The Online Photographer

A Traditional and Uncompromising Technique

Michael A. Smith with his 8x20 view camera. Lots of photographers these days have never seen one of these, much less used one.

I've gotten a number of questions about the techniques that Michael A. Smith and Paula Chamlee use, and I've been a bit negligent about filling in those blanks. Better late than never! Here goes.

Most unusual is that they are devotees of contact printing paper. (The category here being fiber-base black-and-white photo paper, of course.) The amount of light getting to the paper from an enlarger is very limited, so papers designed for enlarging have to be of high sensitivity to avoid excessively long exposure times. Not so with the more old-fashioned contact printing papers—which could be, and often were, exposed with a plain old light bulb hanging from the ceiling!

There's a lot of subtlety to emulsion science that I'll gloss over here, but very basically, chloride papers were slow (i.e., relatively insensitive to light) and had a naturally warm (browish-black, sometimes slightly greenish) tone; bromide papers were fast (sensitive to light) and had a naturally cold (pure black, blue-black, or slightly purplish) tone. Time was, back in the early-to-middle 20th century, that pure chloride papers were prized for their superior image quality, while bromide papers were considered quick-and-dirty materials best suitable for things like newsroom work. As enlargers became more common, papers with a chemical mixture of silver chloride and silver bromide salts in their emulsions—called, naturally enough, "chlorobromide" papers—became common. Chlorobromide papers were thought to give a good balance of neutral image tone along with adequate speed for enlarging. For many decades now, most black-and-white photo papers have been chlorobromide enlarging papers.

When Group ƒ/64 rebelled against the then-prevalent pictorialist mode of art photography, by making pan-sharp, unretouched images with sharp rather than soft-focus lenses, another way they expressed their rejection of the older fashions was to use cheap newspaper-room bromide papers. They actually made this popular enough that a generation or two later, "pure bromide" papers had become a status symbol in certain quarters in their own right, and at least one fine-art paper was marketed as being "pure bromide." Pure silver chloride papers were on the way out, and nearly became extinct.

The last of the old contact printing papers, Kodak Azo, had been in danger of discontinuation for some time. Michael and Paula worked very hard to keep it alive, eventually—reluctantly—becoming dealers of the paper just to help extend its life and its availability—for themselves, but also thinking of other photographers who used it. It was finally discontinued when Kodak stopped making photo papers in the middle of the last decade. But Michael and Paula still have some, to this day.

Here's a picture taken just a few days ago (Tuesday, I think) of Michael holding an 8x20-inch negative made with the camera in the top picture. The vacuum contact printing frame is under his left elbow, with a sheet of paper in it. 

But that's hardly all. Famously, Michael and Paula embarked on a personal crusade to singlehandedly revive the nearly extinct pure silver-chloride contact printing paper. This they have done; their paper is called Lodima Fine Art. It is now the last pure chloride paper and the last contact printing paper* on Earth.

The venture has been almost quixotic, very much a labor of love. The R&D took six years. They've lost money on the project...but then, they were never in it to make money in the first place. When I think of all the photographers I know who have anguished over the demise of their favorite materials...there are so many who would have loved to do something similar.

That name—Lodima—leads us to our next subject. Note that it's "amidol" backwards. And what is amidol? It's a traditional, very old-fashioned paper developer that dates all the way back to 1892. It's touchy stuff. For one thing, after a while it will stain what it comes into contact with. There is a famous picture of Edward Weston, which unfortunately I can't find online, showing his fingernails stained black from immersion in amidol (either that, or he was a proto-goth). It also fogs paper fairly readily unless you're careful, and has a short tray life. But it became famous as the developer than Weston used and swore by, and from the middle of the 20th century right up till now it has had its fans and adherents, who feel its distinctive properties make it special.

So Michael and Paula aren't "just" large and ultra-large format photographers. They're also famous (some might say notorious) within that world for adhering to a very traditional and almost vanished technique: they make only contact prints, on pure silver-chloride contact-printing paper developed in Amidol. (They also develop their negatives by inspection, the same way Edward Steichen used to. I won't say they're the only ones using that ancient technique today, but they must be among a rare few.) It's an extremely traditional and also a very uncompromising technique.

In our current Print Offer, which ends tomorrow, Michael's "Rio Nell'Elba" photo is printed on Lodima paper; the other three are printed on NOS (new old stock) Kodak Azo.

These are not old pictures, and they don't attempt to mimic bygone styles. But I think that perhaps especially with Paula's "Jökulsárlón, Iceland" photo, you'll notice a distinctly antiquarian gestalt to the print; it's not hard to imagine it as a vintage print you might see on the wall of a museum, a testament to the craft of days gone by.

Mike

*Okay, one of the last. (See the Comments.)

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Sergio Bartelsman: "I bought some 8x10 Lodima paper and some amidol to prepare Michael's developer formula, and it is for sure one of the nicest papers with the deepest blacks I have seen. Provided your pictures are good and your negatives are reasonably well processed you're in for a treat. Contact prints have a very special and delicate character that is unmatched, making them one of the most beautiful photographic objects there are."

QT Luong: "I know this is a naïve question because choice of process is part of one's artistic vision, but I am wondering how much of Michael and Paula's success and recognition is due to the uniqueness of their process. There is certainly a difference which can be appreciated by connoisseurs, but if they made enlarged prints using a 4x5 camera, at those sizes the prints would still be exquisite, everything else remaining the same." 

Mike replies: Exactly so. I would say almost none of their success and recognition is due to the uniqueness of their process—or very, very little. In fact, when presenting their work to collectors or curators, they don't even mention the techniques or the processes. They just show the prints.

As with all technique, it's really only of interest to them and to other photographers. Of course, this is a website for photographers....

Thingo: "Just read the article about the process of 'develop their negatives by inspection.' Not only why, but also how. Michael A. Smith is not only knowledgable, but generous in his sharing of that understanding. Indeed, this is a website for photographers."

M>B>: "I formerly owned that 8x20 Deardorff view camera. I sold it to Michael in the mid '70s along with lots of film holders. He had it restored at the factory. It was one of three of the original 8x20 cameras that was used to shoot the Grand Central Station backlit displays in the Kodak Pavillion."

Mike Rosiak: "I now have in my possession print #2 of Paula's 'Crawford Notch,' and I have to say, I have never seen a photographic print quite like this one. It shows me what is possible. Michael and Paula are quite gracious people. Even though they were in full production mode, they were kind enough to allow my wife and I to visit their studio, ostensibly to pick up the print, but more importantly, to meet the artists. The visit also provided the opportunity to see first hand some of their other work."

Professional Criticism

By Ctein

Ten days back, Mike wrote a column about compulsive criticism, with which I wholeheartedly agreed. Incessant criticism is not just a safe defense mechanism to protect the perpetrator—it's mean and inconsiderate. The unrelenting cynic is making me and anyone else within earshot pay for their psychological safety. It's not my job to bear the cost; let them pay a therapist for that.

Some jobs, though, demand the ability to be critical when it's appropriate. Reviewers and critics, for example, have to be able to tell their audience when the object of their tender attentions is flawed. Failure to do that not only makes for poor reviews, it's an abdication of responsibility.

Some people are constitutionally incapable of being a reviewer, because they can't ever say a harsh word about anyone. (Unfortunately, such people seem to be far more rare than the ones who can only speak harshly.) Theodore Sturgeon, one of America's great writers and a remarkably insightful man, was also possibly the sweetest human being who ever walked the face of the planet. This did not serve him well when he spent several years writing book reviews; afterwards he admitted that he hadn't been very good at it cause he just didn't have the heart to say bad things about bad writing.

Sometimes readers get upset by negative reviews. This is usually due to a misunderstanding of the role of the reviewer. A reviewer toils to serve the reader. Not the publisher, not the product maker, not the fanboy nor corporate cheerleader. When I'm writing a review of a product, my one and only obligation is to tell you, as accurately and honestly as I can, why I think you should or shouldn't spend your hard-earned money on it.

The fanboys are not my audience. They've already made up their minds; my job isn't to validate their sense of reality. If my review conforms to it, so be it. If it doesn't, that's life. They are not who I'm writing for; I'm writing for the folks who haven't made up their minds, the ones who haven't decided whether or not to buy. They're the ones who need my advice.

There are those who complain that a negative review isn't "fair" to the manufacturer. No; so long as the review is accurate, it is fair. Yes, a negative review can cost the manufacturer sales. Again, the job of the reviewer is not to serve the manufacturer, is to serve the consumer. It is the job of the PR department to serve the manufacturer, and that's an entirely honorable profession. But it is an entirely different one.

There are the reviewers who duck and cover by saying they don't want to "waste the space" on a review of a lousy product. That almost sounds plausible...so long as you fail to consider who the reviewer is supposed to be serving. Not wasting that space means there will be readers whose time and money gets wasted because the reviewer failed to warn them about a product that would serve them ill. In my mind, that's a fundamental dereliction of one's professional obligation. It's the cheap and easy way out if you're the reviewer. It's neither cheap nor easy if you're the unsuspecting reader who gets saddled with an unsatisfactory product.

