Photographing Miss Daisy

If you’ve come to the store, chances are that you’ve noticed a beautiful dark haired lady sticking her head through the back curtain at least once. She’s hard to miss. She probably wagged her tail when you noticed her, which should have prompted you to ask her name. That lovely lady is Daisy. Officially, she is Jake’s, but we like to think of her as our shop dog. Daisy came to Jake a little broken, but eight years later, she’s still as vigorous as a puppy. Come by and you’ll see what we mean.


Photo by Jim Hair

Photo by Jim Hair


Photo by Faulkner Short

Photo by Faulkner Short


Photo by Katt Janson

Photo by Katt Janson


Photo by Sarah Taft

Photo by Sarah Taft


Photo by Peter Carlson

Photo by Peter Carlson



Photo by David Paulin

Photo by David Paulin


Photo by Nick Burdett

Photo by Nick Burdett


Photo by Katt Janson

Photo by Katt Janson


Photo by David Paulin

Photo by David Paulin


Photo by Zeb Andrews

Photo by Zeb Andrews


Becoming Medium Format

Let’s face it, film isn’t dead.  If anything, film is enjoying a bit of a renaissance particularly in the realms of toy cameras and medium format cameras.  In fact, you are likely reading this because you are part of that wave of photographers interested in owning your first medium format camera.  Buying your first medium format camera is a big decision, not so much because of the cost, but more due to the overwhelming variety of medium format cameras available.

So where to begin?  As you may have discovered on your own, there are a lot of different medium format cameras out there.  Some of them are boxy, some are sleek.   Some have interchangeable lenses, some don’t.  Some are old, others brand new.  Waist-level, eye-level, meter, no meter, square, rectangular, SLR, TLR, rangefinder.  Ay carumba!  Where to begin, indeed.

Begin with yourself.  You know your aesthetic tastes and preferences.  Hopefully you know your hopes and expectations for what kind of photography you would like to make.  Give yourself a quiz by running through the following flow chart.  It is designed to ask you some simple questions about your preferences and boil your resulting answers down to a few suggestions.  Following the chart, you will find additional information regarding aspects of this decision making process as well as a slightly deeper look into some of the cameras listed.  So if confusion rears its head, read further down.

One final note before delving on: this guide is not meant to be exhaustive.  You will not see every medium format camera ever made on the chart below.  There is no mention of the Brooks Veriwide, Kodak Medalist, Kiev 88, or the Holga WPC.  This chart is a streamlined primer to help an aspiring medium format film photographer with little direction and lots of confusion increase the former and reduce the latter.  Along those lines, the cameras mentioned below represent the most common choices made by those buying medium format cameras.  So, without further ado…

medium format flow chart colorV4

Having ventured this far, you hopefully have a much better idea about which direction you are heading.  In case there is any residual confusion still hanging around, let’s shed some light on a few of the more common points of discussion involving medium format camera.

Square vs. Rectangular:
Always a good place to begin the medium format discussion.  By deciding early on if you are more interested in continuing to make rectangular photos or experimenting with a square frame, you can pare down the overwhelming number of options by about half.  Medium format cameras generally produce negatives in one of four sizes: 6×4.5cm, 6x6cm, 6x7cm or 6x9cm.  Many of the most popular medium format cameras are part of the 6x6cm branch.  The format of the camera determines how many exposures you can fit on one roll: 6×4.5cm gives you 15 or 16 depending on the specific camera, 6x6cm has 12 exposures per roll, 6x7cm is ten frames a roll and 6x9cm a mere eight exposures before reloading.

TLR vs. SLR:
This stands for Twin Lens Reflex and Single Lens Reflex.  If you are coming from a digital or 35mm film background you likely already have experience with SLR cameras.  TLR cameras are boxy cameras that sport two lenses on the front of the camera.  The top lens is used for viewing, usually via a waist level finder on the top of the camera, and the bottom lens is the taking lens; it is responsible for exposing the image on the film.  TLRs are unique looking, quiet and relatively lightweight and small.  They have become very popular choices amongst photographers venturing into the medium format realm for the first time.

Unlike TLRs and SLRs, rangefinders do not use a lens for viewing and focusing, instead opting for a separate focusing window in the body of the camera.  Since you are not seeing through an actual lens, you do not see the effect of focus, depth of field or flare.  The upside is rangefinders have no behind-the-lens mirrors (which are required by SLRs and TLRs), making the cameras smaller, lighter and much quieter.  Rangefinders can be easier to focus in lower light conditions but more tricky to focus on moving subjects, unless one is very well practiced.

