Waiting For Dawn

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***

The things we do for this dark craft . . . .

Time: 5:03AM

Temperature: -2° C

Colour Of Sky: Black

State Of Brain: Fuzzy

Clothing: Comfortable 'Weekend' Stuff.

In my photographic life I always strived to get the best quality I could out of everything I was using, which, when I restarted making pictures again, was entirely my Rolleiflex T. There's a lot to be said for making the most of what you have, because my Rollei and I travelled a long way and made a lot of great photographs. I knew exactly what I was going to get, and that by (on the T this applies . . others Rolleis differ) stopping down to f11, I would be maximising the performance of the Tessar lens. And this did. For a long long time, until one day I felt an itch that had to be scratched . . . it was an itch that posed itself as a question: "What if?"

The what if, was based entirely around, "What if I moved up to a larger format?" It is a question that most photographers will come to eventually, and it isn't actually based on any sane decision; it just gets bigger and bigger, like that scratchy bit underneath that plaster cast you had when you were a kid, and eventually you break down and scratch and scratch in an insanity of scrimping and saving and more What if-ing, until, like me you end up with a ridiculous number of cameras of a larger format (and by this in my case, I mean larger than the 6x6cm format of the Rollei). In my case it is a three: A Koni-Omega Rapid 6x7, a Sinar F 5x4" monorail camera and a Wista DX 5x4" Field Camera. Add to that a 150mm Schneider Symmar-S, a 203mm Kodak Ektar and a 90mm Schneider Angulon, plus two large tripods and obviously an enlarger that can enlarge 5x4" negatives (a DeVere 504 Dichromat) with its appropriate lens (150mm Rodenstock Rodagon) and then the necessary gadget bags to carry a field camera in, and film holders, and currently about 150 sheets of Kodak and Ilford film in cold storage and you can begin to see how that itch has become something a tad unmanageable.

I think I really got to this situation because of a love of the great American photographers like Mr.Wynn Bullock, Mr.Ansel Adams, Mr.Edward Weston and Mr.Walker Evans who all inevitably found themselves dining at the table of Large Format photography, because of the sheer ability to manage your image and because of the breadth of tones available to one when one makes a Large Format photograph. For my own ends, I go further back to Mr.Clarence White and Mr.Frederick Evans, purely because I love the lyrical beauty of their photographs. I have dreamt of making beautiful, exquisite photographs like my heroes. Photographs that are breath-taking in their depth and luminosity, but you know what, save for a very few early attempts, I have never managed it. I have dallied and made roughly 200-odd 5x4 exposures (4,000 square inches of film!) - not an inconsiderable number, but squeezing that quality out has been difficult, and in the meantime I have all this gear!

I wouldn't mind though . . if I were using it, however dear reader, the truth of it is that I made my last 5x4" negative in June of 2012. As you can see, with such a substantial financial investment, allied to the time investment that was required in my learning to use the cameras correctly, such a situation is rather embarrassing, not to say, goading, like a pixie on your back! It gets to you. and eventually something has to give, and that something is now. Today, Saturday 3rd February 2013. So I am sitting here, at my command post, drinking tea, listening to Dear 23 by The Posies and typing this whilst waiting for dawn, for it is my intention to go out this morning and make 4 exposures. It has required considerable effort to get here, and I feel rather like a hapless Tommy, waiting for the whistle to go so I can climb out of the trench and advance on the enemy guns . . .wish me luck! Oh and it is freezing . . .

Oh bollocks . . . there goes the whistle!

Well I parked up, near the Tay bridge with a hope to capture the preternatural dawn light as it illuminated that lovely staircase, however what I hadn't factored on, was the fact that the place was lit up brighter than a winter's football match . .. streetlights and spotlights, searchlights and just lights . . 'ave you got a light boy? Lights everywhere. It was incredibly depressing and as I was hunting around trying to find an angle that wouldn't be illuminated, I started to get colder and colder. Allied to this that in a view camera your image is upside down and reversed then you start to get an idea of the difficulty. Add poor eyesight to this (and no I don't wear glasses normally, however I do use them for composing on the ground glass) and the glare from the lights and you have a semi-disaster waiting to happen.

First Skirmish.
As you can see, the lights are ON!
I have had to lighten this - it was a lot darker.

Now, in recent years I have developed Raynaud's Disease, which means that my fingers and toes go white (and sometimes blue/black) and have no feeling to them whatsoever . . not the thing for adjusting cameras, and when you are staggering around like an idiot, with a camera on a nearly fully extended tripod, peering at a ground glass that keeps misting up, snot flowing freely because of the sheer out and out balticness of the wind, your fingers and toes take a real hit, and you sort of become a bit hypothermically befuddled. However, my determination got the better of me and I set up and took a cliché Yep, long exposure, 'smoky' water .  .gawd dontcha hate those photographs. And now I've made another one . . but it was so cold, I had to show something for my efforts . . but you know what . . I wish I hadn't bothered. 

It is, to quote a famous Chinese proverb, 'A giant heap of clap'.

Woah!  You mean it is back to front AND upside down?!
Second skirmish, and again, a lot lighter than it was.

So, disgusted by my own inability to deal with the cold, and trying to get my extremities back to some semblance of life, I strode off swearing as loudly as I could, and dear reader, you may think your hero is a mild-mannered timerous beastie, but boy can I swear! I reckon I could hold my own in a builder's yard. 

Anyway, as some of you may know, Dundee's delightful ex-tourist destination Tayside House is currently being dismantled, nibbled away by the busy gnomes of Safedem (a Dundee company) a floor at a time. It is exceedingly spectacular in its disappearance, so I had the bright idea I would photograph it as it was disappearing. I positioned myself on a wheelchair ramp opposite, which gave me about 25 feet of height off the ground. I was still bloody freezing, but at least my movements had brought some life back and at least I had something to keep my mind occupied . . oh and it was getting lighter! However dear reader, yet again I was to be defeated . . this time by ineptitude with dealing with verticals. Now regular readers will know I place great importance on them . . but this was a weird one. The right edge of the building (left and upside down on the groundglass) was parallel with the guidelines on the groundglass, but the left edge of the building is heavily angled. I think this might be to do with the netting surrounding it billowing out, but it still looks weird. I grumbled and groaned, I f'd and blinded, but I couldn't sort it, so I made the bloody picture anyway (£1.50 per sheet of film in today's money). 

Again, why did I bother . . .

Embittered by defeat, I staggered back to the car, packed my gear down, and muttered bounteous supplications to the Gods of Photography.

My next battleground was back to a favourite haunt - that old University building as detailed in previous blogs.

I was determined to get something decent and knew that if I was careful there were enough things to make photographs that look like you've seen in books by some of the American greats. I forgot earlier to mention other American photographers I admire. Step up Paul Caponigro and Frederick Sommer, and Harry Callahan too. All legends. All influences. 

