of it.

The light can manifest itself at most times of day too, but especially so on a cooler morning as the sun is just rising - lovely stuff and especially so if you're using a film that lends itself to subtle greys.

Despite all this potential, this past Winter has been something else - I do believe it has rained most weekends since the start of November. 

The Grey has cemented itself in. 

It has been pitch (nearly) going to work and the same coming home. 

A ghastly, enthusiasm-sapping wind has blown constantly from every direction and all at once and in most of a lifetime of living here I reckon it was probably the most overcast Winter I have ever experienced. 

On the plus side, it was less cold than usual.

So imagine my joy when the sun came out for a brief time a month or so back - oh boy, I was skipping like a lamb. 

Me and t'missus had a lovely walk, came home, had lunch, and then I stepped out to take some photos.

You know, I love taking pictures with the Hasselblad SWC/M for a couple of really simple reasons. 

Remember when you were young and your Dad let you use the Kodak Instamatic - all you had to do was set the zone focus and press that weird oblong shutter release - Click! 

And that was it until you collected the pictures from the chemists.

Wonderful.

Uncomplicated. 

The image was all there was - no technical footery.

Well, others might disagree, but the Hasselblad Super Wide is just a simple point and shoot, albeit with one of the best lenses ever made stuck on the front.

You load your film holder, attach to camera, remove darkslide, set aperture and speed, adjust focus, squint through weirdly comforting viewfinder and Click!

You know you'll have something (often something epic) and you don't need to worry about any deficiencies in the camera.  

Everything else is operator error.

So, there I was, ready to go and chancing some new and different film - Bergger Panchro 400!

I thought I'd give it a go, just in case. 

I halved box speed because that'll usually do it with most 400 films and set off with a supremely lightweight but high quality picture making maschine.

I was ready for everything.

Ah it was brilliant - Dundee Uni was empty - no students courtesy of CV, just myself and a few old ladies walking their dogs. 

Everywhere was hard, low sun and steep, deep shadow and whilst not intending to photograph buildings, their lines were so enhanced by the light that I couldn't not do it.

An hour and a half slipped by like it was nothing. 

I was really cold, but so fired by what I was seeing that the extreme chill was meaningless.

Have you ever got yourself into one of those Photographic Zen Zones?

It is very akin to when you are improvising music with other people, or when you are writing and the characters take a hold of you and won't let you stop till they're done. 

If you've never experienced either of these, trust me, the similarities are, er, very similar.

In a PZZ, you are led by your eyes. 

Everything looks like a potential scene.

I'll add an epithet to that though, everything can also look like a potential crime-scene if you aren't careful.

You have to exercise a modicum of restraint - it's easy to blaze away, so I have one simple phrase I say to myself:

Would I print that?

If the answer is NO! move on buddy. 

It works for me.

Anyway, back to our trip into madness . . .

I used a tripod pretty much the whole way, just 'cos I wanted the best sharpness I could get; also when you're eyeballing the bubble level on a SW, having it steady before you start footering is an added advantage. I had a brilliant time.

I was so thrilled by what I'd seen that I hoofed it home in double quick time, and because the film was an unknown, decided to use Pyrocat (simply because it has been the most consistent and reliable developer for every film I have ever developed with it.)

18 mins in the developer (yes I know); a couple in a water stop; 5 mins in semi-fresh fix and a couple of washes before I got my mitts onto it.

I was so excited!

And then . . .

GAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHHH!

A cursory examination and the whole film appeared nearly black.

I initially thought the whole film was fogged, and I had no idea how that had happened.

Obviously I was expecting some stain with Pyrocat but this was well beyond my experience of it.

That's them all sleeved below with the LED equivalent of a 60 watt bulb shining behind them.

Not only is there edge fog, there's a general massive amount of base fog over the whole film. 

Allied to this, there's also what appears (at first) to be a scratch on the emulsion (yes, I spent about half an hour minutely going over my film back . . . there was nothing sharp): on even closer examination, the scratch was actually an exposed line within the emulsion itself.