The thing is, most of the time most reviewers don't want to have to write negative reviews. Oh yes, on occasion, venting and ranting about a particularly egregious insult to consumers is cathartic. But far more often than not, it's a burden. You (the reviewer) have wasted any number of hours of your time on some unsatisfactory bauble. You do it so that you can save your readers from the same fate. It's your obligation. That doesn't make it fun.

And then there's the blowback, because there is always blowback. Fanboys hate having their favorite baubles dissed, and they're incapable of escaping the egocentrism that leads them to believe the review was meant for them. Most product makers take a negative review in stride, but a few can be downright ugly about it. Most of us don't like to have to face hostility, and, when it comes down to it, most of us don't like to have to deliver bad news. Reviewers and critics included.

Being critical is part and parcel of the reviewer's job. One just doesn't want to make too much of a habit of it.

Ctein

Critical columnist Ctein appears every Wednesday on TOP.

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.
An article of interest today.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

William: "Today the most vexing problem with reviews is that they are done in a vacuum by people with little or no journalistic training. Lack of a journalism background by itself is not necessarily an issue. Unfortunately, online reviewers rarely have mentors, peers or editors. There is a reason old-school print journalism relied on assistant and chief editors. That reason was not to maintain a bureaucracy, it was to insure quality and relevance and develop inherent talent.

"So readers are presented with a great deal of information with a rather low signal-to-noise ratio. Many reviews cost nothing, but you have to be your own editor. There is no free ride. Paid review sites aren't an answer; those writers have no peer group to guide them either."

Dave: "What bothers me is the reviewer who is the fanboy. When they are the fanboy of the product, they typically don't tell me anything the manufacturer hasn't told me. And when they are a fanboy of a competing product, they just tell me what's wrong with the product they are reviewing or why I should just buy the competition. Either way they haven't done me any service."

Joe: "The key to getting the most from written criticism is not just to avoid the goofballs who love everything or hate everything, but to get to know a few critics well, warts and all.

"Film critics are a great example. I read a lot of film reviews, and I've gotten to the point where I can parse what's going to be useful. Actually, I think anyone who regularly reads the same few reviewers does this unconsciously. So it's not just a matter of avoiding Peter Travers of Rolling Stone because he's from a different planet where all movies are terrific. I often agree with Ebert but I can also tell when he's being too soft for my taste. I can tell when Anthony Lane is setting his expectations too high. When I read Janet Maslin's book reviews, I know that she's a sucker for thrillers that I won't be able to stand.

"And even though I couldn't give you the name of a camera gear reviewer from Pop Photo, the magazine's reviews do speak with a consistent editorial voice, and it's possible to read between the lines and see beneath the veneer of praise that's given to nearly every camera."

JohnMFlores: "After reviewing motorcycles for RoadRUNNER Magazine for several years, I've come to the conclusion that there aren't that many bad motorcycles being made any more; nearly all are reliable, predictable, and do a credible job of meeting their design briefs. As such, I feel that my job is to ride the bike in a number of different situations—from the interstate to the urban jungle and everywhere in between—and report on how the bike performs in each. I don't see it as my job to declare whether the bike is good based upon my personal biases; rather, it's up to the reader to decide if the bike's sweet spot matches their own. It's especially important with motorcycles, because they are often purchased without a test ride.

"In a mature industry like digital photography, I suspect that it's more or less the same. It may have been different ten years ago where companies where still making their way and technology was still evolving; they still had dogs. But today I think that you'd be hard pressed to find a truly bad camera for over $300. Whether the camera's sweet spot matches the reviewer's sweet spot matters much less than whether it matches the potential buyers'."

Sara J: "Having worked in the audio business during its heyday, one magazine reviewer never had a negative product review and always used the phrase 'a good value for the money' in every review.... When someone walked in the door with that magazine, we'd sigh and hope that the person had ears."

Why Is the Canon 6D so Hot?

The people who are responsible for the Chevrolet Corvette are worried about young people.

"We spend a lot of time talking about that," says Corvette Chief Engineer Tadge Juechter. "How do you get [i.e., sell to] younger people who think the Corvette is an old man's car, when every driver they see has white or no hair?"*

Personally, I think their problem is pretty basic. I have a soon-to-be 20-year-old son. We live in a pretty average Midwestern American town—neither big nor small, neither prosperous nor impoverished. We are neither prosperous nor impoverished, too. Maybe a third to a half of his friends have their own cars. (Somewhere in there. I haven't done a survey.) He himself drives a '98 Buick that was relatively pricey at about $6,000 used. His friend who is the biggest car nut in the group works with cars and drives a used but hotted-up supercharged Pontiac Grand Prix (red, naturally).

Corvettes used to be "the working man's sports car." But American workers don't earn as much as they used to, and Corvettes used to be a lot cheaper, relatively, than they are now. Not only can my son not even think about a Corvette, but his father can't, either. (Not my style of car, but that wouldn't matter either way. Besides, I still have most of my hair, and it's not white yet.)

A new Corvette goes for $50k to $105k. As far as I know, only one of my son's peer group could theoretically afford a $50k car—a kid whose parents own a local Chinese restaurant. That kid drives a late-model SUV.

My theory is that young people don't think about the Corvette because it's just plain too far out of their reach. It's pure lottery dreamin'. Chevrolet is just out of touch with reality in America c. 2013.

So one thing I've noticed in the camera market is that the Canon 6D has been selling surprisingly well, and generating a great deal of interest from Canon fans and from camera buyers in general. I wonder if what's driving that is simply that the Canon 5D Mark III, at $3,500, is just too expensive for most people. It's not that they think it isn't worth it—it's just that they don't have the scratch.

The theory is that the high price of the 5D Mark III is driving peoples' interest into the waiting arms of the 6D. The 6D has a lot of the higher model's goodness, for such a big price cut that it tips the balance of most peoples' interest from the high-horsepower body to the more "sensible" model.

In other words, the Canon 5D Mark III isn't overpriced: it just costs too much.

And what America needs is a $25,000 Corvette.

Mike

*Quoted in Road & Track magazine, February/March 2013, p. 58.

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Scott: "My photographer friends and I have a conversation going about the 5D Mark III vs. the 6D. It comes down to perceived value for a lot of us. For the extra money of the 5D Mark III we only really got a marginally higher sync speed with strobe. The megapixels and focusing differences didn't make much difference in our real world shooting. We're mostly working editorial photographers and not once has an art director asked about image size, color, or sharpness, or weather sealed cameras or any other build quality issue. The value doesn't seem there and the user experience is basically the same. No pride of ownership. As far as the Corvette, here in SoCal it's retired Navy and military that buy that car. The Subaru/Toyota venture or BMWs and Audis seem to rule the day. A new or used $25k car hits the sweet spot."

A. McLaughlin: "I read an article in the New York Times last year that said automobiles just don't have the allure they once had to younger people. Actually they don't turn me on any more either, but on the other hand a nice Fuji X100 is another matter."

Mike: "For me, the ability to change the focus screen to the Eg-S is the reason to buy the 6D. I manually focus 99% of the time and the fixed screen optimized for AF with slow lenses on the 5D Mark III is a total deal breaker."

Burt: "It's not just the Corvette they should be worried about; it's every car in the lineup. Turn back the clock and a few things were different:

• Cars were much less expensive. Base models are now $15k. In the '80s you could get a new car for half that. Wages haven't rises in concert wih the prices.
• Cars weren't boring. A Corvette may be exciting to some, but a $28,000 Camry is exciting to no one, and is prohibitively expensive to many. Kids used to want cars because they were cool. Now they're just commodities.
• Insurance. I'm 35 and have a great record, drive a ten-year-old car, and still can't get a policy for less than $1,500/year. I can only imagine what they'd charge a 16-year-old with a Corvette!
• Gas. Costs four times what it did 15 years ago.

"In short, cars nowadays are financially prohibitive and boring.  When you're making $7.75/hr you probably want a bit more for your efforts.

"As for the 5D Mark III, I shoot one for my assignments. It's a beast and it gets the job done. There's something to be said for that. But it's a $28,000 Camry all day long. When I want to enjoy my camera I grab the weird little Fuji X100!"

Roland: "The 6D is a very interesting proposition. I am just waiting for a review on the WiFi software. If it is possible to shoot Raw+JPEG and beam the JPEGs to a laptop or tablet, that would be fantastic.... The client, A.D. [ad agency art director —Ed.] and other people could look at large images directly and at their desks, instead of crowding around me and chimping at the tiny camera screen."

About Those Print Prices....

A reader named Gary left the following comment about the current print sale. My answer got kinda long, so I thought I'd post it separately here. (I've edited Gary's comment slightly.)

How do Michael and Paula reconcile with the people who paid full price for their work? Will offering prints at such a low price bring the value of all their prints down? And what happens when someone tries to sell the 'cheap' print in the future—will there be a note in the bill of sale stating the buyer originally paid only 1/10th the value? I hope they do well in their sale, but these are all questions that need to be addressed.

That's maybe a more complicated set of questions than you might think, Gary, but I'll do my best.