I wanted to make something they might have made, but with my own pulse.

First off, was another of my reflections. I seem to have taken an inordinate number over the years, simply because I love them. You never know what it is you are seeing. Nor where reality begins or ends and unreality starts. I like that!

First picture, was the early sun catching a tree reflected in a window. This was a bit better, but there are two things wrong with it though - the first is that I overexposed it - I wanted darker areas - broad swathes of them. And the second is I didn't develop it enough, as the tree should have stood out a lot more - och well . . never mind; that's the nature of the game.

My last picture was of something that makes me laugh out loud. You'll maybe not believe it, but these windows have been like this for about three years. They just get dirtier and dirtier, and of course the dual meaning of that comes in too.

I'll do a brief aside here and also explain that up till my last picture I hadn't used a dark-cloth. For non-photographic readers, you know when you see films of old photographers and they disappear under a big blanket . . . well that's a dark cloth. Mine, is a rather hopeless modern variation - two t-shirts, one inside the other. The elasticated end of the shirts goes over my head and the loose bottoms over the camera - it sort of works, but if I am honest it is a pretty shite solution. And especially, in the case of my last photograph, it was utterly annoying. The air had got cold again, and draping this semi-heavy layer of cloth over my head resulted in the reading glasses I was wearing (I find it easier to compose on the groundglass wearing them) misting up . . . not just once though, but about twenty times. I do wonder what the odd student passing by thought, a man with two t-shirts over his head, cursing loudly, and rubbing away frantically at something under the t-shirt. Anyway, it looked good on the groundglass, so I made the image.

Somebody get me a sponge.
The eye of truth lands upon a suitable scene.

There's something really beautiful about a groundglass!
Even though you can see that the glare from the surroundings has washed out any image whatsoever, I put this picture on, because I thought it looked nice. Obviously this was pre-t-shirts and swearing.

I eventually made my photograph, despite the circumstances and glowing in the aftermath of achievement, I packed everything up and headed back to base.

Now we come to my favourite bit - development time! why? because in the words of Forrest Gump's Mama: 

"Life is like a box o'choclits. You don't know watcha gonna git!"

Photography is like that. You can narrow down your choice of choclits, but at the end of the day, you are still In The Hands Of The Gods Of Photography.

All the care and precision and concentration you can muster is required at this stage, because once you get into the dark there is very little going back.

I tray process my film, one slow sheet at a time . . . and yes it takes ages. I have tried handling multiple sheets of film before as recommended in many LF technique books, but I have also been a fisherman, and to be honest, handling 4 sheets of 5x4" film in pitch darkness is akin to handling very thin, very delicate, inert eels, in a coalmine, without a lamp.
They slide everywhere.
I could do it if I didn't care about what was on the film, but I do, so slow and easy does it.
I use a metronome to count out the seconds, speaking aloud the passing of each minute. I have tried doing it mentally, but found myself zoning out, so I started speaking the minute to keep myself awake and aware . . and it works.
I was using Kodak TMX 100, rated at EI 80. I have used a  lot of TMX in 120 size, but this was a first for sheet film. Developer was HC 110, Dilution B (9ml syrup: 295ml water), temperature 21° Centigrade. and you know what I think next time, I'll use Rodinal. HC 110 is a fine developer, but with TMX and enlarging to the print size I normally do (8x10") the grain is almost invisible. I actually prefer a bit of grain - it gives edges an edge as it were. TMX in Dilution B in 120 size is very nice indeed.
Time was exactly 7 minutes 30 seconds for each sheet. Agitation was constant for 30 seconds and then a gentle tray sequence (tray: left lift, centre lift, right lift, centre lift) every 20 seconds from the minute mark onwards.
And this is what came out.

Spawn Of The Unfortunates.
A land of grey awaits the unwary.
And as you can see my verticals are oot! 

Right, the way to read the above is as follows:


Top Right: Bridge landscape. Utter shite and a total cliché. A total waste of film. Even the bleedin' horizon looks off . . but it isn't (by much).
Exposure was 1 minute 30 seconds at f32. I placed the bridge shadow on Zone IV.

Bottom Right: Tayside House. As you can see, the right vertical is correct, but the left isn't. I am wondering whether my camera was properly aligned. The thing was, it was so dark when I initially set it up I couldn't quite see what I was doing, so it may well have been.
The Wista DX doesn't have infinity stops, just lines engraved in the rails . . .
Exposure was 11 seconds at f22. I used front rise and placed the netting on the building on Zone V.

Top Left: Dundee University. Another of my window pictures from this disused building. I would dearly love to get inside and photograph it. It has the look of something slowly slumping into decrepitude.
Exposure was 10 seconds at f16 and I placed the shadows on Zone III. The focus was precise on the reflection of that tree on the right.

Bottom Left: Dirty Windows. At last, something I can be happy with. It looks grey (very) on the contact print, but it isn't actually.
Exposure was 6 seconds at f22. I placed the lighter bits of the concrete on ZVI. I always do this with concrete - it is the correct tonality, though the print is slightly darker.

So, making some executive decisions from this, I decided to print my final frame.
It is the only one I am happy with.
And here it is. I printed it on some really quite old Kentmere Fibre-based VC paper. It is an exceptionally fast paper, with exposure times around half those of Ilford Galerie. I find it difficult to use fast papers. Dodging and burning requires a little more time, however, despite my rapid hand movement, I have come up with a print I am happy with. Actually, Kentmere is a good paper . . . though this batch was from before Harman/Ilford took them over. It has a little of the Lake District in it . . .

Dirty Windows

So the question I am now going to pose is, where has all this agony and ecstasy got me?
Is the above any better than pictures I could make on my Rollei, or even 35mm for that  matter?
Is Large Format photography more akin to carrying on a tradition, striding the world with your be-bellowed camera and the weight of giants upon your shoulders?
I don't know actually. Speaking for myself, the masochist in me says:
Oooh Ya. Yeah. Great. Bigger Format. I need Bigger Format.
But then he gets locked away in his room, and sanity reigns.
I do sort of feel a weight of responsibility to those who have gone before. In this world of the instantaneous, there is something very archaic and perverse about making random pictures of everyday rubbish, in such a way that you simply spend ooodles of time making an image that you only feel marginally happy about.
So to close this I will leave you with a LF photograph I am happy about.
It was made with my lowly and humble mid-60's Schneider Angulon (90mm, f6.8), mounted on the mighty Sinar F, on a Gitzo Series 5(!) pan and tilt head, topping an ancient and wonderful Linhof tripod . . . in other words, it weighed about 16 gravities.
Film was Ilford FP4+ and HC 110 Dilution B.
I followed this route on the recommendation of the great American photographer Mr.Steve Mulligan, who is still alive and kicking.
He said this combo was the one he always came  back to, and I can see why just from the sheer quality of image.
The grain is crisp and tonality is everything I could want.

