2020:45 VOTE

Enough said.

2020: 44 (Hope and Change)

The weather is changing, autumn is in full effect. The colors in the bosque are at their peak. Golden yellow and reds dominate. Three visits this week yielded much comfort, and many photos. I wandered through the thicket on Thursday and came across this Bible, in the middle of the woods, not near any path. I snapped it with my iPhone (sacrilege, I know) while also doing a few shots with my Holga. I decided to revisit the scene on Friday, with some slide film in my Leica (again… sacrilege) that I intended to cross-process. Leaves had fallen on the open book since the day before. Change. Hope. In 2020 we need both.

I also voted yesterday, to complete the theme for the week.

Flaunt The Imperfections

Entry # 2020:43

Issue #5 is out now

I’m excited to share my newest self-published project with the world. I created my zine series “Flaunt The Imperfections” a few years ago, when I dove deeply back into film photography. I wanted an outlet for the work I created using my old cameras, all shot on film, showing the grain, contrast and the roughness that I love so much about non-digital image-making. I also wanted to make a strong commitment to the rejection of perfection. I had (and continue to have) a gnawing disdain for the flawlessness of a digitally captured and manipulated photograph. The use of film in old cameras allows for the introduction of happenstance, surprise, and yes, shortcomings and what some might deem as “failure.” The denial of these challenges can so easily be done when you can simply “delete” an image from your camera. Instead, I found these were attributes to exploit, and even celebrate.

The current issue of my zine is a radical step for me creatively. As many of us have felt through the past year…or four years… or even more… I have been afraid, insecure, worried, and angry about the state of the world, and the state of the union. The pandemic has of course weighed heavy on my mind, but so too have other pressing political and environmental issues. The world literally has been on fire. My artistic output has reflected this upheaval. And as I wandered through the remaining “burn scar” in the Rio Grande bosque earlier this summer, I had an abrupt realization that this damage I was witnessing could be reflected in my photography. I somehow decided that the subject matter, nature in general, and the forest and trees in particular, would be a platform for me to explore an intentional destruction and degradation of the film negatives I was creating. I started slowly, experimenting with different film stocks and sources of flame and heat. Then I went further, scraping, piercing, sanding, and then, finally stepping on the strips of film. The metaphors are obvious and need no further explanation.

As is my usual approach, I moved quickly to bring this body of work to publication. I had time to focus on the production (and destruction) of the work, and I worked on the final layout with little hesitation. As such, there are probably elements of the final piece that I might have changed or adjusted, but again, the purpose of this zine series is a celebration of imperfections. It’s all there on the page, like it or not.

I have started taking orders for the zine, and will ship in early November. I you’d like to order a copy, please click the link below. I am proud of this work, and hope to share it with as many of you as possible.

2020: 42 (Fail Forward)

I’ve been rolling the dice lately. Plastic cameras, nothing but film, no viewfinder, no meter, no plan, no expectations, no disappointments. Running 35mm film through medium format cameras, shooting pinhole, advancing film partially, double exposures. Shooting color film and developing it in black and white chemistry. Breaking all the rules. I’m feeling that this is all leading someplace… feels like I’m down in the sewers, just like Orson Welles in The Third Man. Darkness, dampness, dripping liquids, shadows, footsteps. Isolation, fear, paranoia. Yet free, and oddly self-assured. Or maybe just schizophrenic. My mind is popping, synapses firing in all directions, and then lethargic, confused, unable to focus and concentrate. This is life in 2020. The year of perfect vision, is that irony or not? So much more to come. While I breathe, I hope.

Orson Welles in the classic film, The Third Man. Watch it if you’ve never seen it.

Gear Review: Diana Mini 35mm camera (or... how I had a mini stroke)

If any of you out there know me, you know I am not a “gear” guy. Yes, I own cameras, lots of cameras, too many cameras, really. But for me they are always a means to an end. I get more satisfaction shooting with the Pentax K1000 that I bought in a thrift store for 13 bucks than I do when I use my Canon 6D. So I guess it’s due to a (pun alert) mini stroke that I’m even doing a proper gear review. Of course, I’m doing it with tongue firmly in cheek, and it all should be taken with a grain of (Sicilian) sea salt.

