Beware the Gathering Gloom: Day 1 of the 12 Days of Halloween

For some reason, I'm into Halloween this year. Maybe it's the 13 in 2013. Who knows, I'm just going with it. Today marks Day 1 of this short series, I borrowed a line from the Moody Blues: Beware the Gathering Gloom. This will be progressively a progressively darker series of photographs, all taken within the past two or three weeks.

QWERKY: The Great Pumpkin

To quote Linus from the Peanuts cartoon, :I've learned there are three things you don't discuss with people: religion, politics and the Great Pumpkin."

After shooting so many photographs in the past few years using toy cameras with limited or no focus or exposure controls, I rediscovered the joy of shooting with my trusty Nikon F2 Photomic and go-to 85mm portrait lens. I was using great equipment, but mixed things up by cross processing slide film.  

And, just like locavores who try to eat seasonally, I am trying to shoot seasonally. I guess that makes me a shootavore. Hence, expect lots of fallish work from me for the next few weeks.

QWERKY PHOTO BLOG: The Dark Months Begin

I am saving my best new shots for my upcoming Breathe Deep the Gathering Gloom: 12 Days of Halloween. I offer this shot because it was taken with my "new" vintage Rocket Camera. The first roll I took was not developed properly [thanks Ilford Lab : ( ]. This roll, with Tri-X pushed to 1600 turned out pretty good. I love the way this camera renders light. I will spend much more time with this camera in the coming months. P.S. I like the proportions, too, as well as the light leaks.

Weeds of a Different Nature

This is all about proximity:

• The proximity between driving on and stopping
  
• The proximity to the road - one step out of the car
• The proximity of these weeds to the "domesticated" corn
• The proximity between the cultivated and the wild
  

Still Life On Countertop

This was not a composed shot. I was trying to finish off the roll and just snapped a couple without aiming. My Leica is a very fussy camera to load and I was afraid the leader had not caught. Pure serendipity, but perhaps a little embarrassing to show how messy the kitchen can get... From a roll that the lab neglected to push process. I was barely able to pull a couple of barely acceptable images. The dark side of shooting film...

QWERKY PHOTO BLOG: A Cage Relic Rumination

In his elegaic book The Disappearance of Darkness, Photography At the End of the Analog Era, Robert Burley writes, "Photography as an art form has always been dependent for its existence on the availability of film itself, as surely as painters have depended on the availability of canvas and tubes of paint...It is ironic to think that just as film has finally been freed from its mundane applications in the everyday world to be explored as an artist's material, it could very easily disappear altogether..."

I thought of this quote yesterday as I rummaged through the glove box in my car. Underneath the tissues, cassette tape adapter for my stereo, and granola bars, I found two rolls of 120 film. I like to "cook" a roll of two in there just to add a bit more unpredictability to photographic endeavors. One roll was GP3 100 and this roll of Bergger BRF-200. It's been in there for three years. I immediately regretted cooking the Bergger because it is my last roll of this now-discontinued film. I didn't know when I put it in the glove box. When I first began working with Holga cameras, Bergger was one of the first films I purchased, in part because the description spoke of its blocky, old-fashioned grain.

I'm a sucker for that kind of grain. And I made what I consider some damn good photos using this French film.  But this last roll made me melancholic, nostalgic even. Across the Internet are rosters of film that is no longer manufactured. Film is not dead, but the choices are dwindling. RIP is a common refrain.

Like someone who finds an expired roll of something at a tag sale, I am faced with what to do with my last roll of Bergger (I am hopeful of scoring at least a few more on eBay, but have been unsuccessful thus far (this film just fell off the face of the Earth)). 

I want to honor this roll of film in some way. I suppose I could keep it, but I feel about it the same way I feel about my vintage cameras. They are meant to be used, not ogled. Film was meant to be exposed, processed, and developed into photographs. To do otherwise would be to disrupt its destiny.