I think this print is on Ilford Galerie.
Unfortunately you cannot get the quality of the finished article from this scan.
I did have one on Polywarmtone, but I cannot find it.

And that's it folks - another wee adventure with me and you. Hope you had a nice time . .
LF Photography is a massive pain and incredibly difficult, but also strangely satisfying at the same time.
Maybe now the mornings are getting lighter I will get back to my occasional weekend regime of a 4:30 AM rise and dawn will be waiting for me for a change!
Take care and God bless.

Say Cheese! It's Leica Time.

Hoo Har, scuse me maties.
The spitoons are fairly o'er flowin' with the gobbings of a chesty crew.
Oh yes mates, we got the lurgy real bad. Something to do with pullin' into Liverpool and too much Brain's Bitter in them pubs, and then some rather dodgy kebabs on the way back aboard. Then Sheephouse appears, having visited his Aunt in Chester and brought us back something rather nasty in the form of the worst cold we's ever had.
The riggin' was slippery with cloughers, the decks awash and truly awful.
It's been a nasty week no doubt about it - we even had to use up Mog's collection of small bear costumes to deal with the sputum . . very very nasty indeed. They solidified fairly quickly and got chucked overboard as we were leeward of the fair town of Morecambe.
Ambergris?
My arse.

***

Well it's a cold Tuesday morning here below decks and as usual, I could think of nothing to write. All I had in my head is an image I made on Saturday, which I have rather taken a liking to. It isn't in focus, there's a twisty camera shake to it, it doesn't even look like a 'proper' photograph, however I do know that I will print it to my best ability and keep it with my other prints.

How did I take it? Well, this article is either going to be about surreptitious photography or, probably more likely, an anatomy of a trip out with my camera. It'll probably be the latter, though I have to warn you in advance, the scans of the negatives are shite, courtesy of my Epson V300 scanner. It is fine for certain things, but for film not so good. And I'll add to that, that I only made the photographs last Saturday (the 26th of January) and have only made a contact print so far.
I'll also not bore you with the jetsam but I will go through the contact print and present the larger images . . . so here goes . . got your hard hat ready?

Regular FBers (there are such people . . what a strange bunch!) will know that in recent times I have had a dalliance with Leicas - it just seemed like a good thing to do at the time.
I really saved up for one, at not a small amount of difficulty, and then had to send it back (Leica Sniff Test) which made me sad as I had really enjoyed using it.
So I scrimped even further and added some more money and bought a 1960 Leica M2.
Now I will state this here and now, undoubtedly they seem to be regarded as rich boy's playthings, however don't knock 'em till you have handled one. I have used a lot of cameras over the years, but I have never used one which was so beautiful to handle.
Yes mine is what they term a 'user' - it has been well-used over the years, but the rangefinder is accurate and the viewfinder is relatively clean.
The film advance is like nothing you have ever tried - my Nikons are smooth, but this is like mechanical butter. It actually is a joy to use and considering it is a tad older than me, I think, pretty remarkable.
To put it into perspective, it was made before Vietnam, before Kennedy's assassination, before the Beatles changed the world, before Psycho became a benchmark . . . and it hit the world running.
It was a not inconsiderable investment by someone at the time, and it has been used, a lot.
It hasn't been treated the way Leica collectors seem to do things by putting their precious investments away in cotton wool, nope, internally, parts of the film advance are worn away to their brass. It has a few scratches. it has a slightly wheezy 1/15th of a second, but when I use it, it feels like an extension of my hand and eye. And to be honest, if you are a photographer, that is surely all you could want.
Those craftsman in Wetzlar who made my M2 were the real deal.
It is in fact so well put together that to my strange and romantic mind, it seems to have transcended it's highly machined physicality to become something other.
Can machines have a soul?
Yes, I truly believe some of them can.
I have been tempted to return it to the vendor and say "Oi, why is the shutter wheezy like that, when you said the shutter was serviced?" but to be honest I have already become attached to it.
I would dearly love someone from Leica to read this and say, "Come on then, send it to us at Solms and we'll give it a going over . ." and restore this amateurs instrument of joy back to its former glory . . . but dream on Sheephouse, it isn't going to happen.

Anyway, onwards.
The camera as stated is a 1960 Leica M2.
Lens is a 1934 Leica 50mm f3.5 uncoated Elmar, fitted with a FISON lens hood. The lens and hood predate the Second World War . . that too is incredible.
Film was Kodak Tri-X, which I rated at roughly EI 320.
The thing with using the camera the way I am going to describe is that film speed is a nominal, relative thing. I take a meter reading before I go out, and then adjust from there. As you'll see from the contact print, it doesn't always work, but then the overexposed images are still useable. You just have to up the exposure when you are printing . . simple.
Film latitude is a thing that not many people bother with. But certainly if you are using black and white, then you will have enough to deal with a huge range of lighting conditions.
It is all very flexible.
I used to meter everything, but have moved through all that in 35mm work to realise that roughly anything you take will be ok, so long as you follow the one cardinal rule:

Do not underexpose!

Overexposure is fine. Even that dread combination Overexposure and Overdevelopment is fine . .

One of my heroes is Ralph Gibson.
I never knew photograph could be so lyrical until I sat down one day and looked at his essay 'The Somnambulist' . . suddenly a large number of cogs moved together, like a smooth-working Leica advance, and I knew that I could make a photo essay.
I haven't yet, however I am getting there . . there's more than enough images to be gone over.
The key is, that for me it isn't a deliberate journey. I have a lot of similar images that will serve each other.
Anyway, I am digressing again - Mr.Gibson's key thing is that he deliberately Overexposes and Overdevelops!
It's mad.
It is so against what you are supposed to do, that it is like heresy, and yet, there is a lyrical intensity to his images. They are like a waking dream. They are all his own.
He said that he only discovered he could do this when he was watching a lithographer ink up some plates for the first publication of The Somnambulist. The extra ink created rich deep blacks, and it hit him that he could use broad expanses of black against highlights and get to where he wanted to go.
Whilst I might emulate his approach, I am not copying him, so you won't find anything like the depth of what he does . . but then, I am just me.
Anyway, intention set, camera loaded, my little key turning on my back . . off I went!
Two sessions/walks.

Film developed later in the afternoon.
Developer was Kodak HC 110, Dilution B at 20 degrees Centigrade.
I used a very small tank, so it was 9ml developer to 298ml water. Agitation was constant and gentle for 30 seconds, then I did 4 inversions every 30 seconds, halted at 7 minutes and poured developer out at 7 minutes 30 seconds.
A lot of people would say that I have overdeveloped this film, however to that I will add that everyone is different.
In my case, because of the extreme lack of contrast from the Elmar (due to its age and being uncoated) I felt that developing for longer would be the way to go to gain extra contrast and accutance.

