Showing posts with label Tri-X. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tri-X. Show all posts

Friday, October 19, 2018

Still Here; Still OK.

Far from it for me to wax lyrically about the mundanities of life, but this morning, I had a sort of
Wow! Cosmic!
Moment.



Taken At Dawn
Heavily Cropped Negative, But . .
I Like This - It's WEIRD!


Y'see there I was, at 6.30AM hanging out a line of washing in the preternatural dawn light, that I think is peculiar to Scotland . . not that I've been up before dawn in many places, but certainly comparing it to my experience of English mornings, it's different. Helluva different.
Firstly, there's the smell.
If you've ever read Ray Bradbury, you'll know that a lot of his stories are based in Green Town, Illionois; a sort of distiallation of his childhood, good and bad, all in one place.
It's a place of soda fountains and small town life; parents who love you; friends; adventure; beauty; awareness.  Just plain growing up!
Now that might sound rose-tinted, but it isn't, because there's nearly always danger too:
Weird canyons and strangers, murders, space, ageing, pretty much every single thing of life, good and bad, served up like the supplies in one of those long-vanished Mom and Pop stores you always see in films. 
But above all else in Ray's writing, was his sense of nature.
There's trees and meadows, cliffs and hills, and the one abiding thing above all else, is smell.
That life-infusing smell you get from grass.
All grass, not just freshly mown stuff (though that, of course, gets into your blood).
It's that smell.
A freshness like a world broken free from the shackles mankind is imposing upon it.
There's no fumes, no over-blown artificial scents, no pollution.
Just pure freshness.
And that, to my mind and schnoz, is the Scottish smell.
If you live here, try it.
Get up early and go and have a sniff.
Anyway, there I was with a pair of socks in my hand, sniffing the air, and I glanced up at the pre-dawn sky, and for a couple of minutes or so, the stars were intensified.
Not just bright and clear, but unnaturally so.
It was so noticeably so, that for a moment I was catapulted back in time, to the late 1970's and myself then.


As you might have read elsewhere on FB, I used to live in a semi-remote cottage.
It was a middle of nowhere sort of place, surrounded by trees and hills and a river and space.
There was nowhere quite like it in the Winter and I have only rarely since experienced the deep awesomeness of those Winter skies.
My bedroom had a fairly deep window-ledge - the cottages walls were around 30 inches deep in total (two stone walls, with a rubble infill) - so could accomodate a fairly large arse.
And it was on this I would sit, and (and I know this sounds weird) gaze into my mirror.
Now unusually for me (and my poor Mum and Dad . . . no, they weren't poor as in ill-health, I am talking about church-mouseness) this wasn't a cheap mirror at the time, it was Danish and plastic and made by a company called Termotex.
Here's some images of what I am talking about - mine was PURPLE! to match my purple carpet and lime-green walls . . .




OK,  so it's a mirror - SO WHAT?
Well the whatness was that you could tilt that mirror and fix it so that the mirror was horizontal.
Put this on a window-ledge, angle it slightly towards the darkened sky, position yourself on windowledge, get your headphones on (and a mug of Camp Coffee) and gaze downwards, without neck strain, into a bowl, brim-full of stars.
Ah, y'see, got you there - you thought I'd gone all Narcississsisssi didn't you?
I was quite proud of my improv. skills in this.
It worked wonderfully and I was able, over long hours, to infuse my soul with the movements of planets and stars; cold, hard moonlight and that strangely intense quality of light known as The Twinkle.
I was frequently astonished by meteors.
Of course, the showers are all named these days, but to me they had no names at all.
They needed none, because they cemented a feeling that as a human, you are (no matter siblings, names, parents, possessions) ultimately alone in all this awe-inspiring order and chaos.
It was beautiful, and formed a deep well of peace inside me that I was to draw upon heavily in the Winter of 1979 . . but you've maybe read about that already on FB, so I'll not bore you.
(If you haven't search 1979 at the side . . . it'll bring it up).

Watching the skies move every night made me feel infintesimally small.
I guess that feeling that everything is, ultimately, finite, has influenced my (surprisingly to me) lack of ambition.
But is it a lack?
I am rather proud of the tagline of FB "More Detritus For The Skip Of Eternity".
Is there any point in ambition when it all ends in dust?
Well, it is hard to say.
Certainly if you want to move ahead in this loose conglomeration of folk we call 'society' then lacking ambition is seen as a serious fault.
You can't progress anywhere unless you have 'drive' and 'grit' and that old fashioned word 'vim' and even more un-PC, 'spunk'.
Yet to me that looks like folly.
You can see it on The Apprentice - all these young people, driven to the point of madness, to get a payment off an (admittedly interesting and funny) old man to further their ambition to make a mark on that cold hard sky of stars.
For what?
Self-affirmation?
Money?
A hot urine stain on  the lamp-post of life?
I don't know - it's their lookout and each to their own.
As I often say in the face of everything, you can't judge someone by your own set of ideas, because EVERYONE is different.
Live and let live.
But really, is a lack of ambition that bad? I'll leave that to further convos, and anyway, I have wandered and ambled and look, we're lost in deep country and a heavy mist coming in.