First of all, none of these four pictures have ever been sold before, for any price, higher or lower than what we're offering them for. They won't ever be sold again (by the artists, I mean) after this five-day event. So to begin with, there's no chance that a previous buyer paid more than our price for one of these pictures, and no chance that someone will be sold one of these pictures for a higher price in the future. Furthermore, this sale doesn't affect the asking prices of their other prints. And finally, none of Michael and Paula's other prints are available for the same prices as these.

That's the story for the primary market, i.e., the artists themselves selling their own work for the first time. As for the secondary (resale) market, well, I happen to have no idea what the secondary markets think of Michael's or Paula's prints—whether they frequently come up for sale or not, and, if they do, whether they go for higher or lower prices than they were originally sold for, or than they would sell for if they were purchased from the photographers now. I would guess that it's impossible to generalize, because value depends on the individual picture, how many prints of that picture are available, how often one comes up for sale, how many people want it, and how much those people are willing and able to pay.

If there is any activity in a secondary market, however, generally the "provenance" of a high-volume sale like this one will be known to dealers, and the resale prices will adjust accordingly. ...Or not, if the market decides not. But no, there won't be any notation on these prints that they came from the TOP sale.

Now consider that Michael and Paula have a body of work over their lifetimes that extends to some 5,000 negatives they've made prints of. Many pictures have sold multiple times, and many have never sold once. Michael tells me that their standard practice is to make five prints of any image they like, keeping one for themselves. If the other four sell, then they print five more, and the price goes up a bit. They also raise their prices as pictures get older, mainly because they don't want to spend a lot of time printing old work. Recently, they made the decision to stop printing their old work at all—that is, no more batches of five more when the previous batch runs out. They want to put all their energies into making new work. In the case of their better-known, more popular pictures that have been printed multiple times, the prices of the last few available, if there are any, will go up considerably, some as high as $10,000.

What this means is that none of their prints are editioned—or, if you will, the "edition" limit is set when the image is retired. But as David Vestal is fond of pointing out, most photographers make fewer prints of almost all of their pictures than typical limited editions are limited to! Many of Michael and Paula's pictures—I don't know how many exactly, of course—might have sold one, two, or three times, making them more rare than most limited editions.

Volume influences rarity. Usually, rarity influences price; but not necessarily. Some photographers' best-selling and highest-priced prints are also by far their most common. Even partway through this sale, it's already obvious that these four pictures will exist in far more prints than most of Michael and Paula's other pictures do (as of yesterday, they'd sold roughly 25 prints of each picture). On the other hand, their most popular images have sold as many as 100 prints, with a number of images having sold 40 or more. Art doesn't work by supply and demand entirely. Whether these four TOP Print Offer pictures will eventually be less valuable or more valuable on the secondary market is entirely for the secondary market to decide; probably less, based on the low selling price and the relatively high number of prints made, but who can tell? In any case, a low original selling price isn't necessarily a matter of concern to the secondary market. Brett Weston used to sell "student prints" for $25—prints that were identical to his regular prints. When his work is auctioned today, no differentiation is made as to which prints originally sold for student print prices and which for regular prices.

As to how previous buyers of their work might feel about this sale, well, you'd have to ask them! But it depends on a lot of things. It depends on who the previous buyers are and why they bought their own print or prints. Most people buy prints for the pleasure of ownership, not the promise of deferred financial reward. If the previous buyer was a museum, they could care less about our sale, because museums seldom deaccession work and most don't speculate in the art market in any case (and this isn't a trivial clientele, either...Michael and Paula have actively marketed to museums, and their work is in more than 140 collections, far more than is the case with most photographers). The worst case would be a pure investor who might worry that a lower-cost offering would dilute the value of his or her own holdings. But even that goes both ways, because a popular sale like this one might actually serve to promote the artists and generate more interest in their work. Who knows?

Finally, I might point out that there's nothing stopping any of their previous buyers from buying one of these. Maybe they'd be delighted to add another Smith or Chamlee to their existing ones at a bargain price. As I said, you'd have to ask them—and you'd probably get a variety of answers.

Clear as mud? Sorry for the long reply. As I said, it's a complicated set of questions.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Nikhil Ramkarran: "I can speak only for myself, but I participate in these print sales (when I can) because of the print technique and the aesthetics, in roughly equal measure. I own a platinum print from one of the best platinum printers, and a great photographer. Soon I will own a great silver contact print from one of the best printers, and great photographer. And best of all, I can own these great pieces of art and craft because the prices are affordable for me. I'll let the artists worry about dilution of their market, if they think it is something worth worrying about. Right now, I'm looking at Carl Weese's beautiful print on my office wall (directly opposite my desk, where all my favourite art hangs, making being in the office tolerable...just), and can't wait until Paula Chamlee's is hanging next to it."

PWP (partial comment—for PWP's complete comment, please see the Comments section): "I'll chime in as a current owner of several Michael and Paula prints. It doesn't bother me a bit that the TOP print sale prints are selling for less than I paid for mine; in fact, I think it's a wonderful opportunity for others to own some of their work. The prints I bought were chosen carefully because I love the subject matter. I also bought one of their Azo Portfolios to help fund the Azo replacement paper that Michael helped develop. I don't care about the secondary market because I love my prints and will never sell them (my heirs will have to deal with that if they choose)."

New Sigma 60mm

Sigma has announced four new lenses in its "Art" series, including this 60mm ƒ/2.8 DN lens that sports a metal barrel covering. It has a 90mm focal-length equivalence in Sony E-mount or 120mm-e in Micro 4/3, the two lensmounts for which it will be available. The press release is here.

Sigma has also unveiled new versions of its mirrorless 19mm ƒ/2.8 and 30mm ƒ/2.8 lenses (the "old" versions—introduced back in the mists of ancient times one year ago—are still on sale for a mere $199 for both lenses, for Micro 4/3 or Sony E-mount). Also new is a "completely redesigned" version of the popular 30mm ƒ/1.4 normal lens for Canon, Nikon, and Sigma APS-C.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Ben: "It's a shame Sigma designs its DN range around an APS-C format as it makes the focal length equivalents a bit weird on Micro 4/3. Sony users enjoy a fairly traditional 28mm, 45mm, and 90mm whereas Olympus and Panasonic users have a more unorthodox 38mm, 60mm and 120mm. Still, I guess Sony users need these more :-) ."

Empty Nest

I'm sure a lot of you are familiar with this feeling. I dropped my son off at college yesterday. Classes start today. We carried all his stuff to his dorm room, gave each other a hug, and then I drove the 100-minute-trip home—in a near-blizzard for the first part of the trip.

It's been almost twenty years to the day since I brought him home for the first time as a five-day-old infant, wrapped in my down coat. Sudden single parenthood in the space of a few very turbulent days.

House seems empty today; different, somehow, than when he's living at home but out. The dog notices it too—she's been hanging close all day. This is going to take some getting used to. For the dog and me, at least.

More than anything, I'm hoping he has a good experience at college—he's ready for it, I think.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Mike: "Yeah, it will pass. My three sons left for college, one each year for three years. After the last one left I felt the way you seem to—for a day. Then the feeling of freedom started to set in. It was like I was a kid again. And when I retired it got even better.

"Now I have one off on his own (but he won't take all his stuff). One in the last months of med school (but he won't take all his stuff). And one who just graduated after bouncing through almost as many majors as I did (but he won't take all his stuff).

"We have bought and remodeled a smaller house since the two of us won’t need all the room we did when three sons were living here (but we can't get rid of the old house because the new house doesn't have room for all our sons' stuff).

"The kids may leave, but their stuff never does…."

Paugie: "My two daughters graduated from college in October 2000. One took seven and a half years and the other four and a half years to traverse their college courses. They very easily got jobs and soon after, I announced that I was giving both of them the freedom to leave the family home. (Oops, just realized I have to say that here in the Philippines it is the custom for children to stay at home until they get married, or in many cases, even long after they have married. It is not unusual to have three generations living in one household.)

"I said that I wouldn't want for them to live their single lives under my control and then come under the control of their husbands (another custom which Westerners may find weird) without knowing what it is like to be 'free.' I wanted them to enjoy their singleness, being that they had their own jobs and could fend for themselves. Having declared so, I felt that would be that.

"Little did I know that my second daughter (who was so babied by her mother that she was 11 before she was allowed to cross a street by herself) would take up the offer. Just a little over a week later, she said, 'Papa, on Thursday, please borrow Uncle Henry's pick-up and bring me and my furniture to the small place I rented which is quite near my place of work.'

"I was flabbergasted! Thursday came. The whole afternoon they were loading up the vehicle, I was simmering inside, almost fuming. I could not understand my feelings. My daughter was leaving my home. I even managed to drive one of the wheels into a ditch and had to ask neighbors' assistance to jack the axle up to get the pick-up out of the ditch.

"Two of my three children have gotten married since then, but I have never felt as bad as on that night."

William OBrien: "Five kids, five partings, still have 'stuff' from all of the kids. Had to push some out, some left as soon as they could. That said they all come back as often as they can, they bring husbands/wives, grandchildren, problems, etc. We love them all and enjoy them and the little ones constantly. You will never get over it but they will come back."