So the camera I’m about to discuss is the plastic terror from Lomography, the Diana Mini. This little brat takes 35mm film, and looks like the old Diana 120 got left in the clothes dryer for too long and shrank. This thing is tiny, small enough to fit in the weird chest pocket on my Austrian Army jacket. It has minimal aperture control, guesstimated focussing, and well, well, well… a choice between a half-frame 35mm option, or an odd, but lovable square crop. Like a mini Diana should have, amiright? Throw in a roll of 200 or 400 ASA film and hope for the best.

What you lose in control and predictability, you gain in wonderful surprises. Not gonna sell you the Lomo party line of dreaminess here. I like things blurry, soft and grainy… but that’s not a dream for me, that’s more like reality for a film shooter. This camera delivers it in spades. It also delivers a certain degree of frustration, more so than the usual plastic camera experiences I’ve had with a Holga, or other crappy Lomo-esque 35mm cameras.

I’ve struggled with loading film into this camera. Sometimes it just goes in and winds easily, sometimes the advance gears destroy the sprockets and the film jams. I try to be delicate when I load it, but sometimes it just works, and other times it doesn’t. Roll of the dice at best. When it does load correctly, I really have a lot of fun shooting with it. When it doesn’t cooperate, I’ve come close to throwing it in the garbage.

Pros of the Diana Mini are obviously the fact that it takes the more affordable 35mm film. I also love the fact that it shoots in the square format of its big sister. The half frame setting I haven’t used at all, as I leave that task to my wonderful Olympus Pen-EE S, but I might end up playing with that, maybe in combination with the full frame setting, seeing if I can get some overlapping images. The camera seems to like black and white film a bit more than color, as I think there is a bit more exposure latitude there, but what the hell, I’ve got a ton of expired film in the freezer, why not go out and just have some fun with this toy?

Verdict: If you see one for a decent price on Ebay, take the plunge. If you’re not completely satisfied with your purchase… welcome to my world.

Some sample images below.

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A grid of images from Fourth of July Canyon, in New Mexico. Shot on Lomo XPro 200 film.

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Black and white seems to be the charmer, and sprocket scans are even more lovely to look at.

2020: 40 (For What It's Worth)

The bosque continues to be my “go to” spot to shoot, as it has been for the past few years. It is constant transformation, seasonally for sure, but really it’s almost on a daily basis. As the official start of autumn is with us now, I’ve been enjoying longer treks through the woods near the Rio Grande, and with the lower temperatures, even midday shooting has been fruitful. This week brought with it yet another round of self-inflicted struggles. This time, it was my grandiose thought of shooting with the ultra-unreliable Kiev 6, a medium format camera that shoots square 2 1/4 inch negatives. This thing weighs a ton, and has a haphazard (in)consistency when it comes to advancing the film. No built in meter, no internal electronics at all. A Cold War relic, that I just happen to have some amazing glass for. Those East Germans could really kick out some fantastic lenses back in the days of Yuri Gagarin and U2 spy planes.

But enough about the gear chit chat, as it was my lack of planning by bringing along a 120 take up spool that had me waste one roll of film right out of the gate. This was followed immediately by a failed film counter rest, that saw me advance an entire roll of Tri-X through the camera with exposing a single shot. Thankfully my shooting partner was pleasant enough not to razz me about my follies. I did manage to expose one roll of Foma 100 properly. The Eastern European combo must have made the photo gods happy, because I got some really nice results from the roll. Even so, I still feel drawn to the first two frames, shown above, which suffer from the aforementioned advance issues. But the half-frame, complete with backing paper tape still present, really makes me love the results. I’ve made a mantra out of “flaunt the imperfections” even to the extent that it is the title of a series of ‘zines I’ve produced. (Insider hint, there’s a new issue brewing.) So of course I find myself the most satisfied with the stumble out of the gate on my only “successful” roll of the week. There are a few more images from the roll that I’m feeling an affinity for, so maybe rolling out the “Russian tank” might become a more regular occurrence.

