2019: 47 (Goodbye, Polaroid)

I have long held a deep appreciation for Polaroid film and cameras. Even back in the 80s, I had a Polaroid Spectra as part of my image making arsenal. About five years ago, inspired by Patti Smith, I purchased a beautiful Polaroid 360 camera off of Ebay… with a sharp glass lens and Zeiss viewfinder. It’s a thing of beauty. And as of today, it’s a beautiful paperweight in my office. A couple of years a go, Fujifilm decided to stop making their peel-part film, the only instant film that would still work in this camera. Immediately prices on a 10-pack of film started to creep up. What once cost 8 or 9 bucks on Amazon slowly increased in cost. Today, a box can fetch well over $50 on Ebay (and since it’s not being made anymore, folks are buying up expired stock.)

I decided that once my stockpile was gone, I would retire the camera for good. That moment arrived this past week. I took the 360 down to the bosque, and shot off my last 10 sheets. The whole process was over in about 30 minutes. I didn’t belabor the ending, shooting freely, and quickly. Fittingly, the absolutely last exposure to come out of the camera got jammed, and as I jimmied the camera back open to release the sheet of film, I unintentionally fogged the last exposure. Upon peeling, it reveals a wonderful gradient of pale blue within its signature white frame.

Unlike the Impossible Project / Polaroid Originals resurrection of the other instant film formats, I seriously doubt we’ll see another company pick up the mantle and large scale produce this specific kind of instant film. Dying formats are a sad reality in the world of film photography. Thankfully, renewed interest in film photography in general has brought back other films, and I will happily continue to run rolls of 35mm or 120 film through the rest of my camera collection. Still, I will miss the excitement of taking a shot with my old 360, waiting those seconds before peeling apart the packet to reveal the one-of-a kind image I just captured. Sic transit gloria Polaroid.

2019: 46 (Patience)

Nothing is static. Nothing is permanent. Seasons change. A reminder.

2019: 45 (Breathing Lessons)

To frequent readers of this blog, it will come as no surprise that I have a deep fondness for the Rio Grande bosque that cuts through the middle of Albuquerque; a ribbon of life in the middle of the dry desert. It seems whenever I need space to clear my head, a wander through the bosque usually does the trick. In recent years, I’ve focused my cameras on that environment, and it has provided an endless amount of inspiration and creative fulfillment. So much so that I am undertaking a new long-term project, returning to the bosque once a month to document the changes of the seasons, across the span of a year.

What the visits to the bosque also do for me is to allow me to let go, and deeply exhale. Not only in the literal sense, but also in a spiritual way. Recently I’ve been working hard to reconnect with myself; with my body and with my mind. Realizing that life depends on breathing, I’ve been using the focus on my breath to be the foundation for a renewed sense of mindfulness. Frequent yoga has been helping as well. These things are my attempt to stay grounded. I am grateful for each breath I can take, as well as for every visit I can make to the bosque.

2019: 43 (Close To The Edit)

Going deep into the edit for my next project. The question isn’t “what to include” but instead “what to exclude.” Also contemplating how I want to present the final body of work. Looking at something unique, intimate, personal, and of course…nostalgic.

2019: 42 (Back To The Bosque)

Going to the bosque of the Rio Grande here in Albuquerque never fails to inspire me. It also slows me down, allows me to decompress, and get out of my own head for a while. A recent jaunt with my new half-frame camera ignited thoughts of a new project… ideas are percolating. One day, 72 exposures, a lot less thinking, a lot more shooting. More to come.