Anyway, Tri-X and HC 110 is a classic combination - I like it, and to be honest looking at the lack of fog on the film base, I think the time is just about right actually!

Right, here goes.

Don't panic!
Contact prints of a film invariably look rubbish.
This is because there is just too much going on and your eye can't settle on anything.
Ilford Multigrade RC, Kodak Polymax, Agfa Ag Fix.

This is my contact print and as you can see, I have slightly underexposed the print.

The key thing with contact prints is to use the old maxim 'Minimum Time For Maximum Black' (MTFMB), basically meaning that when the unexposed edges of the film are indistinguishable from the exposed black density of the paper, you have exactly what you have shot.
Obviously film does develop some fog when it is being developed, however it is something you don't really have to worry about.
Try and get that film edge indistinguishable from the density of the paper. MTFMB is a useful base point and means you can read your negatives on the contact print, relative to something.
You don't get this frame of reference with scanning negative strips.
As you can see from my contact print, some of the frames are a tad underexposed and some are overexposed, however given that I haven't given the print enough exposure, then you can see that the overexposed frames will print down slightly more.

I wanted to try something with my lens on this journey, and that was to keep a set aperture and vary exposure by using shutter speeds, which is what I did. I tended to keep the f-stop at f9 (it's an old lens - and doesn't adhere to modern settings). The only frame I didn't do this on was number 16 which was approximately the equivalent of f5.6.

It was a cold morning - the snow from the day before had frozen, and there was plenty of condensation in the  shop windows, hence my first two frames. From there, I wandered up to one of the old University buildings (which is a waste of a huge building . . it is totally unused!) and from there, dondered along the back of the Wellcome Foundation building on the Hawkhill and down by the side of Duncan Of Jordanstone. From there, it was back up the Perth Road and the famous Tartan Cafe and back to the car.

Afternoon, was park opposite Tescos at Riverside and  walk along the river, skirt the Discovery, go along the back of the Leisure Centre to the Tay Bridge and then walk back.

You have to be receptive on trips like this. I view it as sort of like 'I have film loaded and I want to use it all - so let's see what we can see'. There is no set agenda as to what I will make images of. It is all down to what catches your eye at the time, and that can vary depending on your frame of mind, energy levels etc. It really is a voyage of discovery and one of the great pleasures in life. Photographing isn't the dark art a lot of pseuds would have you believe. Getting what you have on film into something you can use, is a semi-dark art/craft, but one that can be learned by anyone. I feel that I am at a stage now where making images is as natural as breathing. I have done a Joe Pass - 'Learn it all, and then forget it all.'

I have decided to limit this to 8 images as I don't want to bore you too much. This is after all all about me, and for some reason you are reading it . . .

Right, here goes:

Frame 2

Well, it was, as I have explained a very cold morning, so here I was confronted with a lovely flower shop, but, the condensation was such that you couldn't see anything. To be honest this would have worked better in colour as they were all muted and covered in whitey-grey condensation droplets. It caught my eye, I was aware of only having around forty minutes, so I made this by focusing on the droplets and as is often the case with my window pictures I am in there too! 

Frame 4

Then it was up to the Hawkhill via the lane at the side of the Tartan Cafe. This passes that disused University building I was talking about. It has become a bit of a magnet for graffiti, however and strangely, a lot of the graffiti is in chalk, so I am assuming that the artists are Art students from the nearby DOJ. 

This photo is unusual in that the grafitti is in spray paint. It could be by skaters as they use the vast expanses of concrete around the building. The interesting thing about it though is that it shows what happens when you use an uncoated lens into bright light. The shadows take on this flare of light and are almost contrastless. It is a nice effect, but relatively uncontrollable.

Frame 13

Moving on, I went round the back of the Wellcome building making another 8 pictures and headed back down to the Perth Road. 

This inspiring lump of concrete is actually the 'new' Crawford building of Duncan Of Jordanstone. The lower windows are the library. 

I like the way that the Elmar has made this look like it is a photo of the Bauhaus! Though, again the scanner has not managed to scan the full frame, so my verticals are terribly iffy.

The light was very beautiful, but I was even more aware I was running out of time . . .

Frame 18

They really ought to employ some window cleaners though . . . again the Crawford Building. 

I have cropped this, because the ****in scanner cannot scan a complete full frame. In my negative the verticals are correct . . in the scan they aren't . .so crop it was.

What attracted my eye, was the incredible brightness and that scuff in the lower part of the picture.

"Ooo aaar . . round these parts they be callin' that a waste of film . . ." 

Anyway, although that didn't actually conclude the pictures I made, it was frame 17.
I made another three and then headed for the car.
Yum yum . . lunch.
Boo boo . . housework.
Vroom vroom . . Dad taxi.
Happy happy . . Leica time.

Frame 27

It was incredibly icy down by the Tay, but the light was quite bright and some watery clouds were advancing and threatening more snow.

Again, another picture with me in though I am not nearly as svelt as that. 

Again I have had to crop very slightly because of the scanner. Incredible to make such allowances to infallible technology!

This is the back of the soon to be extinct Hilton Hotel . . it looks like a Victory V from the other side. The river side though is fortunate to have this incredible vista. 

What you can see is Fife and the Tay Road bridge. There's also a massive anchor stuck there too . . just to remind you of the area's heritage.

Frame 28

Well just to prove this is a city with its various bunches of nutters, further along by the Hilton's gym window, I discovered an area where someone had had a go at smashing what is fairly obviously safety glass. They hadn't suceeded and the crack was covered in film - hence the above. 

I rather like it as it reminds me of Minor White and some of the American photographers of the 1950's and 60's. It almost makes me want to go back with the 5x4 camera and do it as a large negative.

Frame 32

I have cheated a bit with this. I don't know why but I must have been listing when I took it as the vertical of the bridge on the left is ever so slightly squint. I can impart a bit of Gary Winogrand's wisdom here with regard to photographs. Try your best to keep the left vertical straight. The rest of the verticals in the picture and the horizontals can go to hell, but that left one has to be straight. It is sensible practice when you think about it, as we read from left to right, and visual disturbance on the initial scan will affect your whole view of the photo!

This photo also illustrates the beautiful drawing qualities of the old Elmar. 

Look at that glow from it - really lovely. 

This is under the Tay Bridge by the way - that staircase takes you up to the road level and I think it is a beautiful stair - it looks like a Mies van der Rohe two fingers to the Nazi's from 1933. Interesting to think that my lens was made one year (1934) after the Bauhaus was shut! That's that old heritage thing at work again.

Anyway . . onwards.