Tribute to Andrei Tarkovsky

2020:39 (Heading Into The Unknown)

As artists, we channel the outer world through our deepest inner mind, and then spew it back out for everyone to see (ourselves included.) I’ve been feeling creatively “bi-polar” lately… and I don’t meant diminish that actual condition, but it seems the most accurate way to describe my process. I took a road trip a few weeks ago, and looking at my images from that short jaunt, I see a very consistent approach. They look like “my” images for sure, but they also possess a quiet, staid, almost banal kind of presence. Nothing outstandingly original here, but a set of competent images. Since then, the pendulum has swung in a completely opposite direction. I’ve been shooting pinhole images, on a panoramic Holga, and a 4 x 5 wooden box camera, and the photos look nothing like the road trip photos. There is clearly a connection with some of my other work, and subject matter is more of the familiar environmental work I’ve been producing in the bosque. But after processing the film in my kitchen sink, I’ve been taking a radical approach to “post-processing” the images. I’ve been abusing the film with fire, with knives, with dirt; abrasions, scratches, bubbles, melting plastic, ash and rock. I dived deeply into an experimental phase with this direction. I am not sure where it is coming from, and I’m not sure where it is heading. I’ve overdone the technique many times, and I’ve pulled myself back from the edge of complete destruction of the film and number of times. I’ve also been fighting the overthinking that come along with most of my creative endeavors. What does it all mean? Is it any good? Why? Who cares? Still, I feel this direction is coming from deep inside of me, and I do have some suspicions that it is a reaction to the world we live in… well that’s fucking obvious, isn’t it? Forests are burning, edges are fraying, patience is crumbling, fevers are rising, destruction on so many fronts. Institutions are failing, stability is out of our reach, what do I have any control over? So, I am surrendering to the fire, to the dirt, to the happenstance, to the unpredictability… to existence, I suppose.

2020: 38 (Tell me, who are you?)

I was reminded a few times this week of who I am. Self-awareness is a powerful thing. I sometimes need to be reminded of my own value as a human being, as an artist, as a partner, as a friend. I received it in a few surprising ways this week. Subtly and not-so-subtly. Unsolicited kind words from a friend, an invitation from another, and from the man in the mirror himself. We are uniquely ourselves, and sometimes I forget that there is value to be found there. I see things only as I see them. I seek refuge in things that only speak to me. I share when I feel safe to do so. I somehow, silently and sometimes effortlessly, connect with other people. Some people I don’t even know. Sincerity and honesty are in short supply these days, so it is refreshing to experience both. When words are spoken, and when no words are needed.

2020: 37 - Road Trip Reflections: Albuquerque > Tucumcari > Southwestern Kansas > Southeast Colorado and the long drive home

Three days alone in a car. Cameras, film, a tent, a cooler, Spotify, Podcasts and my mind to keep me company. Time to think, to look, to stop and go as I please. To eat bad road food, to pitch a tent for the night, build a fire, drink cold beer from the cooler, stare at the flames, stare at the rising full moon. I’m not sure why I was drawn to explore the area I travelled through. Kansas was one of the few states I hadn’t yet set foot in, so there was that. I had imagined a certain type of environment. I had assumed it would be flat farmland (partly correct.) I also expected small town America to show it’s “oddness” to me. I also knew I was heading into a “red” state, and I was reminded numerous times that this was the case. I think it was Greil Marcus who coined the term “old, weird America.” I thought I might see some of that as I wandered. Alas, I did not. I did shoot a few rolls of film, not sure if there will be anything of merit or worth on these rolls, but we’ll see.

I started out of Albuquerque and took I-40 west to the town of Tucumcari. I’ve always held a soft spot in my heart for Tucumcari, and it seems I pass through there every five years or so. Not much changes. Or if it does change, it’s not for the better. There is a sadness that hangs over the town. Old Route 66 still crops up here, amidst the decay and neglect. I once had a fantasy of buying one of the old brick buildings in the middle of town, and opening up a photo studio, or a gallery, or some kind of “off the grid” type of destination, ala Marfa, Texas. Maybe when I have a million dollars to spare I might still do it. I shot about a roll of film while in Tucumcari, and I realized that I am drawn to decay, to debris, to old remnants of a past glory. Sounds cliché, I know. 