I was absolutely FIZZING.

What a total waste of time and money . . . and I had another 4 rolls of the stuff!

Denser Than A Busload Of Denseness

After I'd calmed down a bit I decided to do a contact print (because I always do a contact print for reference) and it was even more ghastly than I'd thought.

My normal exposure time for PHD negs is 32 seconds at f22 on Grade 2.

This beauty took 56 seconds at f8 on GRADE 5. 

And yes I was using speed matching with the filters.

I think that shows you that it was a tad foggy.

More Fog Than A 1940's Peasouper

I know what you're going to say - you unloaded/loaded that in full sunlight. Not so. All done in subdued light, so put that in yer pipe and smoke it.

I would normally detail all the exposures here, but I'll not waste your time - there's no point.

I was about to exit the darkroom in a total mare, but something clicked in my head and I thought feck it - why not have a go at trying to get some prints?

It was pretty 'orrible and grey outside anyway, so why not?

I've had a few grim sessions in the darkroom in my life - most of them involving underexposed negatives and stupid mistakes.

Most of the underexposure on these is actually a result of the fog interfering with things, a bit like it does in John Carpenter's masterpiece! 

There's details in them thar dark bits, but youse can't see 'em boyo.

I also had to do something that is anathema to me - CROP A NEGATIVE!

I always print full frame - why? Because I prefer to have the scene set on the VF when I take the photo and not use a judicial after-the-event-eye on things. 

No doubt it is faulty thinking from me, but that's just me.

Anyway, it was a heck of a job.

I'll usually do prints on Grade 3 and around 15 secs at f22 - Pyrocat can make timing very consistent, and the DeVere's nuclear bulb makes short work of everything.

With these puppies I was anywhere between 15 and 30 seconds at f16 on Grade 5.

It took me a while to get to that point using test strips, but once I'd dialled it in, I whipped through them quite quickly.

I had to use Grade 5 to punch through the fog - it was the only solution as far as I could see, that would give me something look-at-able.

The paper was some of the last of my Tetenal RC - already a very contrasty paper on Grade 2, so believe me, it was contrasty! I am also now using First Call's soft pack paper developer too, which I think is a variation on the much missed Agfa Neutol. 

It is very good stuff indeed, and won't go off to the same extent, it being in a pouch (I wish I could say that about myself.)

Anyway, here they are in all their tawdry glory. 

I don't mind them at all actually, strangely; I thought I'd hate them. 

It's actually made me want to try printing things softer for a while and see what happens - obviously not with these though.

Most of my negatives are on the denser side of normal, so it might be an interesting experiment.

Oh and print size was 5x7" and the image size is 120mm.

I forgot to say that over Christmas a neighbour very kindly asked "Is this any use to you?" and promptly handed me a Leitz easel over the garden wall!

I reckon its 1950's and it is an ideal size for smaller pieces of paper. 

Anyway, I am using that and it gives me wonderfully thin borders - thinner than a Spiv's 'tache - and on these prints it is just a hair over 3mm.

I print the image on the shorter end of the paper, so there's a nice big holdable bit of white at the bottom.

Not only does it make for a tactile print that is both easy to store and refer to, it also slashes your paper costs!

Onwards glasshopper.

 

Gargh 1

Why not I thought, so I made like a duck with my fingers, but didn't actually realise I'd captured myself in all my grimacing glory. Sorry if I've broke your monitor.

There's a window around the corner from this that is so severely covered with guano, I reckon it is holding the whole building up.

Gargh 2

Dundee Uni's 'Security Centre' - at all times of day it is a faceless maw waiting to capture the unwary. 

In a way it reminds me of a Stasi headquarters - innocuous enough, but they're watching you.

The guano is exquisitely set - I reckon you'd need to take a chisel to it.

Gargh 3

At some point in time, someone thought it would be a good idea to plant these palms right next to a building. 