Back to Levi 501's, Dunlop Greenflash and home-dyed t-shirts!
I think that 1970's mirror influenced me in ways I could never have realised at the time.
Let me explain myself . .

Yes, go on then you wittering olde git, get on with it . .  

As you'll maybe know I take a LOT of pictures of reflections. I used to think that that was the influence of looking at other photographers' work, like Ernst Haas and Lee Friedlander, but it now seems to me it is more than that.
Deeper, more a part of me.
I am fascinated with reflections.
As my friend Julian (a long time reader and commenter on FB) said to me recently:

"It's the levels of reality and planes of illusion layered on one another. And your presence as a photographer, literally, in the reflections and shadows."

I pondered that for a couple of weeks.
It was a touching and very pointedly observed, and Julian, I have taken it to heart.
You are right.
These photos aren't just me, they're a part of me.
So, as I stood, frozen like a rabbit in dawn's spotlight, socks in hand, with the stars making their shine, and the presence of a young Sheephouse standing there with me, I said to him, aloud in the quietness:
"Still here; still OK"
And gently beat my chest with my fist to prove it.
And we stood, me and him, and watched those stars we knew, till the dawn clouds drew a thin veil over them, and we continued, hanging socks and pants, trousers and tops, and then came in and wrote this.

That mirror was a fascinating thing.
Not just for its ability to capture the heart of the Night Sky with a modicum of comfort, but also in the way it cut off reflections with a curve; took the glow of my fishtanks and reflected all that green and silvern light across my walls and ceiling.
How it bent reality and took the vastness of the land outside my window and reflected it inward against the window glass.
How it mixed "reality and planes of illusion layered on one another".
Weird eh!

Maybe I am speaking bollocks, but I don't think so.
I do have this habit of self-examining things and trying to find an answer.
It isn't always correct, but it often feels correct to me.
And I suppose that is all one can do as a human.
Examine your actions.
Try and be yourself.
And above all, be nice to other people.
It's not long till you're worm food and bone dust and atoms of star stuff.

Anyway, enuff ov the fillosoffikal schtuff, here's some photos . . not many, but reflections for a reflective mood.
Oh and the mirror?
Smashed by accident. . . R.I.P.



The Girls Of Dundee




We're Closed




Abandoned Cottage




A Quieter Time




Big Balls




Still Here; Still OK


And that's it.
Hope this has left you in a ahem, reflective mood.

Take care, and remember, not everyone is as self-assured as everyone else. little helping hands here and there make a big difference.
Oh and I nearly forgot:

Peese Pudding Hot, Peese Pudding Cold, Peese Pudding In The Pot . . No One Eats It Anymore . . .

Monday, October 09, 2017

A Chance Discovery

Morning folks - do you ever get the feeling that time is playing tricks with you?
I do. I have a mountain of printing to do, but the weekends just seem to run away and before you know it, it's back to the daily usual and nothing done.
Anyway rather than me trying to shoehorn in another Dundee thing (we are The City Of Discovery - literally, Captain Scott's Antarctic ship is berthed here and well worth a visit should you ever decide to visit - but just about every single business in the city tries to fit 'Discovery' into their wording, or so it seems) instead, I will pen a little ditty about coming across something of which I was not aware, but which surprised the heck out of me.

If you've read FogBlog much you'll know of my enormous respect and love for Joseph McKenzie, 'father of modern Scottish Photography' (whatever that is!), mentor, friend for a time and purveyor of jokes, tea, chat and advice. In other words the sort of person anyone would be glad to have around.
Whole days spent in his office, spotting prints and talking and the enormous push towards a degree show, which showed a lot of my landscape photographs . . 
Err, what a fantastic idea eh? 
Go for a graphics degree and end up displaying nearly as much trying-to-get-the-spirit-of-place landscape photographs! 
Ah yes, I was a stone cold genius (read fool) predating the rediscovery of landscape by the masses by oooh a few years (and if you believe that you'll believe anything). 
Still it was a stupid move really, but you know what? I was proud of my photographic exhibition - it is the only one I have ever done.