Toy cameras:
You cannot really have a discussion about medium format without talking about Holga and Lomography.  These cameras occupy a branch of medium format photography characterized by cheap (or at least cheaply made) cameras designed to give quirky and unpredictable results.  The relatively low cost (though some of Lomo’s cameras can be quite expensive) and unpredictable effects are the defining traits of this branch of cameras.  You can include old folding and box cameras in this section for the same reasons.  Historically mass produced and therefore easy to find, an old Kodak box camera can be a fun way to get one’s feet wet in the ocean of medium format photography before taking the full plunge.  All these cameras tend to produce low quality results and don’t usually provide the photographer with much control in terms of shutter speeds, aperture or focus.

If autofocus is a primary concern of yours I would advise against medium format.  There are medium format cameras capable of autofocus but they are nowhere near as fast as their DSLR or 35mm SLR cousins.  If speed is not your main reason for wanting an auto-focus medium format camera then look at the Hasselblad H system, the Mamiya 645 AF or a Contax 645; be prepared to spend a pretty penny for any of these cameras though.  A less expensive alternative is the Pentax 645N and 645NII.


Camera specific notes:

Hasselblad 500C/M – If you have the budget you can potentially buy your last medium format camera first.  Long considered a pinnacle of camera evolution, Hasselblads are sublime mechanical cameras with some of the best lenses ever made.  A full kit (including the body, film back and lens) usually starts close to $1000 and can quickly get more expensive based on the model and vintage you are buying.  Considering that some DSLRs cost three times as much and that Hasselblads make negatives 3-4 times the size of a full frame DSLR, the Hasselblad makes a compelling argument not only for photographers who like the aesthetic of the older camera but are interested in getting as high quality an image as possible.

Mamiya 645 – Once the main camera used by professional wedding and portrait photographers, the Mamiya 645 cameras got left by the wayside when the digital revolution began and the aforementioned photographers transferred to DSLRs.  The 645 branch of medium format is full of cameras that are very well built, produce excellent images and yet are dirt cheap.  Additionally, with the surfeit of these cameras on the market and most buyers opting for Hasselblads, TLRs or other cameras, competition for 645 cameras is very light.  Cheap, easy to find, excellent quality, versatile.  What’s not to like?

Mamiya RB67 – If you are a studio photographer you cannot really find a better value than the RB67 or RZ67.  True, these cameras are beasts.  Large, heavy and about as easy to hand-hold as a car battery, the RB67 belongs on a tripod in a studio.  But once ensconced there, they really shine.  Their modular design allows you to not only change out lenses, but film backs and finders as well.  These cameras use a leaf shutter in the lens providing flash sync speeds up to 1/500th of a second.  Their focusing rails also make use of a built-in bellows permitting them to focus much closer than many other medium format cameras, making them great for product photography or still life.

Pentax 67 – They look like a normal 35mm SLR on steroids.  They handle just like one too.  If implementing the 6×7 format in the field interests you and the price of the Mamiya 7 does not, the Pentax 67 is a great option.  This beast is surprisingly easy to hand-hold and operate for a camera of its size.  They also boast exceptionally nice lenses.  If you go looking, make sure to pick up a later model 67 body that has mirror lock up.  The earliest version of the 67 lacks a mirror lock up switch which is handy to have with this camera’s giant mirror.

Mamiya C330 – Most TLR cameras do not have interchangeable lenses.  On a Rollei or Yashica this helps make the camera compact but is limiting to the photographer who wants to build a versatile kit.  Not only does the C330 have interchangeable lenses, but it can also focus much closer than the 3.5 feet typical of most TLRs. C330s also have parallax correction in their viewfinders to help accurately compose those close-focus exposures.  The C330 was the last in a line of cameras that includes the C2, C22, C220, C3, and C33.  There are minor differences between all the models but in broad-stroke terms they are all similar cameras and all make good options for those looking for a TLR with interchangeable lenses.

Bronica SQ-A – Bronica are the darkhorse underdogs of the medium format world.  Due to the earliest Bronica S camera’s lack of reliability, they do not have a terribly great reputation.  Later Bronica models were built in a much better fashion and as long as you avoid those first model S cameras you will probably have little to no troubles with the Bronica system in terms of durability.  Of course, Bronica didn’t support any of their systems for nearly as long as Pentax, Hasselblad or Mamiya so finding accessories, lenses or spare parts can be tricky.  Still, they make an excellent bargain option for someone looking for decent quality optics without the money to spend on a Hasselblad.