The following is a scan from the 1967 Edition of The Leica Book by Theo Kisselbach. It's a marvellous book and highly recommended for users of all film cameras.

It shows what I wanted to achieve.

If only photography was still like this.
The text describes very well how to go about achieving the 'walking snapshot'.

Unfortunately for me, my technique let me down!

Frame 37

When out photographing I try to adhere to my own adage .  . always keep one up the pipe. 

Meaning, save a frame for the final bit of the walk back to your starting point. I did, and there, coming towards me was the most extraordinarily shaggy and weird looking dog I have ever seen. 

I had to capture it, so I thought I would capitalise on the Leica's quietness, and do the walking snapshot:

I preset the focus to 3.5 metres and I could see from this that my depth of field at f9 would take me from 2.5 metres to just beyond 5 metres . . so plenty of leeway for things being in focus. I set the shutter to 1/60th and nonchalantly wandered towards the dog and its owner with my camera on its strap around my neck. I thought I could angle the camera down and capture it that way. Snick and it would be done. 

Well, I did all that. 

The camera was almost silent, the lens was smooth to focus, but I didn't figure for the fact I would be so shite at it. 

Hence the above photograph. 

Dog missed. 

However of all the photographs I made on that cold Saturday, it is the one I like the most.

So there you go, the last photograph of the day and my favourite!

You know reading this week's blog, it is sort of a paean to Leicas. 

I still find it hard to believe that I am regularly using a lens that is 78 years old . . and it isn't junky . . it is beautiful and jam-packed full of character. I also find it hard to believe that a camera made before I was born could handle in such a way that it is as natural as breathing. It's a testimony to craftsmanship and design and fine engineering.

I would also state that my little visual expeditions are always done in the spirit of the man who taught me - Mr.Joseph McKenzie. He always urged us to go out and make photographs of anything that caught our eye. And that's what I do.

Well as usual, God bless and thanks for reading.

The Black Hit Of Space

Mornin' Varmints - well, what a snooze that was!
Ar yes m'dearios. Me and Mog finished off 16 stone o' Turkey leftovers on Boxing Day, settled ourselves down for some well-earned shuteye and the next thing we knew it was the 4th o' January!
"Well," I said to Mog -"Happy New Year to you, old friend."
"Happy New Year Cap'n," he said back.
That's weird I thought, he couldn't talk before we went to sleep.
I did wonder whether it were something we ate that was affecting me hearing, so I asked him,
"When was ye born me old soak?"
and he said,
"That's no' clear to me Cap'n. I can only remember the sack and the water."
And I thought, that's good enough for me. If it were my ears playing me up, he would have said something like the 24th o' May.
So I believes him.
Imagine that.
A talking cat.
I'm not going to let too many folk know though - there's a ton of people would pay a pretty penny to own one.

***

Been out all night, I needed a bite

I thought I'd put a record on

I reached for the one with the ultra-modern label

And wondered where the light had gone

It had a futuristic cover

Lifted straight from Buck Rogers

The record was so black it had to be a con

The autochanger switched as I filled my sandwich

And futuristic sounds warbled off and on

(The Human League - The Black Hit Of Space)

***

This week I genuinely wasn't going to write anything - call it Post Festive Disorder (PFD) - I didn't get half what I expected done, but I did have a fantastic time, which resulted in me indulging in one of my favourite pastimes ... reading. Lots.

Anyway, I got to Thursday morning this week and a little demon appeared on my shoulder and said 'You know, they're waiting . . .', so I thought Och bugger it and started. So this week's FB will be a little less heavy on the writing being as I've only had a couple of days to get it together - my apologies, but, given my subject matter it seems very pointless to regurgitate potted histories as the world is littered with them . . so here goes.

There's a dirty word still bandied around photographic circles.

It's pretty seedy and in fact, even though (and despite) the fact that it gets mentioned more now that it has been in the past hundred or so years, it's still a bit iffy. 

People get uncomfortable.

They stretch their collars, shuffle their feet and cough.

It is an unmentionable.

However, for myself I will stride into the arena, wearing my frock coat and winged collar, pommandered hair set nice and solid, moustache waxed to perfection and say, to me, there's never been a movement like it.

It was born from passion and enthusiasm and ideas of lofty artisticness way above its station.

It lived briefly like a Mayfly, wings glittering above the fast running waters of life in a dance of beauty, and then committed suicide. 

And when this tradgedy was all but enacted? What happened then? Why, its corpse was buried in a pauper's grave and its memory trampled and left to be picked over by dogs.

Sounds melodramatic eh? Well it sort of was like that.

And to what do I refer?

Brown paper bag ready?

Pictorialism!

Ah the Gods - PICTORIALISM!

Banner For The Photo-Secession

The greatest, most profound and beautiful photographic movement there ever was.

Lambasted, criticised, cynicised, ignored, Pictorialism stands large in the history of photography as a beautiful jewel.

Strangely I would say these days that is it arguably more important than Ansel Adams and Group f64. How's that for radicalism.

All of your realist movements of the 60's? As nothing.

All the shite that passes for 'art' photogaphy these days? Total bollocks.

You see, somehow, it has transcended its lowly grave and ascended to the heights.

Pictorialism, [which I am sure would be to the surprise of Mr.Alfred Steiglitz (its driver and mentor)] has become something other. As a movement I feel that there has never been another as profound or influential.

You see friends today, Pictorialism is all around us.
It's in films, on television, on posters and in magazines.
It influences and drives like never before, partly I believe because it saw the way naturalistically.
Think about it, and the world isn't really hard-edged at all. Centrally to your eyes it is, but the periphery? Blurred. And that blurriness and softening of image in the majority of Pictorialist photographs is incredibly naturalistic.
I think it is almost why the images speak so well.
Yes a lot of it was done to mimic 'painterly' techniques, but when photographers are already dealing with absolute realism, why not try and show it in a way that could be considered more 'arty'.
The Pictorialists were working with uncoated lenses, and there is a tendency nowadays to believe that lenses from that time (late 19th early 20th Century) were somehow not very good and soft.

This is a misconception.

Most of the greatest leaps in lens design happened in those times.

Ancient lenses can be softer, however they can also be as crisp as you like. There are incredibly wide variations in them, however Pictorialists, semi-eschewed the standard ones in favour of 'portrait' lenses (so called because they were able to soften an image to make it look softer. It was never good as a working photographer to have your customer's blemished skin shining out of a photograph) which when turned to landscape and still life and figurely photographs rendered things deliciously soft.
Pictorial pictures mostly exhibit a beautiful depth too, which somehow, to my mind, sends them over the edge from being a photograph. They are so very natural looking, possibly because my eyesight isn't what it was, but maybe that naturalness is apparent because of their lack of definition. Its the reason I suppose why all hard-edged CGI images in films look somehow so wrong, and why ordinary non-super-imposed filmwork looks so right.