Anyway, that's away from the main drag - which is the discovery of an image that I personally think is absolutely stunning. 
I found it a few years back (can't remember where, so don't ask) when trawling around for Joe's images on t'net.
It stopped me in my tracks, mainly because I was unaware of its existence, but also because of the technical mastery. 
Now I would say that it appears to be a lithographed print (because it is a poster) so one does wonder whether any tickling-up occurred during the plate-making process. 
You never know. 
It does seem to have that heavy 'graphics' look to it . . 
This was something I practiced, oooh, decades ago when at school and preparing a portfolio for admission to college. 
It's a simple technique - basically, look at something with half closed eyes - your brain will render that down to shapes and light and shadow - then draw it. 
It can also be very useful when taking photographs of iffy subjects too, especially in even dodgier lighting; it renders things down, cuts out superfluous detail and you can get an idea of what a good bit of heavy-handed (or light and delicate!) printing will do to the negative. 
I still use it if I need to.

Back to the poster, though - yes the 'heavy' look is there, but also if you look at the sky below the bridge spans, that looks pretty damn naturally photographic to me. 
The New Tay Railway Bridge bridge opened on the 13th July 1887 - at the time it was a marvel of Scottish Victorian engineering. 
Joe's Centenary photograph gives it an air of wonderful permanence and solidity and dare I say it for something which is so huge - a certain grace and beauty too.
As to the 'graphic' aspect, well certainly he could print anything, and the fireworks do have that aspect, but look closely too - it does have the look of a proper Scottish Summer night, when it never really gets that dark. So, tickling up or not, you decide
Technically, well, it was Joe so more than likely he was using Tri-X and D76 . . it doesn't look like it though does it . . . 
Anyway, that's an aside. 
Here's the poster.
I think it is a technical tour-de-force - let me know what you think.



© Joseph McKenzie Estate 2017





I would dearly love to see the original print . . .
It actually very much reminds me of (if they'd had the same speed on their plates) something that could have appeared in Steiglitz' Camera Work in the early 1900's. 
Maybe that was his intention - it wouldn't surprise me.
If you look closely, you can see, beside the firework traces, the remnants of explosion clouds; those, balanced with the solidity and power, well, one can only wonder at the marvellous happenstance that brought together, light, gunpowder, water, engineering and technical mastery of a medium.
Hands down, it's the best fireworks photograph I have ever seen.
I love it.

Anyway, that is that, more treading water by me till the next 'proper' FB creaks its way out of the fog on its battle-cart . . .

So, before I head, I'll ask you to charge your glasses and raise them to Joe (again).
Photographer, mentor, friend to many, and all-round good egg.
Cheers Joe!


© Joseph McKenzie Estate 2017



TTFN and remember to keep taking the tablets.

Friday, August 15, 2014

Don't Hurry, Don't Worry, And Don't Forget To Eat The Chocolate

Greetings playmates . . . I know, I know . . . it's been a long time hasn't it.
Well, tbh, I've been busy, so blogging has rather taken a back-seat as I have been researching . . . ahem . . . and in no particular order: bedroom furniture, paint, how to repair plaster, plasterer's tools, how to repair render, pipe insulation, lime mortar . . . and in general all things DIY-based. 
It's been hell actually, and it still isn't finished - I havent been able to think a thing about photography . . but you know what . . . maybe that is a good thing.
Here's why.
I think, because you blog about photography, and because you are passionate about it, then people assume that you have to be taking pictures every day.
Much like paraphrasing one of the dead drummers in Spinal Tap 'Have a good time . . . all of the time' it is generally assumed that you are toting a camera with you everywhere you go and you are bringing back screeds of tasty negatives, and printing them off every day to an ever-growing pile of meisterwerks. 



The misrepresentation of what a photographer is supposed to be like. 


Hereoes are for boys aren't they? Well yeah, but in my case I can honestly say that as a fully-grown family man, I still have them too. Mr W.Eugene Smith (above) typically toting a mass of cameras. I prefer picture two which was his more typical set-up.


Anyway, back to the meat and potatoes - bringing home the bacon ALL THE TIME
Well, certainly in my case, this isn't the case. 
Photographing can be a struggle
Sometimes, it can be a pain
And then again (whisper it) much like injecting silica gel into your testicles, sometimes it can be the thing you least want to do in the whole world.
It's an art form and it's your art form, but like most creative processes, it can't be hurried. 
I've been there, wrote the book, made the film, set up the silk screens, mixed the ink and printed the T-Shirts . . really. 
I can say it from experience . . whilst it is good to practice your art as often as you can, sometimes, if you aren't feeling particularly creative, it is often better just to stay in bed . . or in my case, with my nose to the plasterboard, thinking about nothing in particular. 
You simply can't hurry it
I know, I know . . it's a super-competetive world. If you dont get out there NOW, you'll miss that shot. These things can play on your mind, but in reality if you are dashing around, firing off at all-comers when you don't really feel like it, I don't necessarily think you are going to get anything worthwhile.
You've got to make like the Cadbury's Rabbit (Jessica) from the 1980's chocolate ad for Cadbury's Caramel. And if you haven't got a scooby what I am talking about, go and look it up!