This leads to the next question: What to photograph? This is a sublime ache. I once wrote a poem called "That Last Apple." It was based on an essay titled "A Multiplicity of Apples" by Edward Behr in his recently reissued book The Artful Eater. I won't bore you with my poem, but it was inspired by the first sentence, "Possibly, the best apple I ever ate was a Wealthy that I picked one cool, sunny September day some years ago from the last living branch of an old tree in an abandoned farm orchard."

Behr savored that apple the way I now contemplate savoring this roll of Bergger film -  from the tactile to the emotional. The term "cage relic" from the title has been appropriated by the video gaming world, but its original meaning was to give a name to the last living example of an almost extinct species. The last-of-its-kind animal, sitting in a cage, was the last gasp before the end of the line. 

My roll of Bergger film may not truly be a cage relic. Who knows when the last roll of this brand of film will be shot. But it is my cage relic. I look at it through the bars of is obsolescence and ponder its fate. What light will I ask it to render?

As Behr writes, "Yet the deep roots of the dying tree may have concentrated an exceptional store of energy into the final display of fruit (the tree was dead the next year)...so often one is distracted and doesn't really taste things. And, of course, things remembered are almost always better."

Not to put too fine a point on this, but I insist on really tasting (remembering, honoring) this roll of film. I want to be able to point at twelve images made with a Holga or one of my other cameras, and say, "This was my last roll of Bergger."

As my indecision remains, so does this roll of film. A cage relic in my film drawer.

QWERKY PHOTO BLOG: Whether Board?

I was recently walking through a home improvement store and a guy standing at a folding table thrust a pamphlet toward me and exclaimed, "I would like to talk to you about the advantages of vinyl siding." 

"No thanks," I replied. "I live in an historic home." 

So much is said these days about "authenticity." I'm not exactly sure how to define authenticity, but, like porn, I know it when I see it. I know of homes of a similar age around here, and some have succumbed to the allure of "maintenance free" vinyl siding. I'm convinced that in the long view nothing is truly maintenance free. And no matter how high the quality of vinyl siding, I have never seen it look right on an historic home. Not saying it can't be done, but just saying I haven't seen it.

I was watching the local news the other day and they showed modern home that had caught fire. As the reporter interviewed the owner, I could see the remains of the house in the background. "How sad," I thought. "Their house melted." 

At least mine, if it ever goes, will go in a blaze of glory.

Qwerky Photo Blog: "The Burden of the Past..."

I have been delaying writing about this image.  I wasn't even sure I ever would. I was pleased enough with how it turned out, though it appears somewhat artificial, Photoshopped even. There's that, and last week I stumbled across a book by Lisa Mahar-Keplinger titled Grain Elevators. It's a beautiful book filled with beautiful photographs of these cathedral-like structures. Mine pales in comparison.

No reason to write about it, but then I was reading an article titled "Meet the Keatles" by David Gessner in the most recent issue of The Oxford American. He was writing about the similar trajectories followed by the two Johns (no, not Updike and Cheever) - Keats and Lennon. Gessner refereneces a book by Walter Jackson Bate titled The Burden of the Past and the English Poet. 

"The problem of how to create original work while looking back at such a rich legacy of things already done, is particularly acute in modern times, exacerbated by our emphasis on being original," Gessner writes. Often the answer for the artist is to retreat into a small fiefdom, a sub-genre, and refine and develop that small plot, tending one particular strand of roses."

I will speak only for myself as a toy camera photographer. Am I cowed by the "rich legacy" of photography's big names? Have I retreated into a "small fiefdom" inhabited by analog film and plastic cameras as a way to combat the overwhelming amount of great photography already accomplished? Is my work only sloppy seconds of been-there-done-that?

Contemplating these questions made me seriously doubt why I work in this endeavor. Fortunately, Gessner quoting Bate, offers "'None of us, as Goethe says, is very 'original" anyway; one gets most of what he attains in his short life from others.'" To which Gesser adds, "Why should literature or music be so different than other human endeavors - sports, say, or carpentry - where we naturally learn from those who came before? Isn't it always through others that we begin to define and become ourselves?"