Soft images are laughed at today, they are.

They are seen as being 'Romantic' in a brutal world, but to this I say what is wrong with Romanticism?

God knows the world is difficult enough - if a photograph can touch your soul because it is soft and ethereal looking then all the better.

Of course I am tarring every Pictorialist there ever was with the 'romantic soft image' brush - it was in reality a little like this, but then on the other hand you have Steiglitz's 'The Steerage' - as modern as you like. And of course, the nail in the coffin, Paul Strand's disturbing and harsh and beautiful 'Blind Woman - New York 1916', published in 'Camera Work' the journal of the Pictorialists and as loud as any death knell you could wish to hear.
I could go over this forever, however it is digressing from Pictorialism.

I won't write a potted history of it - pointless - there's loads of stuff on the web.

What I will say is that it repays studying. In spades.

From Clarence White to Paul Strand, from Annie Brigman to Edward Steichen and Frederick Evans - names that have greatness hewn into them.

To be honest I could have chosen twenty images to illustrate this, however I will just go with one which I believe to be the greatest . . but then that's just me.

Clarence White's 'The Orchard 1905' could have been top (it is an image laced with meaning drawn deep from Christian spirituality, and for all its carefree appearence, it is as set-up as a photograph could be) however it isn't.



Clarence White - The Orchard, 1905

To my mind the finest thing ever published in Camera Work, and that is a tall order, is something so old it is modern. It is so poetic, it is a script waiting to happen. Like all great photographs, it tells a story, and can also inspire a story in your head.

Are you sitting down?

Probably my favourite photograph ever is by a man called Mr.George Henry Seeley.

It is called 'The Firefly'. 

George Henry Seeley - The Firefly, 1907

It was made in 1907.

I love this photograph.

It is about as perfect as a photograph can get.

Yes it is soft focus. Oh God isn't it beautiful?

Compositionally, I don't think you could do better actually.

The curve of the bowl leads your eye in.

The woman (his sister I believe) is beautiful in a timeless way.

She could be from now.

She could be from the Dark Ages.

She has the headpiece as a prop, but again, date it . .

And there, she is holding a firefly, its tiny light like a jewel in her hand. The flare from the uncoated lens aids the whole feel of melancholia and age. It exudes carefulness in its composition, but also an instantaneousness, like she has run up to the camera and is saying 'See, brother, see what I have found!'

It is also as modern a photograph as you could ever want to find. I think it actually sets the bar. 

Can you imagine photographs like this in Vogue? I can.

If you are at all interested in looking at more images, then, if you can find it, the Taschen publication 'Camera Work - The Complete Illustrations 1903-1917 [ISBN 3-8228-8072-8]' is to be highly recommended.

If you can find the hardback (for less than the price of a car) all the better as the paperbacks have a tendency to split, due to their massive bulk!

Anyway, from beauty it is a trip back to earth, with an image that is no less profoundly moving, but very different.



Paul Strand - Blind Woman, New York 1916

From the last issue of Camera Work

This was really the loud clanging of the death knell. 

Steiglitz I believe realised that the end was nigh - you can't stand in the way of progress - and yet what an image to sign that warrant. 

Curiously, it is as obvious an analogy with regard to the golden, pre-WWI years and the sound of mechanised death from the Front as you could wish.

On one hand, beauty, etherealism and softness, and on the other, grim reality, indignity and the vision of a world changed forever.

In it's brief 14 year life Camera Work gave more to the world than the world gave to it.

For myself I find it as profoundly influential as I always have done.

If you wish to read further, just Google things like 'Camera Work, Photo Secession, Alfred Steiglitz, Pictorialism. The images really will work their way into your psyche. I think they can help to make better photographers of us all.

***

As usual with FB, I thought I had better do some shameless shoe-horning in of photography - so here's my pathetic attempt at emulating a Pictorialist style, with a Twin Lens Reflex!




The Woman In The Boughs

I actually am rather fond of this photograph, for a start it is my wife, so that is the best place to start.
It was made with my beloved Rolleiflex T and I was using a Rolleinar close-up set, with the focus somewhere between 10 feet and 30 feet, so totally out of focus.
Not a lot of people know that with the Rolleinars on a Rollei you can have a very subtly variable soft focus lens - at infinity things get more definition, but in the close range they are wonderfully soft, as you are using the natural lack of depth of focus you get with close-focus devices. I daresay any close-up lens used on a camera for a use that isn't a close-up would work, but the Rolleinars are something else optically.
Film was FP4 at EI 80 developed in Barry Thornton's 2 bath. The print was made on Grade 2 Ilford Galerie (my favourite paper) and it was archivally processed and then toned in Agfa Viradon for that vintage look.
We'd watched the film  'Possession' not long before that and the name of the photograph just sprang into my mind, inspired by that film.
Anyway, nuff z nuff. That's me, over and oot.
As usual, take care, God bless, and thanks for reading.

Sometimes You Eat The Bear (Anatomy Of A Printing Session)

Har Har me Hearties - what a week it has been.
Mog's new-found talking ability has proved itself rather amusing, particularly now that some of the lads have been teachin' him to swear. Not only that, but he's become a gifted impersonator; and I would say now aboard the Good Shippe FB, you cannot reliably rely on anything you hear, especially when you can't see the person that is talking.
We also had a rather amusing time with Mr.Sheephouse.
I don't know where he got them from, but my second mate got a haul of very small bear costumes. I presume these were intended for some sort of children's activity in the Russias (as that is where they were bound before he purloined them), anyway, a bit of snipping and sewing and before you know it we had a cat-sized bear outfit.
It was très amusing to see Mog wandering around like a small cub pretending to be tough.
It was even more amusing when we locked him down below with Sheephouse in his room of dark arcanery. Oh yes, much was the swearing that came out o' that room with us all gathered outside the door sniggering away.
To be truthful, it was almost impossible to tell who's voice was who's.
I think Mog learned more swear words that day than he would in a whole month o' bein' below decks.
That cat, he's got Sheephouse down to a T.

***

I love printing photographs - I've said it before and I'll say it again - it is entirely half of my photographic life and one which these days seems to be largely ignored by the majority of photographers . . .but that's another soapbox.

It was Sunday and it was sleety/rainy. I had been wanting to take my Wista out, but the thought of those lovely silk-lined bellows in the rain isn't very appealing . .neither is the thick dew of condensation on a groundglass on days like this .  . so printing it was. I started at 11AM and finished at 3.30PM with a 20 minute break for lunch.