Links

There's always something new about this blogging business. Another first, the other day: I was contacted by a photographer who complained that TOP had used his photograph—of a 1937 Jaguar—without his permission.

I try to take rights issues seriously, so I went looking for it. I did do a few posts recently about cars, but I couldn't remember posting a picture of an old Jaguar.

I couldn't find it anywhere.

I have a poor memory in some ways. I suffer from what I jokingly call "proper noun aphasia," for one thing—an inability to remember names. It's not that the names aren't in there, it's just that they take a little while to percolate to the surface when I want them to. But I have a very good visual memory. If I'm trying to remember a person, what pops unbidden into my mind is an image—the name takes some effort, and a bit more time, to recall. I often do research for my posts visually, using Google image searches; I often surf the web visually too, going from one image search to another.

So I tried that. I just Googled "1937 Jaguar" and did an image search, thinking that, if I'd seen one of the pictures recently, I'd recognize it. Sure enough, there it was—one picture jumped out at me as one I'd seen before:

So once I knew what I was looking for, then I could go chase it down on the site.

Guess what? It turned out to be a hyperlink in a comment.

That got my dander up a bit. Here's what I wrote back to the fellow who complained:

That image isn't posted on my site. It's a hyperlink. The hyperlink takes readers to your page, where you have made the picture viewable by the public. The picture is not viewable or visible on my site, only on yours.

There is no infringement with hyperlinks; anyone may link to whatever they want to on the Web. With certain rare exceptions (for instance, if the page that is linked to is illegal), hyperlinks are permissible without restriction. This is perfectly in accordance with standard, widespread World Wide Web custom and also with the law—the right to hyperlink freely has been upheld by the courts on several occasions.

Thus, there has been no infringement on your rights and there was no need or requirement for us to secure your permission—neither common courtesy nor legality requires it.

I will remove the link to your picture because you have requested it, purely as a courtesy to you, but I suggest you familiarize yourself with the way the Web works; you really have no right whatsoever (nor any reasonable cause) to make such requests.

But it turned out that the fellow wasn't being obnoxious. He was quite polite in response, thanking me for the explanation. He's just new to the Web and still learning what's what, that's all.

I do tend to forget—there are always beginners out there. Not everybody already knows everything.

Trends
So, in the spirit of not assuming that everybody already knows everything, a few words about links on TOP:

What we mostly do in our posts are informational links, and affliliate links. An informational link can be anything—a link to an illustration of what's being talked about, to a citation that supports a premise or a claim, or simply to a site where more information is given.

An affiliate link is quite different. That's a link to one of the site's affiliates—usually, to a product you can buy. And which, if you buy it, pays me a small spiff. When you see a line like "I have two Micro 4/3 lenses so far and I'm thinking about getting a third," that's what that link is all about. (In that case the link also informs you as to which lens I'm talking about, so it's sort of a tease as well.)

Posts about new equipment might have a lot of affiliate links, but I generally don't hit those too hard. I just try to imagine what would annoy me if I were reading another site, and try to avoid annoying you.

Recently, however, a new trend has revved up. I now get offers almost every day to do "sponsored links" or "paid links" on TOP. That is, someone will pay me to write a post about their product or to put a link to their product or site in the text of one of my posts.

Well, I never do that. There has never been a sponsored or paid link on TOP. Affiliate links, yes, but I make all the decisions as to what those will be. Sometimes a link might look sponsored, but that's usually just because I'm doing somebody a favor, not because they're paying me.

Judging by my mail, though, there must be an awful lot of posts and links out there in the far-flung wilds of the Web that are only there because someone bought them. This is probably only going to get worse as time goes on, and as more people learn that there is money to be made in the trenches of e-commerce.

Mike

[UPDATE: The original version of this article contained a fake link that I thought would be a good way to make a point—it was a link that I fell for prior to Christmas, and I thought it would be interesting to see if other people would fall for it too. A bit later, however, I had a "what were you thinking" moment and decided I was not being half as clever as I thought I was. So I 86'd it. Sorry to those whose comments were thereby "orphaned."

Sometimes, the editor needs an editor. —Mike the Ed.]

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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The TOP Large Format Contact Print Sale: Paula Chamlee and Michael A. Smith

I'm pleased to announce our current print offer, beginning now: a choice of two pictures each by the remarkable husband-and-wife artistic partnership of Michael A. Smith and Paula Chamlee.

Not for nothing are gelatin-silver contact prints considered a high point of photographic technique. Made by sandwiching the negative and paper under optical glass, there is no resolution loss from enlarging; a contact print is as close to a direct report of the lens image as traditional photography allows. The prints are exquisite—extraordinarily delicate and almost supernaturally detailed. It's a kind of photographic beauty than many photographers over many decades have found intoxicating, even addicting.

As always with our sales, we take orders for five days only. At the end of that time, orders are closed, and the photographers begin making the prints.

In this sale we are offering a choice of two 8x20-inch prints by Michael:

Rio Nell'Elba, Isola d'Elba, Tuscany, 2000

Tucson Mountains, Arizona, 1990

And two 8x10-inch prints by Paula:

Jökulsárlón, Iceland, 2004

  Crawford Notch, New Hampshire, 1998

For this print offer only, Michael's 8x20s (normally $3,500) are available for $350 each, one-tenth of the usual price; and Paula's 8x10s (normally $2,000 and $2,500), are $250 each. These prices are exclusively for TOP readers and only for the five days of this sale.

Michael and Paula will each make and sign their own prints.

 [Purchase link removed; sale ended Fri., Feb. 1, 6 p.m. ET]

More details:

MATTING AND FRAMING: Unlike all our other sales, these prints will be delivered dry-mounted and overmatted with white 2-ply Artcare Alpharag matboard, ready for framing. Final sizes of the 2-ply matted prints are 13x15" for the 8x10 pictures and 13x25" for the 8x20 images.

You also have an option of upgrading to 4-ply matboard ($25) or ordering your print with 4-ply matboard and framed ($100). Final sizes of the 4-ply matted prints are larger: 16x18" for the 8x10 pictures and 16x28" for the 8x20 images.

MULTIPLE-PRINT DISCOUNTS: There are further discounts if you order more than one: $25 off if you buy two, $50 off if you buy three, or $100 off if you buy all four. PLEASE NOTE however that these further discounts will not show up in the shopping cart, but will be subtracted manually from your order if they apply.

SHIPPING: Shipping is $35 via UPS to U.S. addresses, for any number of prints.  Although this might seem high, the matted prints are larger than most we have sold previously, and each order will be delivered sandwiched in plywood to prevent damage.

For an order including a framed print, shipping is an extra $10 per frame.

For international (non-U.S.) orders, actual shipping costs plus handling will be charged. Because of the variety of options and destinations, exact shipping costs can't be determined until each order is packed and ready to go.

DELIVERY: Please allow up to 8 weeks from the end of the sale for delivery (March 29th). International orders might need to allow extra in-transit time. Early orders will begin shipping by the end of this week.

LIMITATIONS: Sale ends Friday, Feb. 1, at 6 p.m. Pennsylvania time. There is no limit to availability; however, we reserve the right to end the sale early if demand is too heavy. As discussed yesterday, it's a lot of work to create and ship large numbers of prints and it's possible Lodima (Michael and Paula's company) might be overwhelmed if there are too many orders.

We hope you love these prints. I've already decided which one I'm getting! I didn't think much of "Tucson Mountains" until I saw the real print. Across a sprawling mountainside, you see hundreds and hundreds of cactii, among rocks and scrub brush—each detail limned in precise miniature. The modulations are slight as your eye roves across the picture—the effect is subtle, but almost hypnotic. It draws you in. I've been thinking about that picture since I saw it; to me it seems like minimalist music, like a composition by Phillip Glass. It seems like one of those pictures with no power to grab my attention at a quick glance, but that I could continue to look at for years.

Detail, Tucson Mountains. Even after clicking on this, however, you're still not going to be seeing a very good representation of the real print.

It's also a rather extreme example of the disparity between an original print and a small online representation rendered in pixels. You might think it looks like nothing special here in this post...just a bar of gray. If it looks like nothing to you here, you're forgiven. For a better view, listen to the music....

Mike

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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David W. Scott: "Well Mike, your 'gateway' strategy worked. I just ordered my first piece of original art."

The TOP Model for Print Sales

"Summer Storm, Chicago" by Ken Tanaka. A print offer from 2010.

I'm very happy about our occasional print sales. We don't do very many of them—only two all of last year—but the sales and marketing model we've developed is very pleasing to me. Here's the difference:

Traditional gallery show: The artist/photographer/creator (whatever word you want to use) is responsible for making fine prints of all the work to be shown, plus paying for matting and framing. The out-of-pocket costs of all that can be hundreds to thousands of dollars. The costs of promotion, hanging the show, printing invitations, etc., as well as the costs of the opening, are tradtionally borne by the gallery, although in some cases the photographer has to pitch in for that as well—I've known of cases where the photographer has to help hang the show and pay for the wine and cheese for the opening!

In any event, the show is essentially done "on spec" (speculation). No one knows in advance how many prints will sell.