Anyway, whilst thinking about nothing in particular, I recently made a very reasonable acquisition for the grand sum of £56. 
It's a 1957 Leitz 90mm f4 Elmar. It's dog-eared and scabby, but the glass is really good.
Now normally I would have dashed around like a mad thing and tested and re-tested .  . . but this time I didn't, simply because of the weight of DIY upon me. Instead, I took it for a walk with my wife whilst we enjoyed some of the lovely Summer weather we had a few weeks back.
The photographs, now I've had some time to digest them, are not outstanding, but they have a quiet air to them which I am rather taken by.
The Elmar (possibly the cheapest M-Mount lens you can find) is a beautifully made, excellent performer and a great deal of fun to use.
Here's some of the results - they work well as pairs:




Numbers 1 & 3






Numbers 16 & 17




Numbers 19 & 26

And that's it folks - film was Tri-X rated at my usual EI 320, developed in 1+50 Rodinal for 14 minutes at about 21 C . . careful with that agitation Eugene - gentle and constant for one minute, then only one gentle inversion every 30 seconds. 
It's a good and Sheephouse approved combo.
Till the next time, wish me luck . . nearly there!


Monday, August 19, 2013

Rise Of The (Junkyard) Robots - Part One

Well folks - if you've read enough of these posts you'll know that I am a fan of a certain old camera - my Rolleiflex T - or Olly as he is known. He's a cheaper Rollei with the Tessar lens as opposed to a Planar or Xenar.
He is the camera I chose when I decided I wanted to start making photographs again - I bought him some, Oooo, ten years ago from the now defunct (and sorely missed) MXV Photographic. Olly cost me the not inconsiderable (at that time and even now) sum of £249 and that included a case and a proper scissor strap too.
Prices on T's have wildly fluctuated, and I have often wondered about that - I think a lot of people just see the name Rollei and are then underwhelmed by the results from the lens, but actually, the lens is rather good, you just have to know how to use it properly.
Forget the world of shooting wide open all the time (it just shows that you have little imagination as a photographer)- on the T, the results will be OK, just not stunning.
Mix it up for close-ups with some Rolleinars and you will end up with a photograph as sharp as any you could ever wish to take. Rolleinars are a close-up accessory and come in 3 sizes, ultimately going from face filling frame, to super-close.
When you have played enough with them, take them off and then stop down to the Tessar's optimum aperture of f11 and you have a different beast altogether.
For years I had stopped well down for landscapes and so on, and it was only latterly that I read about the Tessar being designed to work at its best at f11, so I tried it, and bingo! It took me a long time and a lot of film to try this - surely, I thought, stopping right down will give me the maximum DOF and detail . . surely ? ? ? ?
. . . in other words I was too pig-headed and stupid to try anything other.
Well I was wrong.
At f16 and f22 it is a good lens, don't get me wrong, but, simply put, at f11 it is pretty wonderful.
I've scanned a couple of photos made at that aperture for you to look at below; they were made on Ilford Pan F, developed in HC110.
I wonder if you'll agree with me.
Oh and I used a tripod for those too.


Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504
Don't Fence Me In.
I loved the fact that someone had trimmed this derelict garden, but had left the greenhouse.
Hard to tell from the web, but the detail goes on and on - none too tardy for an 'amateur' camera.
Rolleiflex T at optimum aperture f11, Ilford Pan F, Kodak HC 110
Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504, Untoned.



Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504
Primitive Landscape.
I've made a lot of landscapes over the years, but this is my favourite.
There's a strange 'plasticity' to the image which I find quite 'painterly'.
It happens every now and then with the Tessar and I have no idea why, but can you see what I mean?
This was made on a small foray along the Southern Upland Way - wish I had the time to do the full route.
Rolleiflex T at optimum aperture f11, Ilford Pan F, Kodak HC 110
Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504, Untoned.