I would add "photography" to literature and music, then answer that question with a definitive yes. Now I'm going to my local camera store and make a film "buy." Oh, and I ordered a hardback copy of The Burden of the Past..." from Abe Books.

Summer Essence

As a dedicated shooter, I have amassed an overwhelming number of digital files that I am just now beginning to organize properly. I suspect it will take me at least a year to get a basic organization complete using Lightroom, which I just purchased. 

In addition to the satisfaction of achieving some level organization, the only thing I am looking forward to is discovering "forgotten" images. This photograph was taken about 10 years ago when my youngest son attended his first week-long Cub Scout camp. This was also the first summer I began shooting with a Holga. 

I share this shot not because of its technical features or composition, but because it is an example of one of those rare shots that convey the essence of something, without being specific. To me at least, this quietly says "summer camp." 

Into The Great Wide Open

Samuel Goldwyn once quipped that a wide screen just makes a bad film twice as bad. I hope that is not the case with this panoramic series Feeling Archy. Strange behavior is a relative thing. I laid on the ground and shot this looking up. No one paid me any mind. If I did the same thing on a city street, I think I might receive some stares, at the least.  

True confession: I'm learning to use Lightroom and enhanced the vingnetting on this shot. I typically do everything in camera, but this effect kind of saved this image. So sue me. 

Thanks to Tom Petty for the title, "Into the great wide open/under them skies of blue." 

I'm Not A Tourist In My Own Town

Photo editing is a lot like writing editing. Sometimes, you see things better after you have put them away for a while. I glossed over this shot from my Feeling Archy series. Tonight, as I prepare to power down, I like this shot. Tomorrow morning, I may take it down. That's my definition of Self Editing.

It's Close

Don't know what it is, but it's close.

Ivy Tower

My original title for this shot was Gone to Seed. But that didn't seem right. But I wonder what prompts someone, a farmer in this case, to let a structure go. There are scientists who study what happens to things when we let the wild take it back -- The World Without Us kind of thing.  

I like to think that this farmer made the choice to let ivy grow on his old brick silo, like an experiment or folk art. It's like my garden statue of The Bird Girl made famous in Midnight In the Garden of Good of Evil. When she was new, her resin form was painted an antique bronze. The longer she stands in the back yard, the paint has been slowly falling off. My family keeps asking when I'm going to repaint her. Never, I reply. I like watching her age. The Buddhists watch their mandalas blow away. Why can't I do the same?

Elevators

Joseph Campbell in those Moyers interviews on PBS back in the early 90s, talked about a progression you can see in many U.S. cities. He spoke specifically about Salt Lake City. When the city was founded, the largest structure was the church. That building was then superseded by the city hall. And finally, both of these were dwarfed by a business building -- the temple of commerce.

This shot keys off that idea. It also fits -- in a big way -- my roadside memorial project. I worked this site, and this shot is the best. After walking around, I sat on a concrete bench to rest, looked up, and realized this was the best view. If you don't catch the meaning of the title, think about it.

As an aside, I find this type of cemetery depressing. If you are going to memorialize someone, do it with a real headstone. Not one of these that make it easy to mow over instead of around. I'm opting for a green burial. Just wrap me in a sheet, drop me in a nice meadow, and plant an tree (I'm still debating which species, but I'm leaning toward one of the new disease resistant American Chestnut, as part of the American Chestnut Restoration Project).

No stone required. 

A Store Close By

While on an assignment this summer, I drove by this old store in Belvue, Kansas, daily. It's not just a general store. It is The Belvue General Store. I thought it had potential as a subject, but it wasn't until early evening on this particular day, when the buildings across the street were reflected on the front windows, that I stopped. I did not "work" the store. I did not walk all around. I positioned myself and took only one shot -- the last on my roll of 120 in my Diana+. Somehow I knew that would be enough.

The good news is that the building's owner has put in new windows and appears to be renovating the building and the one attached to it. I seriously doubt it will be a general store. I thought about when this general was the place to do one's shopping -- probably from scoops to nuts. Now, the residents have to drive approximately 15 miles in either direction to find a grocery store.