Then, because the sales will be few, the prices for each print have to be high. When I got into photography in the 1980s, anything up to $350 was considered a "student price." Established adult photographers would charge $500 up to as much as the market would bear; for smaller galleries, average sale prices might be anywhere from $650 to $1,800 depending on the size and rarity of the art, the popularity and fame of the photographer, the inherent desirability of the work, and all the other intangibles. Naturally, more famous photographers at the best galleries can charge much more; I've seen prices of up to $120,000 on gallery artwork. The reductio ad absurdum in my own experience was a New York City show of vacation snapshots by a famous painter. The pictures were utter junk, just random snapshots, but the prints were 16x20 dye transfers and the price for each was $25,000. The gallerist gushed to me that the artist had only shot two rolls of film on his vacation but that "every shot was a masterpiece" because he was a visual genius and his genius transferred readily between mediums, and also that the pictures were an "unprecedented opportunity to own a signed [famous name] for such an incredibly low price."

If she says so. I hope they did well with that.

But back to our typical gallery show—the show might be up for a month, maybe two. The gallery will sell a handful of prints; I've known photographers who sold no prints at a gallery show, one who sold two, many who sold four or six or eight, and several whose shows were "huge successes" who sold as many as twenty or thirty prints in a single show. A gallerist in the Eastern city where I went to art school told me that her best show ever sold 60 prints.

A beautiful platinum/palladium print by Carl Weese offered in 2010.

I should mention that sometimes, because the photographer wants to impress the gallery, the photographer will do a lot of marketing themselves, and arrange for buyers and collectors they've developed through other channels to go to the gallery and buy prints from the show. They want the gallery to think they're a good draw. Makes some sense.

So let's say it's a decent photographer with a track record and a fair amount of name recognition, and the prints are priced at $1,200, and the show does well and sells ten prints over the course of the month. That's $12,000 gross. The photographer then has to produce and deliver any duplicates of prints that have sold, again on their own dime. And the gallery will take 50%, 60%, or even 70% in gallery commission from the proceeds...leaving the photographer with $6,000 to $3,600 in profits. Subtract the $500 to $2,000 it cost the photographer to print and frame the show, and...well, you'd better not start to think too hard about the dozens to hundreds of hours of work the photographer put in to just to prepare for the show...never mind the work, effort, time, and care it took to actually do the photography and produce the body of work in the first place!

I'm not saying traditional galleries are bad. They're not; they're great—they do a huge service to photography as art, by promoting photography to the public, and helping keep working photographers alive. In fact, as "friends of photography," gallery owners are often just as passionate and dedicated to the medium as photographers themselves.

It's just a hard way for photographers to make a living, is all. Many's the time I've heard of photographers having a "big show" at a name gallery, working like dogs for several months of their lives to prepare for it and help promote it—and coming out the other end having lost money.

Another little problem I won't discuss at length here is that galleries usually only handle a few living photographers—ten, twenty, or thirty, maybe. Have you ever tried taking your portfolio around to galleries to see if they're interested in representing you? Let's just put it this way: if you're not already doing well on your own, you're not going to stand much of a chance.

And don't forget that the ten people who each bought a fine print of a picture they loved had to pay $1,200 for the privilege, in our example. That's pocket change to some people, but it leaves a significant part of the population out of the game.

Gordon Lewis's "Precipitation," offered in 2009.

TOP print sales: We do it differently. Our sales last for five days only, and the largest number of prints we've ever offered is six. The photographers don't have to print a whole show; they don't have to pay for matting or framing or invitations, or help with promotion, much less spring for wine and cheese. We price the prints much lower than gallery prices: so far our print prices have ranged from $19.95 to $395. We take orders in advance, over the five-day sale period. After the sale is over, the photographer has a set number of paid orders in hand. He or she can then begin to produce the prints "en masse" knowing in advance that each one is already sold.

The average profit per print might be much less, but the profit for each one is assured because each print has already been sold, and by production-lining the prints the photographer can make the prints very efficiently.

And, TOP's "gallery commission" is 20% vs. a gallery's 50–70%, leaving the photographer with 80% of the sale price. I can reasonably guarantee that there isn't a full-time professional gallery in the world that takes a sales commission as low as 20%.

A few weeks to a couple of months of hard work later, and the photographer is left with a nice big chunk of money (in one case, the amount was equal to four times the 2006 average annual household income in the United States).

All this means that we can make the sale prices much lower than galleries ever could.  TOP readers—you—get a chance to buy original artwork for a fraction of what it might normally cost—in several cases, less than it would cost to have a lab print one of your own pictures by the same method. We've sold platinum/palladium prints for $180 and dye transfer prints for $100—far less than any gallery could offer. (Granted, both those prices turned out to be too low. But we're learning.)

This is why I call our sales "win-win-win"—I win, you win, the photographer wins. Nobody loses.

Well, at least I think nobody loses. Some people say we're doing photography a "disservice" by undervaluing it—the traditional argument against discounters. But I would counter than in many cases, buyers from our sales are purchasing original artwork for the first time in their lives. Is it a bad thing to create new customers for  photography who weren't customers before? Is it bad for the medium to encourage people to buy original art from living artists as opposed to buying a printed poster of a picture by a dead artist from a museum shop? With each of our sales, dozens of people start thinking of themselves, for the very first time, as buyers of original art, and patrons of practicing artists. Even traditional galleries will admit that it's not a bad thing to attract new blood into the customer base.

And of course, people who have little money can be just as appreciative of fine prints as people who have a lot. There's no correspondence there whatsoever.

Of course, there are drawbacks to our model. First and foremost, it's surprisingly hard to find the right kind of artist—someone who's iconoclastic enough to embrace our sales model but professional enough to be able to fulfill the sales...not to mention good enough that our audience will appreciate their work. That sort of person isn't common. In the past two years I've probably approached a dozen photographers only to be turned down outright or have a sale idea fizzle and die for any one of a number of reasons.

And, of course, buyers' choices are limited. And you have to grab the opportunity while you can—our order-in-advance scheme means you have to order during the limited window that ordering is open. Once it's over, it's over. Still a few flaws in the ointment, as my brother used to say.

Our first sale of 2013 starts tomorrow at noon Eastern time. If I get my act together, it won't be the year's last.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Tim Bradshaw (partial comment—to read Tim's entire comment, please see the Comments section): "...Although I think the TOP print sales are admirable, I also think that they do not do the same job as a gallery, where you get to see either the print you will buy or something that should be visually very similar (and I think you'd have reason to complain if it was not).

"Related to this comment is something I've said before: the increasing uniformity of the way people look at photography (via a computer screen and usually a poorly-calibrated screen at that) is damaging. I am fairly sure I have argued with people who thought that daguerreotypes were well-represented on screen, for instance: I can only assume they had never seen one. They are obviously an extreme case, but the same is true for almost any traditional printing technique (or in fact for projected transparencies): there is no substitute for seeing the thing itself, and as fewer and fewer people do that we will forget what the things were like at all."

Mike replies: Ironically, that was originally the very justification for these sales: to put examples of various techniques in peoples' own hands and homes so they could see and experience them, study and live with them for themselves.

My opinion is that it helps greatly to "calibrate your eye" when looking at onscreen JPEGs of artwork if you have some idea of what originals look like. For instance, I've seen thousands of original albumen prints over the years. When viewing a JPEG representation of an albumen print online, I'm convinced this lets me "see" something very different than someone who has never seen an original—I'm calibrating the approximate and inferior onscreen input with my knowledge and experience of what it "probably" really looks like...which I'm able to do to some extent even if I've never seen the original of that particular picture.

Flagstaff Tower, Delhi, 1858-9. A small JPEG of an albumen print by Felice Beato. I've never seen the original picture, but I think I see something very different in this JPEG than would a person who has never seen an original albumen print and doesn't know what they look like.

Gordon Lewis: "As someone who has had the honor of being asked to offer a print—'Precipitation'—through TOP's print sale, I can also understand why many photographers would decline to participate. Just as there is a lot of time and expense involved in selling through galleries, it's more than a notion to fulfill a TOP print sale. Assuming the sale is a success, fulfillment can involve making hundreds of prints, each of which needs to be as close to perfect as you can manage. You then have to package each one such that it reliably protects the print from shipping damage yet without incurring excess charges. International shipments are complicated by the need to fill out customs forms and pay different shipping fees for different countries. This takes time, attention to detail, and organization—a combination which not everyone has in abundance. Suffice it to say that even Mike himself has been reluctant to offer his prints for sale, even though in his case he gets to keep all the profits."

Mike replies: In many cases the amount of work, care, craftsmanship, and organization that has gone into fulfilling these sales has been almost heroic in scale and intensity. It takes a huge amount of experience, ability, skill and expertise to make hundreds of platinum/palladium prints, to name just one example—in that case Carl and I underestimated just how much work it would prove to be for him, and we really should have priced the prints much higher to reduce the number sold.

The #1 thing I look for in a print sale photographer is reliability—I have to believe they'll be able to reliably fulfill the sale. It takes a high level of professionalism to be able to do so, regardless of whether the photographer is an amateur or pro.

