Perhaps a few years ago the topic of this entry may have been slightly controversial: Do you use film or pixels to record the really meaningful stuff for your portfolio, picture frame, or family album? Film had a century-long and winding road before it was accepted as art. I’m sure some folks still argue that photography is too mechanical to be considered real art. But at least light and chemicals had to be manipulated properly to get a keeper to make it out of the final wash tray instead of ending up in the trash can. But pixels? Just how much control must a practitioner have before work can be considered art worthy?
I have built three different darkrooms in three different houses where I’ve perched, so I was certainly invested in trying to make art in my own place. Sure, I shot lots of snaps and had them processed at the local camera shop, but for the really cool stuff I wanted to give away, it was darkroom soup for me. Just black & white, mind you. Mostly 8 x 10s matted in homemade frames. Just about all 35 mm format. I did a bit of E-6 color processing, too, but on two very important roles shot back in the early 80s, I blew something in the process and all went green. Disaster, but I still used the shots in slideshows anyway. I guess it proved that I wasn’t quite the suave photog I had hoped I had become. Humility is never a bad thing.
When I retired from teaching eight years ago I was gifted with my first digital camera. It was a small Nikon with a 6 megapixel capacity, though I found I could bring home knock-out shots about three-quarters that size. They were amazing. And I could look at them -- and play with them -- immediately on my computer. Landscapes. Portraits. Macro close-ups. Easy to print through Apple’s iPhoto. Wow. I printed some myself with special computer ink, but nobody could tell me how archival those prints would be. Zapping images off to Apple with Kodak equipment seemed like the best way to go.
I was a pretty quick convert. With all the fun I was having on my Mac, I pretty much left the darkroom. Not that the space is wasted, mind you. The grandkids have helped me convert that narrow little room to The Train Room. Running an N-scale Amtrak passenger liner around the counter under the amber darkroom safelight is often requested by short visitors.
In many ways, I’d say I’m more serious about photography today than I’ve ever been. And trust me, I’ve enjoyed stalking good pictures in the wild since I was in high school. Digital just makes more sense.
Still, the idea of mixing chemicals and playing with physical light to actually make images come up on a piece of paper is a bit of magic I don’t really want to give up on forever. While the darkroom currently houses model trains, I have not dumped trays and thermometers, darkened storage jugs and timers in anybody’s garage sale. My trusty Besseler 23C enlarger may be resting in a plastic garbage bag trying to stay as dust free as possible, but it can be easily reassembled if a grandkid asks how in the heck I made those pictures framed in the dining room.
I thought making black and white prints was magic back then and I still marvel at what Ansel Adams accomplished during his music-influenced momentous career. I’ll be more than happy to teach a little of that magic to anybody who wants to see it happen. It is pretty darned cool. And you can see it happen under amber lights in real time. Pixels are great, but hanging out with a kid in the darkroom is even better. I spent lots of afternoons in the darkroom at Studebaker Junior High with kids who wanted to learn. I sure hope one of my grandkids asks. It’s another one of those things this grandpa is good for.
Today’s elder idea: Photography is the most potent ... the most stimulating medium of human expression in this day. Call it Art, term it Craft, place it with journalism, science, physics, or self-expression -- it is not to be denied.
Ansel Adams
in The Ansel Adams Guide: Basic Techniques of Photography, Book 2 (1998)
photo: daughter Jennifer, souped in the darkroom (before being scanned) c. 1977
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