There you have it – enough information to be dangerous. The world of medium format photography is a vast place: large plains of well-established knowledge combined with a plethora of nooks and crannies for adventurous explorers.  This vastness can be intimidating and even confusing to the uninitiated photographer.  If you are eager to learn even more, here is our suggestion: tell your boss you are going to take an extra long lunch, get in your car, drive on over to Blue Moon Camera, then spend an hour at the counter holding cameras and generally geeking out with our staff.  Be warned though, you may just end up leaving with a happy new addition to the family.

Tele-Rollei Hasselblad medium format cameras

Like one of these beauties.


Darkroom Printing- A Harmony of Art and Science

Rules are meant to be broken, especially when talking about photography. However, when printing in the darkroom, it’s a good idea to get a firm grasp on the fundamentals before moving on to a more experimental approach. Knowing what makes a good darkroom print, and being methodical in your technique will aid you in your creative journey and bring your black and white photos to life in the form of beautiful prints. You’ve already got the basic knowledge to be up and running in the darkroom, but you’re ready to take your printing to the next level. I find that working in the darkroom is a perfect blend of science and art. Being diligent and organized with the analytical and scientific side of things will ultimately make the creative process easier and more effective. Speaking as a production printer who has to work through a number of different orders and comply with a variety of printing requests, I cannot stress enough how invaluable it is to be organized. Making sure your setup is thorough and consistent and keeping a printing log will help you to replicate a print in the future or give you a starting point from which to make changes. Breaking the rules of printing is fun and exciting, but it’s even better when it comes from a place of control and understanding.

I started out printing in the darkroom in high school, printed all through college and have been working in photo labs ever since. My biggest mistake in the early years was not respecting the chemistry in which I had my hands every day. Know this- chemical allergies are real and they are cumulative.Thus, it is important to practice safe and long lasting printing habits. The more you print, the better you get and the more you expose yourself to the chemical ingredients. So please, ALWAYS wear gloves and make sure your darkroom is well ventilated. Take it from me, you do not want to develop an allergy to the chemicals. It’s really not fun.


Gloves are good!

Getting Set Up

Set out your trays and make sure there is at least 1.5 inches of chemistry in each tray. Fiber paper is prone to curling slightly at the edges, and you want to be sure that the entire paper surface is immersed in the chemical bath.

Check that your chemicals are good to go and not exhausted. Expose a small piece of photo paper to white light. Develop and fix as usual. If the paper turns black, your developer is good. If it’s not quite black, your developer is exhausted. Hold on to this swatch of black paper, it will come in handy later.  A couple drops of hypo check in your fixer will let you know if the fix is still good. If the hypo check stays clear, it’s good to go. If the hypo check turns a milky white, don’t use it, remix. Keep track of the dates that you mix chemistry. It’s always a good idea to use fresh chemistry (mixed within the last week or so and stored in an air and light tight container).

Make sure that the enlarger you’re using is set up for the film format you’re printing. Some enlargers have removable condensers that you need to swap out for printing different film formats, others will have a knob that adjusts the condensers for different formats. Be sure to use the appropriate focal length lens for the film format you’re printing. If you use an enlarging lens designed for 35mm when printing a 6x6cm negative, you will experience exposure fall off around the edges of your image. 50mm is the standard focal length for 35mm film, 75mm for 6×4.5cm, 80mm for 6x6cm, 90mm for 6x7cm, 105mm for 6x9cm and 135mm or 150mm for 4×5 film.

A lesser known quality of enlargers is that they can come out of alignment. I’ve had it happen where a print was in focus through the center and right side, but the grain on the left side of the print was soft. If you experience this or other weird focus issues with your prints, check your enlarger’s alignment. Break out your level and make sure that the baseboard, negative stage and lens stage are all level and parallel. Be sure to check the level both from side to side and front to back. If all these components are in line, move on to check the paper easel. If you find that any part of your setup is misaligned, you’ll need to adjust it. On most quality enlargers, there are set screws on the enlarger frame that allow you to adjust the angle of the enlarger head; the negative stage and lens stage should have set screws toward the back of each component. Make small adjustments: one at a time until you are able to get everything level. This process can make you want to tear your hair out, but it’s worth it. If everything on your enlarger is aligned and you’re still seeing focus abnormalities, check to see if your negative is lying flat in the carrier. You can sandwich your negative between glass if necessary.

 Enlarger Adjustments Negative

Here are the adjustments for a Beseler 45 enlarger.

Now you’re ready to start printing!

black and white negative

The negative.