In a lot of ways, thinking about things recently, I am almost wondering whether the TLR isn't just the most perfect travel camera. It is small and light enough not to be a pain, and yet you'll have a large negative to give you all the enlargementness you could want. Certainly using a slow film like Pan F (as used above) there is all the detail you could want . . the only hindrance being a tripod.
Anyway, wot's the upshot of me writing about Olly the Rollei?
Well, he's gone.
The film advance has decided to return to a state of shiteness (this happened when I first bought the camera) whereby you can wind a film on and in, expose a frame, and another and then the camera locks, the advance refuses to turn. This is quite upsetting - you hate to see an animal in pain and the same is true of cameras.
The problem is, rather like getting my Nikon F2 serviced and refurbished (£180 from Sover Wong - he will return it to a state of newness, but for someone with limited funds like myself, I simply can't even go there) the cost of a Rollei service from someone decent (not a tinkerer) is going to be prohibitive - you see the shutter is a tad slow too, and I'd rather like the taking lens cleaned of a little bit of haze.
I'd estimate at least £120 and probably more, which is getting into the grounds of, why bother.
You can still (just about) get Mamiya TLRs or Rollecords for not a whole lot more, they're newer too.
So I find (found) myself in somewhat of a dip, and then I remembered . . oh yeah . . years back . . that sub-£50 spontaneous purchase . . a 1958 Minolta Autocord . .
Wha???
Yeah, you remember . . the one you ripped most of the leather off, took the lens apart, cleaned a bit, sorted out the extremely gritty aperture and shutter setting controls, put back together, thought you'd done it wrong and have meant to get sorted ever since . .
Oh yeah . . that camera!
From this dear reader you will imagine me having piles of old cameras just lying around . . I don't, and I hadn't totally forgotten about the Autocord, it is just that Olly was my main MF camera . . . 


1958 Minolta Autocord - Special Risqué Export Model.
Eagle-eyed readers (and those who can see around corners) will see it is sans most of its leather.
To the right you will see a mug handle poking out of its back . . .
Of course it doesn't have a mug handle attached - don't be daft.
Oh and don't worry - it isn't a Nuclear Bomb going off  -I couldn't be arsed with colour balance.


I was sure that in my disassembly of the lenses I hadn't set focus properly, but having a tootle around, I discovered that the taking lens is actually very simply set . . it either has a spacer behind it, or it is screwed flat into its mount . .no tinkering. I had reassembled exactly as I found it. Ergo, unless it had always been a taker of out of focus pictures, the focus must be correct . . but I had to find out . . . .
So I dragged him out of the cupboard, marvelled again at how the shutter and film advance are a million times smoother than the Rollei, stuck a roll of TMX 100 in and proceeded to use him over the holidays.
A couple of the results are below.


Lights, Camera, Action!
For some reason my son has taken to dressing like a 1930's film director.
This was at Dunnotar Castle, after an extreme rain shower followed by 80 Degrees of unusual heat.
Man that guano can't half pong!
As you can see the Autocord has imparted a nicely vintage feel to the image.
Kodak TMX 100, Agfa Rodinal 1:25.
Kentmere VC Select Finegrain, Kodak Polymax, home-made Hypo, Untoned



Into The Unknown
Again, a nicely vintage feel from the lens.
Kodak TMX 100, Agfa Rodinal 1:25.
Kentmere VC Select Finegrain, Kodak Polymax, home-made Hypo, Untoned 

Just to see the quality of the lens.
Individual hairs are very apparent on the negative.
The mottled stippling comes from the surface of the paper.
Kentmere Finegrain is a Matt paper, with a slight surface texture.
It is really lovely stuff.




Now you'll be thinking to yourself . . what?
Sub £50?
That is a bargain!
Well there was a reason for its bargain price . . the taking lens had been cleaned for nigh on 40 years by a nefarious collection of ties, hankies, jacket sleeves etc . . in other words it is well sandpapered!
Here are some pictures of it backlit, just to give you a shock.



I know - it looks like fungus, but in reality it is a good ol' example of
that famous lens affliction of old - Tiekerchiefitis


And of course, what do you get with a lens like that?
Yep . . .flare . . lots of it, so a hood is a prerequisite.
My initial results with the camera when I bought it weren't great, but neither were they bad, however I dunno, I just never clicked with it.
But now?
Well, needs must when the Devil drives . . and not only that, I can counteract the low contrast from a flarey lens by using a stronger/more contrasty film and developer combo . . . the things you learn eh?
The TMX 100/Rodinal combo from the above photos was good (and very smooth - I'd also had good results with the now sadly defunct Neopan 400) but nothing prepared me for the next bunch - TRX 400 and Rodinal.
Grain as crisp as a freshly starched and ironed pair of underpants.
Greys like God's hair.
As I get older I find myself drifting away from the zero grain option in pictures, simply because (and with T-grain films especially) it is getting so fcecking hard to focus a negative onto the baseboard!
My eyes aren't what they were . . even with my Peak focuser . . so grain it is . .
I don't mind, just bring it on!
And flare?
Blasted into oblivion! The negatives are so dense that anything flarey just wimps out and runs off to the corner to hide.
Happy days indeed.
Don't you find it surprising that a lens that looks like it is worthy of being nothing more than a paperweight, can actually produce any images at all, let alone the ones I am going to show you next time.
It brings to mind tales of aerial recon. lenses from WW II, where, hit by pieces of flying shrapnel, the offending chips, gouges and missing chunks of glass were simply painted over with a matt black paint, and photography resumed, with little effect on the images.
I have a 150mm Symmar-S which has a decent sized missing crescent of glass on an inner element - I used a Mattel Matt Black model paint on it (it dries matt-ish, not totally flat, but not bad) and it is absolutely fine - a Sharpie would do the trick too.
Anyway, back to the Minolta . . . it was a Saturday afternoon and having been self-scuppered by not getting out early morning with the Wista, I had to take some photos, so thought I'd have a wander down the Hawkhill.
I loaded her (Minnie . . doesn't everyone give their cameras names???) up with TRX 400, and this time took my meter, which I set to EI 320 (which seems to be a nominally accepted EI for Tri-X 400 - though possibly not quite enough for this combo - should be more like EI 200) got my stomping shoes on and went out, mind alert and eyes open.
And now a  brief aside into the fun world of dimensions . . .