As you can see they've gone a bit mental and are now obscuring everything. 

This being said I like it - there's an air of mystery to it.

We've a surfeit of palms around the Uni for some reason - must be because we're 'Scotland's Sunniest City'!

Gargh 4

Yes I should have cropped more judiciously and aligned my verticals better. 

It is only slightly out, but it lends a feeling of disquiet to me and I find it visually disturbing. 

Gary Winogrand always said no matter how wide the lens, try and get the left vertical correct and everything else will follow, because we scan a print from left to right (whether consciously or not).

He's bang on.

Those trees are I believe lilacs and they're rather beautiful.

Gargh 5

I had great hopes for this one - it's a bunch of Yuccas squashing themselves against a window in a mad bid to escape. 

It's in the Engineering department at the Uni if you want a butchers . . . but who wants to come to Dundee? 

Ah, you do . . well bring your mask and don't get caught.

Sadly the fog has rendered it like a Grade 0 print on nicely fogged 30 year old Multigrade  . . . with extra fog.

Gargh 6

Which brings me to my last choice. I know where this is, and I'll keep it that way. There's something about the juxtaposition of trees and concrete that I have to keep photographing it - in fact now at the start of February I've taken another 5 photos of it at differing times of day. 

It's weirdly beautiful and I wish it wasn't chuffing phogged!

This being said the phogging has leant the print something of a warmth and also an older look. 

T'missus instantly said "that looks 30's Bauhaus"', and I tend to agree with her.

The incredible sharpness and lack of distortion from the Biogon is, to me, remarkable.

And that's the end of this sorry tale.

At least I managed to rescue something - I was chanelling Caine - he helped greatly. 

When I said thank you, he just adjusted his hat and bag, gently opened the darkroom door and moved off quietly into the gathering dusk. 

I could hear his flute for a long time after.

As for Bergger. Well don't let it put you off - their Fibre paper is lovely stuff, and to be fair to them, after I contacted them and said:

Wot's this 'ere then? I've got another 4 rolls of this tosh!

they went:

Sacré bleu!

And replaced the whole lot. 

Excellent customer service.

This being said, I doubt I'll be using it again. As I explained to them, when you go to the time and effort of all this and then the medium lets you down badly then you're unlikely to try it again. It was a good job I hadn't driven 40-odd miles and walked another 12.

I had the same thing with Foma 100 Sheet film 10 years back - and I did actually drive and walk those distances, with a bleedin' Sinar F too. The results were utterly awful (for my needs) and I've never used it again.

Anyway, over and out. I'm off to rescue a Chinese Railroad Worker and his family.

"Once mighty waters hurled themselves against rock, and from those two great forces came this gentle sand."

River Boy And The Autumnal Darkness

Well folks - good morning and apologies for the length of time since I last posted anything, but my bloody eye thing isn't really clearing up and to be honest I probably have more swirlies now than I did back at the start of the Summer. 

If you've ever seen Quatermass And The Pit, where one of the workmen drilling into the alien craft disturbs something, is chased by a telekinetic vision of Martian life and is heard to utter:

"They were jumping, leaping through the air, in and out, them big places . . . in and out of them . . huge, right up into the sky!"

Well, that's what a PVD can be like with floaters!

Anyway, what excuse is that when you have nice little DOF engravings on your lenses? 

Oh YUS! Hyperfocal focusing is a wonderful and useful thing - it's like bungee jumping without knowing whether anyone has attached your bungee to the bridge, but fortunately, physics has clipped you in, so you can jump to your hearts content.

So, have I taken any photographs? 

Oh yes. 

But are they any good? 

Oh no. 

Not really; however there's a few that I do quite like, but that's mostly from the point of view of the light conditions.

The below were taken at dusk (approximately 7.22 PM ST [Scotsman Time]) whilst on holiday.

Having our tea and then heading out with my wife's blessing and a camera around my neck has been something of a feature and great pleasure of holidays for me for a number of years. 