Now that your enlarger is aligned and your negative is flat, it’s time to make sure that your print will be thoroughly in focus. I’ve often seen prints that have great exposure and tonality, but weren’t in focus all the way across. It’s a shame because it’s such an easy thing to remedy. Check that your negative is in focus from corner to corner by not only checking the grain focus in the middle of the image, but in all corners of the print area. Stop your lens down two stops from wide open for maximum sharpness. Film grain is good. It means that you’re shooting film and enlarging from negatives. Let that grain shine through in all its sharpest glory.

Enlarger  Darkroom

Focusing on the corners.

Enlarger Darkroom

Focusing on the center.

The easiest way to be efficient in your printing is to make good test strips. This does not mean making test strips that look good, but rather, making test strips that will be the most helpful. Select a portion of your negative that has as many exposure variants as possible and shows a section of the main subject as well as the background. Be sure to orient your test strip so that each different exposure shows the broadest range of shadows and highlights possible. This gives you a much better idea of where your base exposure should be and which areas of the image will likely need dodging and burning.

Test Strips

The horizontal test strip looks nicer, but the vertical test strip shows a better range of exposure.

You want to make sure that your print has a rich black, a good white and as many shades of gray as possible. Remember that black piece of paper you used earlier to test your developer? Keep it in the fixer tray. When you put a test strip or print in the fixer, you can float this black paper over the blackest parts of the image to make sure that they are, in fact, true black. Notice I say to float this swatch in the fixer tray. Some papers (especially Ilford) will not display a true black until they are exposed to fixer.

Fixer optical printing darkroom

Use your black swatch of paper to ensure a true black in your print.

This brings us to the topic of split filter printing. Let’s say that you’ve made your first work prints using a #3 filter. Your image has a good exposure, but you need a true black and a #3 ½ filter is just too contrasty. Try giving it an extra second or two using a #5 filter; this can be just enough to make your blacks pop without increasing the overall exposure of the image. You can give your entire print the extra time with the #5 filter, or you can selectively burn parts of the image this way. Working with a number of darkroom printers throughout the years, I’ve known quite a few who use split filtering as a rule for every image. Personally, I don’t agree with that style of printing. It can be handy when your image needs it, but working with higher contrast filters increases grain size and has the potential to undermine the delicate shades of gray you’ve worked so hard to achieve. So keep it as a tool in your ever expanding tool box, but don’t rely too heavily on this method.


Work print with notes.

Let’s talk about dodging and burning for a second. The best dodging and burning happens when you can’t tell that the image has been manipulated this way. Some printers use tools for this: cardboard or plastic shapes attached to a wire, or the cardboard pac-man shapes favored by most of the printers at Blue Moon. My personal preference when it comes to dodging and burning tools is using my hands. Maybe this is because my favorite photo teacher of all time once said,”You’ll never be a real printer until you only use your hands to dodge and burn.” I also think that hands make much more organic shapes than tools and make the dodge and burn less obvious. Use whatever tools you like, just be sure that your dodging and burning blends in well and doesn’t stand out.

Did you know that your eye is usually drawn to the lighter portions of a photo? Make use of this fact to help guide your viewer’s eye to the most important parts of the image. You might also find that blown out portions of the background are distracting; bringing down the tone of these areas will make them less distracting. Burn in those hot spots using a lower contrast filter than you used for the overall exposure. If you want to have a more dramatic effect while pulling the viewer’s eye to the center of the photo, consider burning in the edges and corners to create a vignette effect.


You can clearly see the burn in this print. No good.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when images don’t have good edges. You’ll want to make sure your image has clearly defined edges distinguishable from the white paper border around the image. You don’t want your image to bleed off into the unexposed portion of the paper. Think of it as the period at the end of your sentence- the image stops here. If you have a stubborn blown out edge, you can burn in the edge using a lower contrast filter than you used for the overall image. If the edge is really stubborn, try flashing that portion of the paper either before or after making your exposure. Flashing paper is a technique used to create a base fog on photo paper. Perfect for those times when, no matter how long you burn it in, that one highlight just won’t come in. You’ll want to flash your paper while it’s in the easel under the enlarger, but without a negative. Exposure times for flashing paper are usually very short and rarely exceed 2 seconds or so. This technique can be used either on the entire sheet of paper or just on specific portions. It can be a tricky skill to master, and is mostly achieved through trial and error. It took me quite a few printing sessions to get the hang of it and not have it look obvious, but when it works, it works really well.