Woooooooah, man, did he just say dimensions?


Yep, I certainly did Space Cadet, so hand me my Cormthruster and make sure the Space FogBluggy has its stabilisers fitted . .it could be a bumpy ride!

I have been thinking lately about photographic satisfaction.
You know what I mean:

There's a lovely scene.
I'll take a photo.
Oh.

It often doesn't end up how you wanted it at all.
So I thought, well that's because you are trying to stuff a lovely 3-Dimensional scene, into a 2-Dimensional object (the print).

Below is an official communication I received from the NAOTLRP (National Association Of Twin Lens Reflex Photographers). I was a bit surprised when I opened the envelope, not least because there was a thrupenny stamp on it. Anyway, after I recovered, I thought it best to pass it on in the interests of all things photographic.
It reads a bit weird, so you are best to speak it aloud (preferably to someone else) in your finest 1947 BBC English accent. It makes perfect sense then.


I say chap.
We've got some bad news.
Corners have to be cut, departments shaved, budgets adjusted, bits snipped off, weight lost . . etc etc . .
So why not make today a happy-chappy sort of day, grab a nice handful of Capstans, adjust your tie properly and head off out and photograph something proper.
You know, something for all intents and purposes Two Dimensional, like an interesting wall.
See what you can do.
That's a good fellow.
Toodle-oo

Runciter Barking (President)



Quite a strange thing to receive don't you think - I do wonder why I was singled out, but there y'go.
Anyway, this rule of flat-earthness is of course a well-known get-out-of-jail technique that has been used by pretty much everyone from the dawn of photography - name the photographer and I will almost guarantee that somewhere in their pantheon, there's a picture of a poster or graffiti or something very flat . . It is seemingly simple, and I always thought something of a cop-out, however I have now come to rethink that actually it is a valid bit of your self-expression (but maybe that's only 'cos I've just taken some photos of something similar).
Anyway, the other thing to remember about photographing flat surfaces is that really for the photo to work you pretty much have to get your film plane parallel with the flat surface (hence all the talk about converging verticals and all that stuff).
This is a strangely obvious thing which it has taken me a loooooong time to understand properly and it probably explains why the majority of my LF photographs are so terrible.
Your film plane equates to a picture frame if you think about it.
It is what your film (and ultimately, barring any darkroom trickery, your print) is positioned against (in a manner of speaking) no matter what you are photographing.
I think if one thinks about the film planes' position when making a photograph, it can help you get an idea of the final image. I certainly did that with the following photographs and it made me more careful and choosy. Obviously I have subconsciously been doing the same thing for a long time in that I like my verticals vertical etc etc, but I'd never thought in terms of film plane positioning before (at least not consciously and conscientiously whilst photographing). And I had certainly never made photographs with a thought in terms of the 2-Dimensional world that is The Print, and how this cross-dimensional challenge might work.
On the other hand, am I reading too much into it?
Isn't a photo, just a photo, just a photo?
I'll leave that for others to discuss - meanwhile Sigismund and his Treens are attacking and I need to defend my borders . .
Zooom, Whoooosh, Blat, Blat.





So where does all this get us?
Well, here's the Contact Sheet.