I love the gloam, and especially so when you add in some top-notch countryside.

River Dark 1

I think I love it so, because it takes me back to being a teenager living next to one of the great trout rivers in the South of Scotland and having a quarter mile stretch of riverbank as my own domain. 

I would sit in the oncoming dark and watch trout rise; birds settle for the night; mist rise from fields and gently lay itself over the water; fishermen (unaware of me) about their business; coypu (honest); mink; kingfishers; heron; clouds of flying biters (who never bit).

In fact anything you can think of that could call a river home were my subjects  - I'd have my beady mincers on them all.

And somehow this recent holiday, spent alongside another of Scotland's great rivers, connected me with that time.

It made me think deeply. 

Maybe it was the fact that everywhere I looked, everything looked like something published in Camera Work (and you'll have to look that one up . . Steiglitz' Camera Work - fab Taschen Hardback around at the moment!). 

The glare and fuzz (like an early portrait lens at times) made me deeply aware of my own mortality. 

I'm no spring chicken, but I like to keep healthy and fit; however when something like a PVD (OK - Posterior Vitreous Detachment) happens you realise you're not anything special, just a hummin' bean. 

I felt that the dark was oncoming, both metaphorically, literally and (in my case) physically.

When you start counting the counters, you realise you've spent over half of what you were given and some monkey is pinching your change.

I've just re-read that and realised there are only two possible outcomes to the ageing process.

1. Oh alright then, that's fine. I'll just get my slippers and a nice cup of tea. Remember to close the curtains when you leave.

Or.

2. F**k me! I am going to die. SOON. Right you bastard, I am going to meet you head on (with my crash helmet on of course!) and have a bloody good go at keeping going as my old self for as long as possible.

Age takes everything. 

Your hair; fitness; facial structure (I won't even talk about the beard shaving-off that happened during lockdown . . well OK . . it was like Invasion Of The Body-Snatchers . . . but with Gnomes); mental faculties; memory; word to speech co-ordination; memory . . . 

But what has this got to do with photographs and gloam you might well be asking?

Well hold onto that swig and listen to the sound of birds and a fast running river . . . ah, that's better isn't it!

Well, it's just that in that glorious oncoming dark, with the sun dropping fast behind the hills (which in turn threw the whole river valley into a state of noise and peace) I realised that he was still with me.

He?

Yeah.

Him.

Over there, young chap full of vim and hope. 

I quite like him actually. 

He's not too bothered what you think any more (that's the consequence of being a reformed fat-boy) but he's quietly hoping for a future that isn't too difficult.

He'd really like to do something of consequence with his life, but then the future is darker than the shadows under those sloe bushes. 

He can't read it. 

He can only hope.

The worst thing is that he's leaving this place soon - this bank where he has sat and dreamed and watched and listened. He's only known it for a handful of years, but the time has gone so fast - an all too brief interlude in the noise of life. 

However in that short time, it has eaten him. 

All the serenity and the weight of time and the power of Mother Nature in all her rawness - it's eaten him right away.

He feels at one with the world. 

His soul is at peace - how could it not be? - however the excitement, uncertainty and sheer terror of the future are weighing heavy on him, because (even though he's never heard of Heraclitus) he knows that: 

You really can't step in the same river twice. 

This is it.

He's leaving.

His world will change dramatically.

In truth, he's scared to death.

So yeah, him. 

River Boy.

He got left behind when City Boy, Work Boy was born. 

He was packed away carefully though - mainly because the wrench of pain at having to leave somewhere he felt truly at home was all too much to deal with.

Yet, in the current dark of a quiet 2020 Autumn's evening, beside another powerful river, I realised that he was still there, standing there in the oncoming dark, watching whilst I fussed with focus and composition and light meter.

He'd been waiting, waiting for a moment like this quiet twilight to come forth and say:

It's OK. We're still OK.

Phew!