An interesting thing to note is that sometimes printmaking is so painstaking that very successful photographers often in effect "sell too many" prints—they don't have the time or energy to even fulfill all their paid orders...or it just takes too much time away from making new work. I seem to recall that at one time John Sexton had a several year backlog for delivery of sold prints, and Sally Mann made several attempts to hire a darkroom assistant who could make her prints to her satisfaction—and she wasn't able to find anyone (at least as of the time I heard the story). She had to continue making her prints herself. Recently I heard that Paul Caponigro is so tired of printing his most popular picture ("Running White Deer") that he's declared a moratorium on orders—even though they sell for $6,000 to $8,000 each. (I don't have firsthand knowledge of all of these cases, so please don't quote me.) Obviously, Paul would not be even remotely interested in doing a TOP sale of "Running White Deer"!

Photo Dawgs' Lunch

As you know, whenever photographers gather, pictures are made. I got to have lunch yesterday with my friends Nick and Jack at Screaming Tuna on the Milwaukee River in the Third Ward, which was fun.

Nick gets schooled in the use of the Leica S-Kahuna, the World's Best Camera according to Yrs. Trly. Photo by me, with the world's 132nd-best camera*.

Nick's portrait of Jack—with a camera he'd never handled before, on manual everything, including focus. Jack was impressed.

Some big doofus with a weenie camera. On the Hank Aaron State Trail in Festival Park, with my trusty GX1/20mm/LVF2 combo.

Jack's shot of the view from the Screaming Tuna: the tug Leona B pushing a coal barge under the Water Street drawbridge. Note "Historic Third Ward" gate in the background.

With only the 120mm lens with him, Jack made a wide-angle panoramic of the coal barge, which worked well even though the barge was moving (slowly).

a 100% crop from the panorama above, which could be printed at 240 res at 12x3 feet in size (Jack's business involves selling large prints).

My restauranteur friends Siam and Quyen no longer own the Screaming Tuna, but they're opening a new restaurant in Shorewood next summer. I'm looking forward to that. But I don't think it will become the site of future meetups; by coincidence, Nick and his wife are planning to move to Arizona soon, and Jack and his wife spend part of each winter at their condo in the same Arizona city. I figure that means that in the future, we'll have to meet for lunch somewhere in the middle of Kansas.

Mike
(Thanks to Nick Hartmann and Jack MacDonough)

*Estimated.

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Chris: "Nice shot of the Leona B. The pano looks especially nice. I had hoped to catch the St. Mary's Challenger last time I was in Milwaukee. She's the oldest laker still in service. To put things in perspective, she started her career on the Great Lakes in 1906. That's six years before the Titanic. I really need to get a shot of her this year if I can...."

David L.: "Geez, we missed the opportunity for a duel between the S-Kahuna and the Dragoon! Wow, shootout of the decade and it didn't happen :-( "

Gary Briechle Photographs

Gary Briechle
96 pages
Published last December by Twin Palms Press
(U.K. link )

Review by Jim Hughes

One beautiful fall day in Maine a few years ago, I found myself sitting in the Subaru. I was just staring into space, admiring the spectacular foliage and wonderfully clear light while waiting for my wife to finish shopping. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to some activity in the distance on the Village Green. I saw a bunch of young people, wearing what appeared to be typical teenage grunge, gathered around a park bench. There was, if I remember, a blanket on the ground, and a young couple, literally wrapped up in each other, peering over at a man standing behind a big wooden box on an old fashioned tripod.

Approaching dusk made it difficult to see. I crossed the street to get a closer look. The box turned out to be a view camera, probably mahogany, with a well-worn bellows and a large brass lens aimed at the couple. The man behind the camera wore a floppy fedora. He held up a hand and ducked under a black oilcloth slicker of the sort worn by local lobstermen, deftly racked the lens forward to focus, hung his hat over what I soon learned was an antique shutterless barrel lens, pulled out a large dark slide, gently lifted the hat from the lens, and counted silently as the late afternoon light inexorably faded. Finally, he hung the hat back over the lens.

After quickly reinserting the dark slide, the man stood bolt upright and sprinted toward a nearby parking area, leaping over a heavy chain link fence in the process. Walking as fast as I could, I followed him. By the time I caught up, all I could see were two legs kneeling on the pavement. The man's torso had wriggled into a small opening in what appeared to be a makeshift orange-colored tent built into the rear cargo area of a Toyota RAV4 whose rear lid was open. A few minutes later, he extricated himself. He seemed surprised to have had an audience. I introduced myself.

"Oh, I know you," he said with an affable grin. I imagine he meant that he knew my writing about photography, not surprising since he was obviously a photographer himself. His name, he said, was Gary Briechle (he spelled it for me), and he had left the rat race behind in New Jersey to settle in small town Maine a few years earlier. I understood totally, I said.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" I asked. "Probably," he replied, pulling out from the back of the Toyota a small white plastic tray full of really murky, and smelly, liquid. "I'm teaching myself wet plate." Wet plate collodion, to be specific, using hand cut glass plates for which he had devised a way to partition an 11x14 back into various medium format dimensions. In the tray was, indeed, a small glass negative that he rocked back and forth in his home-made solution so I could glimpse the image in the lowering light.

"It's all about the light," Briechle said. "The whole process."

"Photography is seeing. Light is beautiful. Pure. I don't like the direction photography mostly seems to be going in. So I decided to take the next step. Backward, some might say. I coat my own glass with an orthochromatic [blue sensitive] emulsion in my portable little dark tent. The reddish light inside is pretty dim at this time of day, and doesn't affect anything. Then I run over to the camera, load the wet plate, remove my shutter hat from the big old brass lens, expose by feel and growing experience, then run the plate, still wet, back to the tent, where I have very little time to develop it out. Wet plate collodion is photography at its most basic. I'm still learning. I'm having fun. It's like magic again."

I thought of William Henry Jackson setting up camp next to a stream on the top of a mountain, his huge camera, a crate full of glass plates and his portable darkroom all strapped to his trusty mule "Hypo."

It's been at least five years since I first met Gary Briechle. In the interim, he has continued to photograph the old fashioned way. His subjects mostly have been friends and family willing to sit or stand for the long exposures in dim light his process requires. He has had a book in the works for years. It is finally published, by Jack Woody of Twin Palms Publishers, Santa Fe, New Mexico. The first edition of Gary Briechle Photographs (the cover of the book says "Photographs" but the publisher lists the book simply as "Gary Briechle") was 1,500 casebound copies. List $60. There is also a limited edition of 25 copies in a clamshell box, with an original print, numbered and signed by Gary, for $800, from Twin Palms.

There are 66 superbly reproduced photographs—complete with the flaws inherent to such a hand-made process—in this handsome 10x12-inch volume. Pages are meticulously coated in lustrous black ink as if they were from an album. The images themselves are reproduced in glossy duotone on glowing white-paper rectangles framed in black. In the right light, contact prints from glass seem to float above the page. The technique is a perfect match for Briechle, who somehow transforms the picturesque outer world that surrounds him into a deeply felt interior vision. Also included at the end of the book are photocopied excerpts from the journals Gary constantly scribbles in. Although there is a brief statement by the photographer on the Twin Palms website, no written introduction, or any sort of clarification, appears in the book itself. Knowing Gary, he probably felt it was better not to explain himself, to let his pictures do the talking. But as a a writer and editor myself, I believe a little context goes a long way, which is why I felt compelled to write my own brief introduction. Thus this review. I can only hope Gary understands.

Jim

Jim Hughes is the major biographer of W. Eugene Smith and the founding editor of the original Camera Arts magazine. His writings for TOP can be found here.

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Random Excellence: Camus Wyatt

Photo by Camus Wyatt, from "A Seaside City," November 2010

In some cases "Random Excellence" is meant to highlight just a particular picture, and in other cases a whole body of work. This is an example of the latter. I usually have no trouble picking a single photograph out of many, but in New Zealand photographer Camus Wyatt's case I was almost at a loss. So many of his pictures are so great that none really stand out from the rest.

I confess that my taste in photo technique is sufficiently traditional (substitute "old fashioned" if you insist) that the harshly over-sharpened, overly contrasty JPEGs on Camus' site are almost like fingernails on a blackboard to me, and do interfere to some extent with my enjoyment of his pictures. But on the other hand, what a talent. Take a good look around Camus Wyatt's website when you get a chance—it will get the rest of your week off to a good start.

Mike
(Thanks to Mark Banas)

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Bruce: "I click on your blog every morning before work, and got so involved with Camus' work, I almost missed my train. As a Kiwi living in Aussie, (New Zealander living in Australia, for the rest of the world), it's wonderful to see totally unique images of NZ life with an eye to die for! Wow what a talent. His monochrome vision makes me want to switch my camera onto mono and go out for a day and see the world in a new and exciting way. Thanks for the link, Mike and Mark."

Jim Simmons: "As a Wellingtonian who shows at the same gallery that Camus shows at and thus knows him a wee bit, I'm happy to report three relevant factoids: Camus's prints are exquisite, he's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet, and his excellent body of work is the result of hard work in the service of striving to learn and master his craft. I'm thrilled for Camus and for TOP's audience that this connection has been made. What a delightful surprise for me to take my daily TOP dip and discover that you've discovered Camus!"