Contact Sheet


The keen eyed amongst you will notice that the film rebates are not printed to paper black, and that is for the reasons that:
A./ I buggered up the print, and
B./ you have to balance contact prints when your aren't being totally consistent, also web-viewing isn't the best for these things, hence it is lighter than it should be.
All rectifiable in the darkroom though as you will see below.
The images which struck me most were 4 to 9 inclusive . . that central portion.
Yes there are two of my own style of self-portrait in there . . .sometimes when you are wandering around looking down onto a TLR focus screen, you are struck by something, and that was the case with those two, however the others were conscious efforts.
The only problem I found with these, was the Minolta's lack of parallax compensation . . so it was down to my own style of compensation: basically when you are in very close, compose your image, and then lift the camera a few centimetres . . it sort of works actually - it is a bit trial and error, but these things are.
You don't have a parallax problem with Rolleis though - clever and expensive design and all that . . .
But no Rollei, and as I said before Needs must  . . .
Oh, and I used the Rolleinars on frames 4, 5, 6 and 10.
The Tri-X was developed in 1:25 Rodinal at 20° C for 11 minutes. it always amazes me that people don't put their agitation sequences into the equation when they write down what their development times were - agitation can make or break a roll ,and it is quite an organic thing, not the slosh around that most people think it is. My sequence for this was gentle (as always) for the first 30 seconds, then a 10 second sequence every minute and a half, so:
0 (start the 30 second sequence at 0)
then 10 seconds at:
1 minute 30 seconds,
3 minutes,
4 minutes 30 seconds,
6 minutes,
7 minutes 30 seconds,
and then at 9 minutes I gave another 30 second agitation sequence and let the tank stand until 11 minutes.
It could have actually done with slightly more agitation, but I will save that for next time!
And on that (hopefully) tantalising note I am gong to call it a day for the noo.
In the next post, I am going to put on my Mr.Pompous Trousers and round this off by showing you how equipment that could easily be regarded as junk, can actually be employed (with some judicious thought and care) to produce work you can (possibly) be proud of.
Be sure to check out Part Two - loads of people have read this one, but hardly anyone the next one - most perplexing!
There, you can have a break now - bet that feels better already doesn't it!
Take care, God Bless and thanks for reading.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

You don't understand. I could'a had class. I could'a been a contender. I could'a been somebody . . . (In Praise Of Strange Cameras)

Firstly, humble apologies for the lateness of this . . .it was just one of those things.
The weekend FB will be published on Friday evening, so there, forewarned is forearmed.
I must admit, I have a bad habit. It is harmless to everything, except my credit card, but it is fun and makes me happy. It is the acquistion of cameras. I don't go crazy as financially I have never been able to, but I do get such enjoyment from cleaning up that new arrival with the grubby face and being nice to it, that I feel I should be working for Barnado's.
As mentioned in an earlier post, a lot of cameras are treated truly appallingly - it makes no sense. If you make photographs, your tools are your friends. you are a craftsman - be proud of your tools and look after them! Look - I have even made that last bit bold type. Please, be kind, And especially these days . . . how many people making film cameras are left? Answers on a small postcard please.
At Sheephouses' Home For Old Cameras (SHFOC) we have seen some really dog-eared examples of the camera race. The tattiest two have been a Pentax 67, which was brassed to bits, but strangely had a very accurate shutter, and a recent Nikon F3 which appeared to have been used so much that the black paint surrounding the shutter release button was completely worn through to the aluminium  . . . hmmmm . . . wonder how many times that shutter has been used? The camera itself though (as is typical of all professional Nikons) worked well!
However, of them all, the strangest and greatest that has ever arrived is a 1970's Koni-Omega Rapid 100. Although the vendor told me it was working fine, when it arrived the back was exhibiting the usual frame spacing issues and the lens was a tad dusty, also the light seals were gone all over and the rangefinder needed a clean. However the vendor sold it at a reasonable price and the cost of returning it overseas was exhorbitant, so I kept it. Caveat Emptor - always make sure you buy as locally as possible and have some form of comeback on one of these. As it was I ended up sending it to Miles Whitehead* - a camera repairman who completely refurbished it for a very reasonable price - you should see what he did to the lens - it is like new, and everything operates incredibly well.



(Here, Mr. Alec Turnips shows us what to do with a camera as big as your face)