Paper processing tricks

Handle your paper delicately. When you put your paper into the trays, be careful not to kink the corners by gripping them too tightly or folding the corner you’re holding. This is especially important when printing with fiber based papers as they go limp when saturated with chemistry or water.

It’s a good idea to put your paper in the tray image side up so that you know the image surface is immersed in the chemistry. If the paper is face down, there could be an air bubble trapped underneath, which will cause a spot of non-development or under-development. It’s pretty frustrating when you pull a good print only to realize, after you’ve put everything away, that it has little spots of underdevelopment. So I always put my prints face up in the developer to avoid these unfortunate surprises. I like to agitate my developer by rocking the tray. Avoid poking the paper with tongs, as this could lead to dents and kinks, and if your tongs are dirty, could leave smudges on the paper.

You can vary the look of your print with different agitation techniques and different developer temperatures and dilutions. A lower developer temp will yield a lower contrast image, while a warmer developer temp will yield a higher contrast image. Using a warm or hot developer can be useful when trying to improve contrast of a flat image. Developer dilution can also affect processing results. With a more dilute developer, developing times will increase, and the tones of the image will have less contrast. Conversely, a more concentrated developer will be more active, shortening developing time and giving the image more contrast. Agitation will also affect the activity of the developer. Aggressive agitation will cause the developer to be more active, decreasing development time. This can be useful if you want a particular part of the image to develop more than the rest of the image. You can take your GLOVED fingers (really, wear gloves) and run them back and forth over the part of the image you want to develop more to increase the amount of development in that area. This can be another useful trick when trying to bring in the tone of highlights. Conversely, let’s say that the top of your image looks perfect, but the bottom needs longer development: you can pull the top portion of the paper out of the developer and leave the bottom of the paper in longer. If you’re using this selective development method, make sure to keep a gentle agitation going, or else you’ll end up with an obvious line where the paper was lifted out of the developer.

developer darkroom

Selective agitation in the developer tray.

Now that you’ve worked so hard to make these beautiful prints, you want them to last.  Be sure that your print is fully fixed and washed well. Typical time in the fixer bath is 5 minutes, although if you’re using rapid fixer, the recommended fixing time can be a bit shorter. I like to give each print a full five minutes in the fixer just to be sure. To get an archival print, you’ll need to wash all the fixer out of the paper before you lay it out to dry. At Blue Moon, we conform to the archival standards of the Library of Congress. These standards require that photo prints be washed in water for 5 minutes, placed in a hypo clearing agent for 5 minutes and then washed in water again for 30-45 minutes. You can add a small amount of Selenium toner to your hypo clear bath, which aids in the stabilization of the print, and is considered the best way to ensure that your print is archival. Believe me, it’s a total bummer to find that your prints have yellowed or developed spots of discoloration after a few years. And that’s the thing, you won’t notice if your prints haven’t been washed properly for a long time, years even. So be diligent and do it right, it will save you some heartache in the future. When you take your finished prints out of the final wash, use a squeegee to squeeze excess water off the surface of your print. You want to make sure that your squeegee and the surface you’re using are clean. After all, no point in negating all that wash time, right?

Darkroom printing black and white negative

The final print.

Finally, remember that printing in the darkroom, like any other aspect of photography, takes time and practice to master. If you’re having a bad day in the darkroom or if you’re frustrated with a print that you just can’t seem to get right, come back to it another day.Sometimes a fresh perspective is all it takes. Keep good notes on everything you print. Be methodical. Pay attention to details when you’re setting up and printing. Appreciate the science behind the printing process, and let it guide your artistic process. The more consistent you are in your approach, the more consistent your results will be. Try and try again. Have fun with it. And once you’ve mastered these rules of printing, start experimenting. Try something new. Try something weird. Let the magic of seeing your image develop in the tray wash over you. Get creative and remember, ALWAYS WEAR GLOVES.

How to run your own Instant Film Photo Booth

Photo boothing at Jake and Zeb's Still Live show opening. (Photo by Jason Kelley)

Photo boothing at Jake and Zeb’s Still Live show opening. (Photo by Jason Kelley)

Nothing makes a party like a photo booth. There’s something magical about hosting a booth that produces physical prints on the spot. Incorporating an instant pack film setup can make a lasting memory, both in your attendees’ minds and with physical prints they can keep forever. And one of the best parts? It’s super easy to set up.

To get a run-down of how to set up an instant photo-booth, I asked Codex guest star Mark Hadley to give us some thoughts on his normal booth setup. Mark started running instant film photo booths in 2005, and shows no signs of stopping. With his experience of working events both large and small, his tips and tricks of the trade are sure to get anyone curious about this process off to a good start.