Followup: News About Our Book of the Year 2012

This is a followup on the post "Can I Change My Choice?"

Reader Jeffrey Du Flon has heard from Dewi Lewis of Dewi Lewis Publishing, who says that Pentti Sammallahti's Here Far Away is in the process of being reprinted and will be available from Amazon again in late March of this year.

I'll keep an eye on it and will post a link when the book becomes available again.

Mike
(Thanks to Jeffrey)

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Followup: The Painting Doesn't Photograph

This is a followup from the post "A Painting of a Photograph."

Paul Emsley, the painter whose portrait of the former Kate Middleton attracted widespread criticism, has recently answered his critics. The upshot is yet more circularity between painting and photograph: "I believe half the problem is the portrait doesn't photograph well," he told Hello magazine, "and I would encourage people to go and see it."

Fair enough.

Mike
(Thanks to Jeff)

ADDENDUM:

(Thanks to Ed Kirkpatrick for this.)

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Robert P: "Well I was walking past the NPG this afternoon and popped in to have a look at it. I can report that it is just as bad when you are standing in front of it. Possibly worse, as it is kind of shiny. There are some quite nice Humphrey Ocean portraits in a free show at the moment though, which are worth a look if you are nearby."

mitch cohen: "I meant to share this with the original post and was reminded of it with this follow-up. Here is someone taking a twist, creating a photo from a painting (Van Gogh's self portrait)."

Richard Skoonberg: "My studio art professor wife agrees with you, Mike. Kate's eyes lost their sparkle in the painting and look sinister, her face lost some dimensionality and it looks flatter and appears elongated, her hair has none of the life and shine found in the photo. The darkening of her neck, removes its dimensionality and is strange. The painting's overall effect is to steal Kate's charm and youth."

'Never Grow Old, Never Ever Die Young'

By Ctein

This column is inspired by a comment from Richard Tugwell last week, to the effect that I was too old to be suffering a midlife crisis. It got me thinking about age, directions, and sharp right turns in one's career.

Partly I suppose it's in how one defines the term. Is a midlife crisis something that is only allowed to happen in one's 40s (in which case I have long missed the boat) and must be accompanied by a red sports car (so not my style)? If so, I am most assuredly disqualified. But if you accept that it refers to a deep disquiet with one's direction or lot in life that occurs in middle age, well then I'd say I still could succumb. Middle-aged ain't what it used to be. When I was a kid, 63 was considered, and rightly so, to be "old." Nowadays, with the healthcare and quality of life available to a white middle-class American, I'm still in middle age. Pushing towards the high end of it, probably, but medically, physiologically, mentally, and lifestyle-wise, I'm still squarely in the middle. So there's still time for me to have a crisis.

Mind you, I've never had one. Doesn't seem likely I will. My career has gradually drifted and mutated over the years, but it's been an organic process driven mostly by trying to address the question, "How do I make a living doing what I like to do?" Rather than "I'm living in a way I despair," which seems to me to be at the core of a midlife crisis. My work has always been centered around photography and instructional writing, in some guise or another.

But, there's nothing saying that can't change. Just because I've been doing this for almost 40 years now doesn't mean I'll be doing it for the next 40. Heck, I might not even be doing it next year. Maybe tearing down the darkroom will be such a psychic shock that'll undergo a complete change of direction in my life. OK, that does seem unlikely, to say the least. But, life can be surprising.

Now, those of you who've been making sums are about to say, "Ctein, are you really counting on another 40 years? Isn't that rather, um, improbable?"

Well, no, I'm not counting on it. I'm a big believer in "eat dessert first; life is uncertain." Also in "live life like there's no tomorrow." But, you know, there are two ways to take that. One way is to think it means your life is going to end today. Another is to think it means your life is never going to end...at least not so long as you don't actually die today, because there is no tomorrow.

Therein lies the key to thinking about the future. Tactically, act as though your days are in short supply. Strategically, you might as well assume you'll live forever. You won't, of course, but why not? If you turn out to be wrong, it's not like anyone's going to be pointing fingers at you and going "ha ha, I told you so." Well, not within your earshot, anyway (assuming there's an earshot in your particular afterlife).

You're never too old to make that sharp right turn. Or even a shallow one. You can change careers, outlooks, or even pointless automotive vehicles, at any time in your life. Age is not a qualifier.

My favorite example of this is Bob Cameron. If the name isn't familiar, certainly this book is: Above San Francisco. When this book was published in 1969, I knew nothing about the photographer. Neither, really, did anybody else; he was a new star on the scene. So, plausibly, I figured he was of my generation, a 20-something photographer recently embarking on his life as a photographer and finding his niche, the thing that worked for him and that was going to make his life and his career.

The first and foremost problem with that bit of armchair psychology was that I was a little off on the age. Assuming you'd call three decades "a little." Bob was born in 1911. While he had done some professional photography in his youth, that was not his life's career. He spent most of it, up to that point, in marketing and imports. That was his business. When he decided he'd had enough of that, he retired and launched his second career, to become one of the all-time successful aerial photographers.

Keep in mind that this was over 40 years ago, when being your late 50s was leaving middle age and knocking at the door of elderly, when you were supposed to be looking to your retirement and your leisurely golden years. Well, Bob ran that clock out for another four decades. Up until his mid-90s, his health and eyesight were still good enough that he was still flying and photographing.

Could he have had any notion when he published the first book that he'd still have a vitally active 35 years ahead of him? Nah. But did he assume he didn't? Nah. He just ran with it.

Was that a midlife crisis? I doubt it. He just decided he'd finished one phase of his life and it was time to enter a new one. But it could've been. It most certainly was a radical change. You're never too old for one of those.

Or, as James Taylor put it...well, see this column's title.

Ctein

Ctein's regular weekly column appears on TOP on Wednesdays.

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Mark: "Please don't take offense, but that was my favorite column of yours. Ah, midlife. I just turned 56. Just finished a five mile hike with my dogs. They say it's freezing here in New York. I was wearing a new down jacket by Outdoor Research, super light and very warm. I was lucky enough to have worked for the government for 32 years. My dad told me when I was a kid, work for the government. You won't get rich, but you'll have job security, benefits and a pension. He was spot on. Now I collect my pension, having retired two years ago, work freelance in the same line of work, make a great living, have three months a year off, and love life. Red sports car? That is so me."

Tom Robbins: "Ahhh, this is a breath of fresh air on a cloudy winter day. Totally cheered me up."

David Miller: "Amen to your column, Ctein!

"My first two right-angle turns—career changes—were not prompted by dissatisfaction with my life at the time, but rather by a greater passion to do something else. From acting I moved to building stringed instruments when my 'between engagements' hobby of instrument-making became more satisfying than my gainful (sort of) work on stage. From there (after caring for a dying relative) I moved into health care because I found the rewards (for my heart, if not initially to my wallet) were even greater. The third change will be a little different: after being dragged gradually 'upwards' into a position with more administrative and fewer patient-care duties, I found myself in yet another meeting last week, thinking, 'This isn't what I came here to do!' I gave notice at the end of the meeting. This time I'll have a modest pension, but there's still a new double career waiting in the wings: I plan to garden and learn to draw. (Why drawing? Because I can't achieve what I want to with photography alone.)

"There have been three common features in each of the changes: 1) The decision has been instantaneous and completely confident; there has been no drawn-out internal debate. 2) The decision has been triggered by passion; I have listened to my heart. And 3) I have shown absolutely no instinctive aptitude for the next career, but only a burning desire to do it and do it well. So far the system seems to be working very well for me.

"Have a great next 40 years, Ctein…but above all, have a great day today!"

Just Published Today

Books about photographers and photographer biographies have a spotty history at best, but I'm looking forward to this one nonetheless. Ed-weird—sorry, Eadweard, née Edward—Muybridge (formerly Muygridge, formerly Muggeridge) really was one of the oddest characters in British-American photography (born British, worked in the U.S.). And the deeper you go the stranger the tale gets.

Muybridge

I'll be skeptical of the author's objectivity until I know better—I'm not familiar with the work of author Edward Ball—but gratuitous sensationalism is less likely to be a pitfall than it is usually. With Muybridge you don't need to jack up the drama; he really was stranger than fiction.

Here's the publisher's blurb:

From the National Book Award-winning author of Slaves in the Family, a riveting true life/true crime narrative of the partnership between the murderer who invented the movies and the robber baron who built the railroads.

One hundred and thirty years ago Eadweard Muybridge invented stop-motion photography, anticipating and making possible motion pictures. He was the first to capture time and play it back for an audience, giving birth to visual media and screen entertainments of all kinds. Yet the artist and inventor Muybridge was also a murderer who killed coolly and meticulously, and his trial is one of the early instances of a media sensation. His patron was railroad tycoon (and former California governor) Leland Stanford, whose particular obsession was whether four hooves of a running horse ever left the ground at once. Stanford hired Muybridge and his camera to answer that question. And between them, the murderer and the railroad mogul launched the age of visual media.