As a camera, the Koni-Omega is an afterthought in the runner's-up race of could-have-beens. It could have been the greatest Medium Format camera ever built were it not for two points. Firstly the advance, which is the strangest thing ever invented. You have to pull a ratcheted 'slide' lever straight out from the film back and shove it back in; the action is quite violent and very un-photographic. Apparently it might have had its roots from when it was was originally designed as a military camera (no worries about fiddly knobs and things in extremely cold weather with gloves on) - a lot of our American cousins have likened the action to cocking a rifle and who am I to argue . .
Whatever the intention, this is a very difficult practice for a photographer who believes in looking after gear, and when I first got the Koni I was relatively gentle in my cocking and re-cocking action . . which actually resulted in overlapping frames. You have to use force. Or even the force Luke. If you do, your frames will be fine. They start off narrower and get progressively wider as the film goes on.
Its second Achilles Heel, is the rangefinder, which although it features parallax corrected bright frames, I personally find very difficult to use and composition with it is somewhat difficult. I still haven't got used to where abouts the exact edge of the frame is in relation to the images' position on the film.
Right that's its bad points out of the way. "What," you say, "only two bad points Cap'n?"
Yerse, only two!.
The good points are many:
As it is only the second 6x7 camera I have handled, I can say it is almost as easy to use as the Pentax - it balances well and is suprisingly un-bulky (for such a large, heavy camera). With its handle at the left side, it is really very easy to hold and shoot with - the one caveat I would add to this is that you would really be best to use a slightly faster film with it, as the weight could cause difficulties with camera shake (if you are not sure of your muscles and/or photo-taking technique).
I have used it successfully on a large Gitzo monopod, and the two together make an incredibly stable package and that was with slow film and exposures of about 1/15th! With the likes of Tri-X there's no problem - just stick to around 1/60th and you'll be fine..
The main wonder of this camera though is it's standard lens - originally a 90mm Hexanon, and latterly a 90mm Super Omegon. Both lenses are identical formulations, though I believe the latter was made by Mamiya and they used a more 'modern' Seiko shutter (the former were by Konica - hence 'Koni'!). The lens is (again) a Tessar design, but I can honestly say it is one of the finest lenses I have ever used. It is one of those rarities that can run the gamut from smooth pictorial, to incredibly detailed crispness and all points in between. The oofa (or bokeh) is sublime and imparts a creamy, dreamy effect to any images shot between f3.5 and f8. Stop down further than that and you enter seriously detailed territory.
The leaf shutter in the lens is another great thing, as obviously you only have that to worry about, and no massive (a la Pentax) mirror slap - in other words, it is a very quiet camera. The shutter release has quite a long throw to it, because it has two parts of travel. The first stage results in a small tick from the back of the camera as the pressure plate moves forward and presses your film tight against the guide rails (it moves out of the way when you pull the advance lever) - this ensures ultimate film flatness. The second stage is the shutter, which has the usual mechanical leaf shutter sound - very quiet indeed.




The above shows the oofa qualities of the lens. Unfortunately I was slightly out of focus on the 261 . . but never mind, you get the idea. Film was Tri-X developed in Barry Thornton's 2 bath. Timings were 1/15th at f8. Not too tardy at all methinks.


Phil Rogers, photographer, Dundee


I used a tripod for this shot, and whilst it isn't the best way to use a Koni, it worked well. I stopped down to f16 and exposed for 54 seconds (it was an October's overcast evening) on TMX 100 at EI 100, developed in Barry Thornton's 2-bath. You'll get an idea of the incredible detail resolved by this combination. also the distant trees retain that old-style Tessar dreaminess. I love it actually.
So there you go. (Apparently) the most popular wedding photographers camera of the 1970's in America, now selling for next to nothing, but still capable of returning sterling results. Yes it does have it's faults, but if you can live with those and want a nice photographic adventure, I can recommend adopting one of these poor boys - there's a lot of them out there, and they are in deep need of some TLC.
The more I use it, the more I like it!

http://www.mwcamerarepairs.co.uk/

Monday, March 12, 2012

Learn The Basics

Greetings people (person?) I hope today is a nice one for you - it's a little overcast here, but quite mild for the time of year.
Today's FB is about a little-regarded thing in this wonderful world where designers and inventors have made everything so easy you really don't even have to think about what you are doing. Rather like this blog actually, I just type away add a photo and click a few buttons and the whole thing is out in the wide-world, and I didn't even have to know how to write code or anything! Yes the modern world is an incredibly strange place, and nowhere more so than in photography.
At the risk of sound like an ageing old git here, a modern digital camera will teach you virtually nothing. Yes you can point it at something, and click a button and capture what you see (rather like people used to with fully-automatic film cameras too - and I was never a fan of them either) but have you any idea of what you have just done or do you even really care? Well, for the majority of people the majority of the time it is fine, and I suppose that is ok. But if you really want to pursue things further you simply have to start thinking about what you are doing.
I'm not going to start pontificating and saying you should do this and do that, but if you're reading this you're on a computer. Just Google something like 'photography basics' and it'll tell you all about the interaction between light and time and aperture. It really is almost as simple as that.




If you're brave you can even wing exposures.
Gasp - a large proportion of light-meter wielding enthusiasts find that their false teeth are now lodged in the opposite wall.
Black and White film has such an incredible ability to deal with our mistakes that you can do almost anything and the results are going to come out semi-ok (Google 'Sunny 16' if you're interested, though in my part of the world it tends to be 'Sunny 11').
The above was winged - hard to believe it was made at dusk on a Winter's afternoon, but it was - Speed was 1/30th of a second, Aperture was probably f2 or f2.8.
Film was Tri-X at EI 320. it was a bit overexposed, but you don't really notice.  It was processed in HC110 Dilution G, which is a compensating dilution.
The exposure was totally guessed by me because the meter on the Nikon F I was using wasn't working properly.
A chimp with a steady hand could have produced this picture (but he would have had to have known something about how film photography works).
Oh and the lens was a very old 35mm f2 Nikkor - how I love that lens.