We have always had a need for a store close by. There is a nice, small market within walking distance to my house. It used to be an IGA (like most locals we refer to it as Igga). It was built in the 50s, and is quaint by modern grocery store standards. Whether you call it a bodega, mini mart, corner store, or convenience store, they serve our local needs.

I know a woman whose favorite store is a Walgreen's. She says she does almost 90% of her shopping there -- from prescriptions to groceries. When she travels, the first place she locates is a Walgreen's. These stores exemplify the corporatization of convenience stores., like Quik Trips and the rest of their ilk.

I'm making no value judgement about whether such chain stores are better or worse than the mom and pop stores that used to used to be close by. It is what it is.

Still, seeing a place like The Belvue General Store reminds me of the loss of such places. They served a need. Now they don't. My paternal great-grandparents lived in a small place called Illmo, Missouri, which was part of Scott City. The name was derived from its location in Missouri, by the Mississippi River, and across from the Illinois border. There was a store not very different than The Belvue. My Dad remembers is as The Model Grocery (notice the The). It was next door to Roth Hardware. I have since discovered it was owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Held. I'm sure they were friends with my Granny and Pop. Here's a photo I found online: 

One of the stories about my great-grandmother was time time Models' delivery boy knocked on her back door and wanted to know if she had any canned green beans (or some such item) that she could part with. The store had run out, and the owner knew Granny always had a well-stocked pantry. She sent the boy back with a sack full, knowing full well that she and the owners would settle up the next time she stopped by.

This is the kind of story that couldn't happen today. Why, what if there were razor blades hidden in those cans? Perhaps 50 years from now, people will have stories to tell about their local chain store. Maybe like John Updike's "A&P." It's all part of what William Carlos Williams termed "the local" and our own personal realities.

Feeling Archy

I was recently introduced to an older man who worked for the same metropolitan daily newspaper as I did. His tenure ended when I probably was in high school, so our paths never met. Only a newspaper would understand this, but I did not know his byline. He is well into his retirement. I politely inquired about his activities and his countenance brightened when he described the profile he was writing about Joe Somebody. He said the real name and had an look of expectation on his face, as if I should know who he was talking about. I did not. Sometimes, I pretend to know who the mystery person is (probably fooling no one), but his this a fessed of and said I did not know that name. 

It turns out he was a photographer for the newspaper well before I got there. And, my acquaintance said, "He's famous worldwide. He took more than 35,000 photographs of the Arch." For anyone not familiar with this St. Louis "landmark," he was was speaking of the Gateway Arch, the behemoth stainless steel structure on the Mississippi side of the downtown of the city. As an aside, as I have traveled around the United States with my other work, I have occasionally been surprised about people's knowledge or impression of the Arch. A handful have even thought it spanned the Mississippi instead of standing alongside it, as it does. 

The accomplishment of having taken 35,000 photographs of the Arch still did not trigger a memory of this photographer. In my younger, more pithy days, my first thought would have been, "After 35,000, I hope he got it right." This day, it was probably my third or fourth thought. I wasn't sure this qualified the man to be "world famous," in part because I had not even heard of him. I could admire his persistance, like a terrier pulling on the same trouser leg for years.  

As a native, I have not photographed the Arch other than taking the types of family snaphots that most people take. I can only speak for myself, but even with my equipment, training, and experience, my shapshots still look pretty much like everyone else's. For some reason, a few weeks ago, I was looking at my camera collection, waiting for some sort of sign of what to shoot next. The camera that spoke loudest to me was my Horizon 202, Russian-made panoramic. I have had this for several years and probably only run 10 or so rolls through it. So, I had chosen a camera. Now I needed something to shoot. The Arch came to mind. This seemed like such a plebian, touristy thing, but I was intrigued with the potential of using a wide format camera and its resulting distortions, a nice cloudy bright day, and some Adox 100 Art Series film I had been hoarding. These elements converged yesterday, and this is one of the resulting images. I plan on posting others on my portfolio page soon.  There won't be 35,000 of them. I promise.