A while back I said:

"A boy and a river, once joined, can never be parted."

I liked it in a Ray Bradbury-esque sort of way, but it's true.

Me and River Boy - we're so different, but we're oh so the same.

That evening, the similarities struck me like the splash of a big salmon breaking free of its domain to briefly grasp the stars, before crashing back down to a watery reality.

I realised (standing there in really dark conditions - 0 to +1 EV on FP4 if you must know) that he would be well satisfied with the outcome of 40+ years; because here I was, NOW, trying to write (in essence) onto film, the feelings of awe and peace my soul had felt on our old riverbank all those years back. 

I was honouring the nature we both love(d) to the best of my abilities; quietly and with respect; the old intonements of reverence and silence measured by the soft buzz of a shutter. 

My concentration on the process a fit meditation on time and spirit.

Maybe this is all borrocks (as they say in Tokyo) and everyone feels the same. 

Probably. 

At least being Supreme Commander at FB I can please myself and air this and make sense of things.

40 years ago, all this guff would have been confined with brevity, to a diary, to possibly be read by those coming after, or else chucked in a skip. 

It might never have made it anywhere, only internalised, never to see the light of day.

Life is short.

Physical things like a PVD really hammer home how short.

We're not invincible - you don't need me to tell you that.

All the more reason, when you find your natural state of being (and I guess I am lucky, I know that a river runs through me) to pursue it, and if you are fortunate enough, to live it.

Being cut away from that is some sort of purgatory.

Not that I'm saying anything about where we currently live, I'm not, but it's not the same by any stretch of the imagination.

Maybe it is why I hunger for these sort of places - it's a hunt to recapture that state of otherness, yet naturalness, which goes beyond the normal physicality of life.

It's deeper than the life we know. 

It's a well-spring of feeling that transcends time.

Mother Nature will continue long after we have gone. 

I love that.

As for me, whether I am scattered to the winds or buried in the rich soils of the Southern Uplands, somewhere, at some time, along some lost riverbank, me and River Boy will be walking with just the one set of footprints again. 

I know that as completely as anything else.

River Dark 1

River Dark 2

Whatchoo talking about Willis?

You know, I don't know - sometimes I just write and stuff comes out.

Hope it makes you think though. 

If it does, that pleases me.

Right, at last!

Photographically the above were made on Hasselblads. 

The first on a 500 C/M with a 60mm CB Distagon. 

The second with a SWC/M.

Exposures on both were quite long - 6 and a half minutes in the case of the second one - I told you it was getting dark.

The first was HP5+, the second FP4+. 

Both were developed in Pyrocat-HD and printed on (for the first one) Adox MCC, and Agfa MCC for the second - just 'cos.  

The second print was also tootled in Pot-Ferry because the printing was a little heavy-handed.

Adox and Agfa MCC have the same emulsion but the surface's gloss is quite different. The Agfa is a late-90's box I picked up. Lovely stuff!

And that's it really, apart from . . here's a message from our sponsors:

River Boy then and River Boy now. 

River Boy 1978

River Boy 2020

1978 and 2020 respectively - the first was taken by (I think) my Dad - handler of all things photographic at the time, on my old Polaroid, though it could well have been my Mum. The mug contains whole milk with Camp Coffee in it (we couldn't even afford instant! . . and before you ask why I was using Polaroid film if that was the case, the film was around 4 or 5 years old) and that is my second Digestive. I was just in from school, before heading down onto the riverbank in the gloam.

It's a scan off the original Polaroid and has been stored in a very haphazard way over the years and is fading slightly, but then so am I. 

The second is a scan from a negative on Delta 400, taken by t'missus a month ago on a Nikon F3 with the 28mm f2.8 CRC lens - it was quite dark, so it was about a 30th at f4. There's something about it I rather like.

And that's it.

Sometimes you need to do a bit of meditation and that's what I've done here. 

Writing it has explained something about life and growing up to me.

Till the next time, take care and Gods bless.