Set in California during its frontier decades, The Tycoon and the Inventor interweaves Muybridge's quest to unlock the secrets of motion through photography, an obsessive murder plot, and the peculiar partnership of an eccentric inventor and a driven entrepreneur. A tale from the great American West, this popular history unspools a story of passion, wealth, and sinister ingenuity.

It's called The Inventor and the Tycoon: A Gilded Age Murder and the Birth of Moving Pictures. (Here are our links to other purveyors.) Just published today. I've heard that it's another of those pop histories influenced by the success (both artistic and financial) of Erik Larson's rich and entertaining The Devil in the White City, and if so, that can only be to the good.

Mike

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Doug Howk: "Rebecca Solnit, in River of Shadows: Eadweard Muybridge and the Technological Wild West, has already covered the story. Though Muybridge's work was a precursor to the motion picture, Etienne-Jules Marey's contemporaneous work in France solved much of the technical requirements, eg. 12 images per second."

The Contact Print Offer Starts Next Sunday

Our next TOP print offer, of four large-format and ultra-large-format gelatin-silver contact prints by husband and wife Michael A. Smith and Paula Chamlee, will begin next Sunday, January 27th, at noon Eastern Time, and end the following Friday, February 1, at 6:00 p.m. Eastern Time.

At present there's no limit on the number of prints that will be available, but we may have to end the sale early if the demand proves too great.

The prices are $350 for an 8x20 (Michael's) or $250 for an 8x10 (Paula's), plus $25 off if you buy two, $50 off if you buy three, or $100 off if you buy all four. Paula and Michael make all their own prints themselves.

Unlike our previous sales, each print will be dry-mounted and overmatted with 2-ply acid-free board. (For those who don't know what all this means, I'll explain it later this week.) The dimensions of the mats are 13x25" and 13x15". Unmounted prints are not an option.

You will also have the option of ordering 4-ply board, and framing.

The negatives will be retired following the sale.

Domestic shipping is $35 for any number of unframed prints, and $10 extra for each frame. (We'll explain about International shipping in the announcement post on Sunday. Not quite settled yet.)

Please come by on Sunday (or sometime next week) to see the pictures!

Mike

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You Never Know What a Photograph Is Going to Mean

In a little less than two weeks, the two boys in this 1971 snapshot, John in the middle and Jim on the right, will coach against each other in the Superbowl.

That two brothers could end up as head coaches in the NFL is maybe not quite as improbable as two brothers both being Superbowl-winning NFL quarterbacks—and neither is quite as amazing as the Williams sisters—but that they'd end up coaching their teams to Championships in the same year ranks as a strange coincidence.

And it goes to show, you never really know what the future is going to see in a photograph...even a mundane family snapshot like this one.

Mike
(Photo courtesy of the Harbaugh family, via si.com)

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A book of interest today:

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Ben Rosengart: "Reminds me of Peter Turnley's story of having his picture go up against his brother's in a blind competition, and one won and the other was runner-up."

dan meyers: "Here in Baltimore it's already being called both a) the Harbowl and b) the Bro Bowl."

Room for Poetry

We're finally getting a little winter here, which is nice. This morning like most Americans I'm watching the Inaugural. Fifty-seven of them and counting...although I recently finished reading a book about the end of the Roman Republic, which is casting a slight pall on the horizon of my mood. But it's a nice day in Washington.

Big day for poets, too—the Inauguration is probably the highest-profile appearance of a poet in public life these days. This time it's Richard Blanco, whose poem is sounding a bit like a speech—but then, the official poetry of occasions has never been that medium's highest height. Too bad we don't have a little more room for poetry in public life these days.

More soon....

Mike

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.
A book of interest today:

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Bob (partial comment): "The book of interest, The Country Between Us, is a remarkable book ,and its author a remarkable person. It was one of the first serious and political poetry books to be recognized by the mainstream press in a very long time. 'The Colonel' is a particularly powerful and accessible poem.

"I had the pleasure of taking a week long workshop with Ms. Forche soon after the book was published. She stressed that poets needed to be more political. People were listening to her. It was an exciting time to be following poetry."

James Rhem: "I think you are being a little hard on Blanco's poem. For occasional verse, it was not bad at all. A photographer ought to have appreciated his use of 'light' as a recurrent device aiming at bringing 'enlightenment' and thoughtful observation to the great daily sweep of America."

Open Mike: Cheap Criticism

Clean lines, graceful proportions, and restraint.

After having written about the new Corvette the other day, I wanted to take a different tack...and be positive. If the Corvette isn't a particularly good-looking car, what is? Well, here's what I think is the best-looking car you can buy new in the world today.

It's the Maserati GranTurismo, a front-engined four-seat coupe with an eight-cylinder Ferrari engine. Introduced in 2007, it was designed by—or its design team was led by, as the case may be—Jason Castriota, an American working for Pininfarina of Cambiano, Italy. (This picture is a frame grab from Ignition episode 39; the ones up top and below are from the Maserati website.)

To me this car is a paragon of proportion, restraint, and gracefulness, combined with just the right amount of marque specificity and model distinctiveness. The long nose and big radiator scoop give it purpose without looking too face-like, and the headlights resist the current fashion of spidering all over the car in weird tendrils (cf. the current 458 Italia). The front overhang is just enough to suggest aggressiveness without cartoonish excess. To me it's just angular enough to be fashionable, but without overdoing it; and just curvaceous enough to be sculptural, without becoming feminine. And it has just the right amount of detailing and bling. (Love the trident. I've always had a soft spot for Maseratis.) Various Ferraris and Aston-Martins might live in the same neighborhoods, but to me this is still the best-looking car that can be bought new.

Of course, my appreciation is only aesthetic...I don't buy superdupercars, affordable or otherwise. And nobody cares about my opinion of what cars look like.

So why bring all this up?

It's just that...well, a little story. I had a girlfriend once a long time ago named Nell Leclair, who was an impressive and interesting person. She was a photographer and a freelance graphic artist, and had dealt with some very severe problems—mainly with depression—in inventive and resourceful ways. Among other things, she taught me one thing that I've remembered from time to time in the decades since I knew her.

We were talking about the habit of being critical—discussing a person we both knew who was caustically critical (and often entertainingly insulting) about everything. She said she didn't quite approve of that attitude, because it was so safe.

I was surprised by that word, and asked her what she meant, and she said—more or less—that hating or criticizing everything was safe because it meant you don't have to take a stand. Liking something means you are opening yourself up; if nothing is good enough for you it's another way of saying you're superior to everything. Very smug, very snug. Being insulting and critical, admittedy a position of attack when face-to-face, is psychologically actually a position of retreat.

It's more difficult to be positive—to be clear about why something is good—than it is to be negative. Negative criticism is easy. Positive criticism is hard.

I'm not averse to going negative from time to time. But I do get to feeling a little queasy sometimes when I get into the snarky doldrums—you know, that mood where you're just sort of dissing and dismissing this and that. Hundreds of very talented people put in thousands of hours and, no doubt, a steep payment in blood, sweat and tears to create the new Corvette, and then legions of guys like me come along—in my case, without any particular expertise, without a consuming enthusiasm for cars, even—and lazily slag away.

Well. I have the right. I see the world aesthetically, and I have always held that any of us should reserve the right to respond to aesthetic experiences as if the encounter were meaningful to us. How else do you stand a chance to get what's to be gotten out of art, for one thing? Staying open, having your own taste and your own opinions, resisting the dictates of official expertise, inviting growth and personal change—it's a dynamic state, and it's difficult to maintain sometimes.

But just being negative is too easy. Not for nothing is it often called "cheap."

That's all.

Okay, slag away. But fair's fair: if you diss my pick, what's yours?

Mike

P.S. When good CGI goes bad:

"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic posts that appear only, but not always, on Sundays.

Original contents copyright 2013 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.
A DVD of interest today:

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Featured Comments from:

R. Edelman: "If you like the outside of the Maserati GranTurismo, you would love the interior. I had an opportunity a few years ago to do a close inspection of one at the San Francisco Auto Show. Sitting inside the Maserati means being surrounded by the comfort and luxury provided by the leather and tasteful design that can only come from Italy. As driving is experienced from the inside of the car, there is no element of design that is more important than the interior. Combine desirable exterior and interior designs with performance and you have a modern day classic. How's that for being positive?"

Professor Batty: "With the three portholes on the side and the oval grille I actually thought the Maserati was a Buick concept car!"

Mike replies: You mean like all BMWs now look like Pontiacs?

Bill Hamilton: "Just got the Tesla Model S and the standing joke among 'S' owners is you need a bumper sticker that reads 'This is not a Maserati.'"

Bárbara: "I am usually just a silent reader of your blog, which I enjoy, thank you! Regarding your latest post about the Maserati, I liked it, although, I admit, I don't think too much about luxury cars being a monetarily poor soul, but, I really enjoyed the sage advice from your ex-girlfriend that you shared. Thanks for thinking of it again and sharing it here. Very poignant, indeed, and very good to remember, as you have, from time to time! I am grateful!"