Look, I am able to recognize beauty in the world, even stand in awe of it. The sublime is something I’ve surrendered to. But I just can’t get excited to photograph it. I don’t think I could come close to being able to accurately represent it anyway. I can, and do, document the crumbling world, the dashed hopes, the sadness and depression that reflects out from my soul. That sounds too morose, especially considering that I consider myself an optimist, after all. I have come close a few times to losing hope, but I cling to it still. Glass half full. Yet even my attempts at exploring beauty through my work has my grubby fingerprints all over it. Black and white, blurs and grain, high contrast, scratches and dust and flares. I struggle to think of any reasons why a person would strictly photograph pretty scenery and make nice, pretty pictures. I just can’t do it, and I rarely want to look at it either. 

I realize my particular approach to creating images is a well-worn path. Sometimes it feels like the flavor of the month when I peruse Instagram or watch YouTube videos. Everyone seems to be shooting film with an old camera. Everyone is looking for the urban decay of the desert, of old broken capitalism. The Salton Sea, Route 66, neon signs and old rusty cars. Abandoned buildings falling down in a wind-swept desert. I’ve done my part to add to the myth. I’m waiting for a new way for seeing to arrive in my brain, focus (or un-focus) my eyes and see the world in a different way. I’m unsure it will happen. There is truly nothing new under the sun. 

My way of seeing may be unique to myself, but it does sometimes look like I’m just repeating tropes down often (and often times better) by others. I yearn to create images that look like only I could have taken them. I yearn to take images that are extraordinary. Not meaning superior, but truly extra ordinary. I stop myself from pressing the shutter plenty of times when I catch myself repeating a well-worn cliché. I think I am drawn to film photography because it still retains an element of surprise. I never really know what I’m getting in the frame until I see the film, hours or days or weeks later. I have embraced pinhole photography lately because it pushes even a modicum of planning and expectation right out the window. When I open the shutter on the wooden box camera, and count to 5 or 10 making an exposure, I am aware that I am in a moment, unrepeating and unrepeatable. No two exposures will look the same. Others may have shot from the same exact spot that I am standing on right at that moment, but my picture will not look like theirs, nor theirs mine. This is what drives me to continue.

My birthday just passed, and I used it as an opportunity to reflect on my age and my mortality. I don’t know if I’ll have one more day  to live, or 40 more years. When I’m gone, will anyone give two shits about my photographs? I’m betting no. My thoughts? Maybe a few curiosity seekers who go down a google enabled rabbit hole will stumble upon my psychobabble. It’s clear I do these things for my own gratification, though I’m grateful when anyone else pays attention. Even more so when they reach out and share a thought about a photo or a passage I’ve written.

So back to the road trip. Kansas… corn fields and wheat fields for miles and miles. Small towns with little houses, Trump signs and American flags everywhere. Dots on the map that are home to grain silos and 24 /7 filling stations and not much more. As a suburban / city boy, I guess I needed to see this land for myself at least once in my life. Heck, this is where our food comes from, at least a good chunk of the processed stuff we rely on. This is farmland and cattle land and railroad land. Built by sturdy folks who came and took from the land… after taking it from the original inhabitants of this land. This is the place that was called “Bleeding Kansas” right before the Civil War. This is the place where the struggle for workers rights and progressive politics has been usurped by a unique brand of conservatism. Jesus. Guns. And the soil. Not weird, old America for sure. Confusing new America, perhaps. 

Even when I crossed the border into Colorado, not much changed. Not the signs or the flags or the farms, or the dots on the map. It wasn’t until I could see the Rockies, off in the distance as I approached Trinidad, CO that things started to feel familiar again. And as I crossed the Raton Pass and re-entered New Mexico, I immediately felt like I was back in my place again. Even though I was still hundreds of miles from home. I’m guessing the non-Anglo elements of New Mexico’s population, along with its tough economic luck, and a scrappy, defiant mentality helped create a diverse place that just feels right to me. It is still “weird” here. Maybe ominously so, sometimes. When the sun goes down, there is still a sense of foreboding I haven’t felt in other places. Certainly not in places as strikingly beautiful as here. My muse seems to dance freely here in the desert. She dances to slow sad songs, I guess.