Negatives were all made with my nice old 50mm Elmar, however there were a couple of variables. Firstly the camera. My initial bunch were made on the IIIf which I sent back. The second lot were made on an M2 which I haven't sent back (though it does have a 1/15th sneeze). What I haven't seen written before is that the film gates of both cameras are different! The IIIf is exactly 37mm x 24mm; the M2 is the standard 36mm x 24mm . . . strange but true. This caused some confusion halfway through the session, but it was sorted quickly. The other variables were film (Ilford Delta 400 and Kodak TMX 400) and dilutions of Kodak HC 110 developer (Dilutions G and B). The final variable if you can call it that was a Leitz FISON lens hood I bought to protect the Elmar (more about this in a later blog).

Anyway, as the title of this blog implies . . sometimes things go right, and sometimes they don't. Today I had a number of bad things happen, but managed to make some prints I am more than happy with. I count it a good session if I can make 6 to 8 prints, and if say 3 of those are useable as proper archive prints then all the better.

The Maw Of Hell

Could Have Done With A Tidy-Up

The DeVere just fits

Wet Area (and sensibly placed 'Dry' cabinet)

Emergency Supplies.
The trays are on the floor to catch drips from the current printing session's drying prints - normally they aren't there.

Prints Drying.

As you can see, my darkroom is extremely primitive. It is an old butler's cupboard under a stair - it does have quite a high ceiling at one side, and does have the advantage of a stone flagged floor, which is fine for spillages of chemicals and also keeps beer at near perfect pub temperature! 

My enlarger is a DeVere 504 Dichromat - you can see it mounted on an old kitchen cabinet which is on its side - I have to print on my knees - I call it supplication to the Gods Of Printing.

All my wet processing is done in trays on newspapers on those shelves to the right - they are 9 inches deep - just enough for a tray.

The old hifi cabinet underneath is my dry area - all paper is stored in there, and there is an old Restem paper safe on a shelf too.

Yes that is a wine rack! The green towel is my door jamb for when I am processing LF film - basically it is a towel rolled up, with cable ties holding it in a roll and goes up against a large gap under the cupboard door.

There's no running water, so prints get popped into my Paterson washer until the end.

The prints are hanging from an old indoors washing line that came with the house!

They say that necessity is the mother of invention - in my case it has been poverty - I scrimped this lot together over years and would love to have a 'proper' darkroom with all mod cons.

For all its primitiveness, I can print to exhibition standards, and I am not bumming myself up there. I care about my prints.

They are carefully made and of a high quality. The only thing I lack is a dry mounting press ( and seriously if you have one you don't want, let me know!)
Actually, I am sure that any of us making prints the old-fashioned way these days, and willing to invest the time and money into learning printing, are good enough at what we do to make them to exhibition standard.

The lens was a nice old (Pentax made) 50mm f2.8 Durst Neonon, which I kept at f5.6 for the entire session. Chemicals were Kodak Polymax developer, Kodak stop bath, and home-made plain fix, which I used as a double bath. I have run out of selenium or else I would have toned them. They were washed for a couple of hours in my creaky old Paterson Archival Washer. Seeing as the plain fix is essentially an alkali fix, washing is a lot shorter than for acid fixers, and also I don't need to use hypo-clear.
Oh and I don't split grade print - I never found it of use to my practice, but again that's just me.

I was going to use my old favourite of Ilford Galerie, however because half the negatives were developed in HC 110 Dilution G and are (because of the fact that the Elmar is ancient and uncoated) very low in contrast, I chose to use some Adox Vario Classic fibre-based which I had kicking around. It is a very nice paper - the only things I don't like about it are its gloss, which isn't as rich as it could be, and the fact it will cockle around the edges when air-dried.

To be honest I am not a fan of resin-coated paper - I don't know, there's just something about the image quality, which, to be honest doesn't quite have the sharpness of a good fibre print. Anyway, that's just me. Fibre takes longer to print and is more fussy of correct fixing, but I feel the effort to be worth it.

Anyway, time to strap your helmet on and join me in the cavalcade of laughter, triumph and tears!

First up is an image I rather like - it is hard to tell what is going on, but you know the place is 'Open'.

Being none too familiar with the Adox paper I felt it best to sacrifice a sheet to the God Of Test Strips. I don't always make them, but sometimes, and especially when you are using a new camera/film/developer combo, they are handy as they help to get your eye use to the paper's properties and how your negative will look printed . . often never how you imagine it to be! I can usually get about 12 smaller strips out of one sheet of 8x10" paper - I know the general idea is to make a large strip, but to be honest, I would rather preserve the paper, so small strips it is.
The long lamented greatest paper ever was Forte, and they actually provided you with some test strips pre-cut, which I thought was very nice. But alas nobody thinks like that anymore, so you have to waste a sheet . .

Bear in mind that a box of 100 sheets of fibre-based  8x10" paper is approximately £70+ these days and you have 70p down the swanny just like that . . .

I set up my easel, got the image placement right, focused, stopped down and made a test. This was developed, and I came to my decision of exposure time. I then checked the focus again, and made the exposure. (By the way, if you made the test strip in say four second segments, you need to expose your print in four second segments, not for the whole exposure all at once. This is because the intermittency effect will come in and effectively give you a greater exposure and hence a darker print.)

Oh and I am assuming from this that you might have made some prints, and therefore don't need the very basics going over . . .

Also I will pre-empt everything by saying ignore the ripple effect on the scans! This is because the prints have dried cockled (anyone got a dry mounting press they don't want???) and I have scanned them warts and all. Secondly, I wanted to include little thumbnails of test strips, but Blogger software is hopeless when it comes to aligning pictures, so I gave up.

Anyway, warts and all, here it is.

Print 1 - Adox Vario Classic - Grade 4.
Leica IIIf, 50mm Uncoated Elmar, Ilford Delta 400, HC110 Dilution G.

I like the print I made here - it works and is a bit mysterious and dreamy . . though, judging it afterward, there were two white speck marks, so I obviously didn't clean the negative as well as I should have. Also, notice the presence of the bear in the way that the margin on the right hand side is smaller than the left . . yep, forgot to check that one!

Selenium would bring up the blacks beautifully, so I should get some more . . nearly £25 a bottle though . . . but at least if you do decide you want to tone a print, you can go back, soak the print and follow a correct toning sequence . . very handy.

Anyway, onwards, I corrected the margin, gave the bear a kick and continued.

Whilst I had the same sheet of negatives out, I thought I would print the following. I made a test, and judged the exposure.

Print 2 - Adox Vario Classic - Grade 3.
Leica IIIf, 50mm Uncoated Elmar, Ilford Delta 400, HC110 Dilution G.

And as you can see, the result is shite. The first of the day's mistakes. Contrast is poor,  exposure is poor, and here's the kicker, I must have not focused properly on the easel, because the image appears to be out of focus too. Och well, another 70p down the drain . . . .

A brief aside into focus finders:

I have 3! A Scoponet, a basic Peak and a Magnasight.