2019: 41 (Contact Sheets | Half-frame Camera)

Shooting film is always a roll of the dice. You don’t know what you’ve captured on film until days (or weeks) later, after you’ve gotten your film processed. During my recent trip to Japan, I bought an old Olympus Pen EE-S, a half-frame film camera, on the first day of the trip. To those of you who are unfamiliar, a half-frame camera exposes only half of the usual 35mm film frame. Instead of 36 frames, the camera yields a whopping 72 photos per roll. An added bonus (or challenge) to using this camera is that the images are formatted vertically (as you can see on the contact sheet above.) So when I bought the camera, I had to trust that it was functioning properly. I knew I wasn’t going to see the results of this experience until I returned back home… so if the camera wasn’t working properly, I’d be shit out of luck, and there would be no opportunity to re-shoot the photos.

Here’s another curveball I needed to deal with. I wanted the film not only developed, but printed as contact sheets. Not a digitally layout of all the frame scans, but an actual, darkroom printed, contact sheet. I’m betting most of you reading this have never gotten a real contact sheet made. You lay the strips of film on a sheet of photo paper, expose it under the light of an enlarger, and then run that paper through photo chemistry. The result is what you see above. A nice way to judge all the photos from one roll of film. I actually had to ship my film to a lab in New York City to get this done (full disclosure, I also had them scan the film so I could have digital version for social media, etc.)

When the package finally arrived this week, I was relieved and excited to see the results. First off, the camera worked like a charm. Sure there were a couple of dud frames, mostly due to my bad skills at framing a moving subject, or not paying attention to the zone focus adjuster on the front of the lens. Otherwise though, the exposures look pretty much spot on. The exposure is controlled by a selenium meter on the front of the lens (see image below) which then adjusts the shutter speed to give a properly exposed image. The camera was made in the 1960s, so I was dubious whether it would function properly. If it didn’t work, I paid for an expensive, albeit very attractive, paperweight. Thankfully, my fears were not realized, and I have two rolls of memories from my trip.

This little gem of a camera… small, lightweight, and easy to use will most likely be in my pocket no matter what or where I decide to shoot next. It will be a unique addition to any other digital or film camera I might decide to use.

The wonderful Olympus Pen EE-S half-frame film camera. A thing of beauty and simplicity.

2019: 40 (Books and Zines and Why We Do This)

Self-publishing can mean many different things, especially as it pertains to photography. And if you ask five different people what the difference is between a zine and a book, you’ll likely get five different answers. Digging even deeper, I’ve been wondering lately why I do what I do with my photos… why do I share them on Instagram, why do I show my work on the walls of a gallery, why do I design and print my own photo books and zines? And by extension, why do any of us do this?

This may seem as it’s an existential crisis, and in some ways perhaps it is. It started earlier in the week as I took down the photo exhibit that I recently participated in at the Open Space Gallery. The exhibit was the result of a book project that was a couple of years in the making. The show actually dovetailed nicely with the book project, and was seen as an opportunity to sell some copies of the book (as any hopes of selling the actual photos from the show was a much further possibility… who buys photos anyway?) Long story short, over the five-week run of the show, the gallery sold exactly five copies of the book. Not that I don’t appreciate those five customers… but one would have expected more than five copies being sold. Or at least that’s what I personally expected.

Which leads me to my first issue, admitting that it’s rooted in the disappointment of the number of books sold. The real question is: who is buying photo books these days? It seems there are more and more people self-publishing their own books, which is easy thanks to affordable, on-demand printing. It has opened a door of creativity for me personally, and has brought me some attention and some sales, both of which I am grateful for. But the other side of that coin keeps gnawing at me. So many of us are printing books and zines, and I really wonder who the audience is, and how big this audience is. This is a logistical question as much as it is an existential one. How many copies of a book or zine should I plan on printing? The demand fluctuates, making it hard to rely on past experience. I had one book that sold fifty copies. I had a zine that I struggled to move ten copies of. And ultimately, WHY am I designing and producing actual hard copies of my work? The answer is: I love the process of laying out a book, I love to edit and sequence my work, and I genuinely love holding the finished product in my hands.