Barley House

I've been thinking about barns lately. I don't know why. None of my people were farmers, at least as far back as great-great anythings. I took my favorite barn photograph when I was still in high school. It was the side of an old barn, recently painted white, with a rooster in the only window. My father remembers this photography in color with the white barn and a red roost. When I left photography, I did not keep track of my negatives. Now all that is left is a poorly made print I made on RC paper.  It is, and was, in black and white. Good black and white photographs can make you think you are seeing colors,

I was recently at an antique mall. One of the booths featured items made from old, weathered barn boards. In the center of the booth as a color photograph of the aging, leaning barn just before it was dismantled to make picture frames, end tables, some faux-folk art Adirondack-style chairs. All of them shitty. They should have burned the barn and saved it from such indignity.

I named this shot Barley House because the word barn is from the Old English, meaning barley house. It is interesting that today barn has two main meanings. One is "A large farm building used for storing grain, hay, or straw or for housing livestock." The other is much more interesting and yet somehow related, "A unit of area...used especially in particle physics."

Finally, I'm not a big DeLillo fan, but I am fond of this: “What was the barn like before it was photographed?' he said. 'What did it look like, how was it different from other barns, how was it similar to other barns? We can't answer these questions because we've read the signs, seen the people snapping the pictures. We can't get outside the aura. We're part of the aura. We're here, we're now.”-- White Noise

Tassels & Fronds

I shot this a couple of weeks ago while working in St. Marys, Kansas. I was working in St. Marys and staying at a small motel in Wamego, about 12 miles away. This area is in northeastern Kansas, so there's lots of corn and some soybeans, but not the ubiquitous wheat one usually associates with this state.

Mornings and early evening, I drove between the work site and the motel. I was always looking for something to shoot. At first, nothing seemed photo-worthy. But slowly, the landscape revealed itself to me. It revealed its simplicity. I stopped to photograph a sign that I found interesting. As I turned toward the car, I saw this view. I took a chance. I was using a camera that I had owned for several years but only shot one or two rolls with it. I didn't know how it would render what I was seeing.

I received my scans in the same hour that I read a short posting by the photographer David Carol, whose work and demeanor I have come to very much appreciate. He was discussion the three essential traits of a good photographer. He wrote, "The second important attribute is the ability to notice. You must see what is not always obvious and be visually aware of subtle nuances in the world around you."

I was doing that without being conscious of it. I have a reputation among the Scout leaders and parents of my sons' classmates. I was constantly getting "lost" on field trips and outings -- usually photographing things that the others either did not see, or did not see as something worthy of a photograph. Until they saw the work later.

This shot epitomizes my approach to noticing things. The evening I shot this, I was having dinner with the client and he asked about my delay in meeting him for dinner. I apologized for making some stops along the way to take pictures. When I told him I had been taking photographs of the cornfields, the look on his face said, "WHY?"

I will let this shot answer his unasked question.

Meet Prince George

I don't name all my cameras, but since I already had a Rediflex named Prince Charles, I thought it only appropriate to name this Ricoh Prince George because it arrived on the same day he did. Mine is now camera royalty.

I purchased the Rediflex because I heard Prince Charles say that was the camera his family used on outings when he was a boy in the 50s. It does take rather nice photos.

I wasn't really "in the market" for a Ricoh Diacord, but I happened upon one online for a fantastic price. This may be the first camera I buy and then "flip" for a profit. Oh the other hand, I'm a greedy camera addict who needs a shutter full of love... 

Ain't That America

I hear so much about new building permits and housing starts and how they relate to the state of the economy. I have also been aware of the growing trend of photographing urban decay. But decay is everywhere. I can't begin to count the number of abandoned buildings like this one, sitting on the corner of two no longer relevant roads. It's sad, thinking about all the time, effort and money someone spent building a structure like this. The local economy must have been vibrant enough to sustain it, at least for a while. If we aren't interested in the longevity of a place, why build with this much quality. A disposable structure might be a better investment. But then, what would I have to photograph? Maybe Mellencamp had it right, "But just like every thin' else those old crazy dreams /
Just kinda came and went ." 

Ain't That America