The Peak is my favourite, however it had fungus when I bought it, so I had to dismantle it, which necessitated a fair bit of plastic gouging . . and of course you can't reassemble from there, so it works of a fashion. Because I can't set it permanently, I have to constantly re-adjust, and the bear loves a good twiddle . . .

The Scoponet isn't a patch on the optical clarity of the Peak, but does in an emergency (I used it for years).

The Magnasight I bought new from the States and have used it about twice, because I just couldn't get on with it .  . anyone want to buy it??

Back to the Session . . .

I was annoyed, and that isn't a good frame of mind to be in for printing, so I prepped my next negative. By the way, blowers? Anti-static guns? Nope, I run a 35mm negative through the fleshy parts of thumb and where it buts up against the index finger, or sometimes I'll run it between my index and middle finger.

It works.

I use a cobbled glass carrier in the DeVere (using Meopta 6x9 glass carriers taped to the DeVere's lower glass carrier), and any dust that falls on there gets swiped off with the back of my hand. I used to use an anti-static brush, but I find this method a whole lot more less problematical.

I made a test strip and decided to up the contrast a bit and judged the exposure roughly based on that. The Adox paper offers remarkably similar exposure times for different grades, which is a nice quality.

Unfortunately for me, I didn't see that the bear was getting ready to lend a helping hand again.

Disaster Strikes!
Print 3 - Adox Vario Classic - Grade 3.
Leica IIIf, 50mm Uncoated Elmar, Ilford Delta 400, HC110 Dilution G.

Nice print, nice contrast, but look - it is squint! My excuse (another one) - my ancient and battered Beard easel has little alumininium strips which act as stops for the paper you are about to expose. Unfortunately, the design is such that paper can slip underneath them all too easily, which is what happened here. Moral of the story, check and double check everything . . even something as basic as fitting a piece of paper into an easel.

Being annoyed by the presence of the bear, I looked at the print again and decided that my contrast wasn't enough, so I went the whole hog and dialled in a mighty 200 units of Magenta (effectively a Grade 4+) and made another print.

Print 4 - Adox Vario Classic - Grade 4+ (200 Magenta)
Leica IIIf, 50mm Uncoated Elmar, Ilford Delta 400, HC110 Dilution G.

Ah, that's better.

I asked the bear to leave quietly and he did.

Calm returned and I could get on with my worship.

My next negative showed me the importance of ignoring what a scanned negative looks like. Scanning negatives is a nasty habit I have got into in recent years, and you know what - it is a hopeless way of judging what you have made. In my scan, the verticals are converging (slightly, but enough to make me think I shouldn't bother printing the negative - "Wot's that Doctor? Ee's got Convergin Verticals? Wot's 'at mean then? My poor son!"). However, I liked the image and thought I could correct the verticals by using tilt on the DeVere's focus stage, so I got a surprise when I looked at it on the baseboard and realised the verticals are correct and straight . . just the way I composed it!

Print 5 - Adox Vario Classic - Grade 3
Leica M2, 50mm Uncoated Elmar, FISON Hood, Kodak TMY 400, HC110 Dilution B.

The picture is of a hoarding outside a newsagents and is, how shall I say, a little 'Welcome to Dundee' for the V&A.

Yes that grey stuff is I don't know what, but it's pretty ghastly!

It is very typical of this lovely city of mine - on one hand you have knowledge and study and the arts, and on the other you have sublime ignorance and stupidity. Pretty much like any city really.

David' Bailey's picture of Twiggy is a great one, made all the merrier by a smear of 'stuff'.

The print turned out well I felt. The negative brought in the two extra variuables of the FISON hood and Dilution B.

Had I had more time, I would have done some selective bleaching of the white stuff with Ferricyanide, but I didn't . . maybe later.

I was feeling pretty good now - printing is supposed to be a pleasurable activity, but I fully understand how people can become frustrated and disillusioned.

Like anything good, effort is required, along with care and checking at every stage.

Feeling semi-triumphant and conscious of the clock, I thought I would round everything off with a strange image.

It was strange when I took it - I gambled on the camera exposure but got it right and the negative is dense enough for me to print at pretty much any tonality, which is great!

Print 6 - Adox Vario Classic - Grade 3.
Leica M2, 50mm Uncoated Elmar, FISON Hood, Kodak TMY 400, HC110 Dilution B. 

I printed this at Grade 3 just to boost the lower contrast of the Elmar, and I feel with the print I misjudged it and gave it a tad too much exposure. I would prefer a lighter tonality . . maybe next time.

It isn't a fine print, but it is a starting point.

And that's pretty much it actually. I would say it was a semi-successful session. Very enjoyable all the same.

The prints were washed for a couple of hours and then pegged back to back for an overnight air dry. I then flatten them between some heavy books and file away the ones I like best.

One thing . . on my last print, despite my feeling of triumph, the bear must have accompanied me whilst I was out photographing, as there is a small black mark at the top - obviously a bit of material like a fibre. This must be in the camera (it was . . I found it!), as it is black on the print and thus in permanence on the negative. Fortunately I have a Swann and Morton Number 15 scalpel blade and managed to gently 'knife' it out whilst the print was still wet. Yes it leaves a mark in the gloss finish, but you can sometimes touch that up carefully with spotting dye. At the end of the day, I have a few prints I am happy with and have filed away.

Sometimes you eat him. Sometimes, he eats you.

Printing is a dying craft (unfortunately) - I will continue to enjoy it until they no longer manufacture paper . . and I don't know what I'll do then . .

As usual, thanks for reading and God bless.

***

If you are interested, some of my personal recommendations for self-teaching materials:

I have read rather a lot of printing books over the years, and whilst I have enjoyed the likes of the more modern favourites like Rudman's 'Master Printing Course', and Ephraum's 'Creative Elements', I am going to come out and say the flat-out best printing book around is Ansel Adam's 'The Print'. It repays repeated reading. It is a masterwork, and it will teach you more than you really need to know. I will follow this with the late-lamented Barry Thornton's two books, 'Edge Of Darkness' and 'Elements'. 'Elements' has been out of print for a number of years but is now available as an e-book.
John Blakemore's 'Black and White Photography Workshop' is a masterclass in all aspects of monochrome photography with particular attention applied to the aesthetic aspects of print-making you don't find anywhere else.
My final recommendations were published by Ralph Gibson's Lustrum Press. They are called 'Darkroom', and 'Darkroom 2'. Both essential reading for the sheer breadth of practice by the contributing printers.
Ground yourself in these and you will be producing prints you are proud of in no time at all.
I would also be remiss not to mention Joseph McKenzie and his redoubtable technician Sandy, who taught me photography and printing at Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art in the 1980's . . . you can't put a price on such a great grounding.