But I must admit, I also want other people to like my work enough to actually buy a copy of my book or zine, too. And that’s where things get complicated. Because the reality is… most people don’t care about you or your work, and certainly feel no need or desire to make a purchase. Which again makes me super appreciative of the people who’ve actually dropped their hard earned money into my pocket to support my art by making a purchase. But at the end of the day, I’m talking about maybe 10, maybe 15, maybe 20 people at most. Why should this matter? Why shouldn’t this matter? I can’t imagine giving up on this outlet for my work. I am not at the point of ending my self-publishing efforts. But why print more than one, personal copy of my next zine? It certainly isn’t a money making pursuit; in most cases, it ends up being the opposite.

This was all swimming in my brain as I attended the ABQ Zinefest today. Perhaps not the best frame of mind to go into the event with, but I’m a dark motherf*cker sometimes, so I just go with what’s in my head…otherwise I’d probably not leave the house. The Zinefest was much bigger this year than the last time I attended, two years ago. It felt inclusive, and the DIY sprit was in full effect. I am 100% supportive of this kind of event, and the platform it provides for a wide range of voices and perspectives. I did feel somewhat of an outsider as I strolled the aisles, but that’s all my own hang up, not from anyone at the fest. I saw some mediocre work, but I also saw truly beautiful work, and made a few purchases of a couple of things I was really impressed by. The techniques on display ran the gamut: from simple folded pieces, to uniquely printed and bound zines, with a variety of binding methods utilized. It made me think more about how I print and bind my own work, and gave me ideas for trying something different next time I decide to print my work.

Because I have to think about every single fucking thing from multiple sides, I had some critical thoughts about the things I saw at the show. For example, I realize that zine making is a mode of self-expression that has a very low barrier for entry. You could literally fold a single sheet of paper a few times and make a zine out of it. Or you could run off a bunch of sheets at Kinko’s and staple them together. or bind with a rubber band. Or you could silkscreen pages, trim and hand bind them. or you could output your swanky, self-designed book to an online printer and in a couple of weeks, have a 48 page, perfect bound photo book in your hands. In any of these scenarios, you have expressed yourself. You have brought something personal into the world. You may have even shared it with someone.. a friend…or a stranger… or maybe even a paying customer. But then again, I ask WHY are any of us doing this? Are we our own audience? Do we need to sell something in order to validate our work? Why sell at all? Why not trade with people doing what we are doing? Why does this matter? Isn’t it great that people struggling to find their own voice and perspective have an outlet with their reach?

The other thing I thought about was whether or not the Zinefest would have been an appropriate place for me to show my self-published books. I think I saw two booths that had any photo specific publications at them. One was a slick series that I had already heard of, and these most resembled my own books. To be honest, these two examples stuck out (to my eyes) like sore thumbs. Most of the things on display and for sale had a very low tech, rough hewn look and feel. And considering the DIY roots of zine making, this makes sense. But it also made me realize that that’s not the kind of work I want to be making. It is no disrespect to those creators who take that approach, but I have higher expectations for my books and zines. In fact, I am less inclined to even apply the term “zine” to my publications from now on.

I’ll certainly be pondering all of this as I decide what my next project will be. Who knows, maybe it will be one copy for my own bookshelf this time around. If you have thoughts to share with me on any of this, I’d love to hear from you.

2019: 39 (Cleaning Up)

Every autumn I get the urge to purge. I usually spend an afternoon going through bins out in the shed, throwing out ephemera that I’ve dragged from place to place. This year, my ritual has expanded into reassessing my photo related items. I have more cameras than I know what to do with, and film in my fridge and freezer that has been unused long enough. This week I parted with 15 boxes of Fuji peel apart film, committing to “moving on” from a camera and format that has been a thorn in my side long enough. This has me reassessing other cameras sitting idle in my office, and I’m taking steps to part with them as well. As much as I claim to love shooting film, the reality is I have film cameras I haven’t touched in years, and most likely will not be using any time soon. My Ebay account will be getting regular usage for the next few weeks. Nostalgia be damned, it’s time to move on.