Mark Hadley

Mark ready for instant photo booth fun. (Photo by Mark Hadley)


Katt: So Mark, what is it about photo booths?

Mark: Photo booths. They’ve still got it, after all these years. An operational photo booth is not only the life of the party, it immortalizes the night one print at a time. People and partygoers are as thrilled as ever to be handed a print that was just taken of them. Nothing has changed. The flash, the intimacy, and the finality and romance of no negative–just one print on Earth–never gets old. I love it.

K: Let’s talk logistics. What’s your technical setup like?

M: Here’s what I use:

1. Polaroid 250 Camera – While nearly any Polaroid peel apart film camera will work, it’s best to use one with a functional PC flash port and a tripod socket.
2. A sturdy tripod
3. Flash
4. Flash Bracket
5. Appropriate PC flash cable
6. LOTS of Fuji peel-apart instant film. The 3000B black and white has been discontinued and won’t be available for long, but the color 100C version is still widely available.
7. Rubbing alcohol and Q-Tips for cleaning the camera’s rollers between at least every other pack of film.
8. Extra batteries for both camera and flash
9. (Optional) Reflective diffuser for ceiling of photo booth
10. (Optional) Second flash (slave) for back-lighting

First off, you don’t want to run out of film. My rule of thumb for film is to bring three times the amount of film that you think you will need. (I buy mine exclusively from the nearest Blue Moon Camera storefront.) You only waste film if you don’t expose it, and be prepared to be chained to the photo booth for the majority of the night (which is not a bad place to be). It’s comforting to bring as many back up components as you have. Flashes and flash cables tend to be the most precarious. And remember, you only waste film if you don’t expose it.

If possible, I would recommend having a full backup system. Borrow equipment from a friend if you have to.

K: That’s a lot of stuff. How does it all come together? Where do you set up?

M: An ideal space would be in a corner that’s accessible, but not in middle of everything. You’ll probably need about a 4’x6′ area to work with. One thing you’ll have to decide early on is whether you want people sitting or standing, shot vertically or horizontally. Most of the time I have people stand, and mount my camera on my tripod vertically. Have a patient friend stand or sit for you in the space before you decide on a camera position, so you can visualize and plan your general composure.

When cool backdrops are already present in your setting, use them! (Photo by Jason Kelley, at Powell's Books 2012)

When cool backdrops are already present in your setting, use them! (Photo by Jason Kelley, at Powell’s Books 2012)

Assembling a booth takes time. If you have to hang curtains for the photo booth, give yourself at least an hour to hang them and take some test shots in order to dial in the exposure, focus and composition. Since photo booths are commonly dimly lit, it’s helpful/necessary to pre-focus the rangefinder on your test subject, and use that distance for the rest of the night. I usually tape my rangefinder focus controls still, so I don’t have worry about bumping it out of focus throughout the night. I also put a “where-to-stand” strip of tape on the floor for me, and one for the subjects in the photo booth. This will also add a pleasing level of continuity to the photos.

The advantage of a flash bracket is it mounts right on the camera; no need to fuss about a light stand or holding your flash all night. I highly recommend using a flash that does not automatically shut off. Wasting a few batteries is not the end of the world, but running out of instant film because your flash shut off and your exposure came out dark is a much bigger problem. While batteries can be poached from TV remotes, smoke detectors or baby monitors, you aren’t going to find more film on the midnight beer run at the corner store.

When I have one, I like to diffuse my flash toward the ceiling, but if I don’t have a diffuser I’ll go mug-shot style and straight on.

To prop or not to prop? That is the question. (Photo by Jason Kelley)

To prop or not to prop? That is the question. (Photo by Jason Kelley)

K: What about the fun stuff? Do you use props? What kind of backdrop or curtain situation do you prefer for the booth itself?

M: I’m not a big prop user, but they can be fun, especially if you’re working a theme event.

One way to block out a busy background is to use curtains, but finding a way to hang them in an unfamiliar area can be tricky. When appropriate, this is where a hammer, small nails, and twine can come into use.

Here’s some optional extras I find to be helpful:

1. Heavy curtains
2. Bench or stool
3. Hammer and small nails
4. Gaffer’s tape
5. Twine
6. Flashlight

K: So you’re all set up and ready to go. Someone walks up to your booth. What do you do?

M: You want your work-flow to be as smooth as possible, so you’re engaging with your subjects rather than working with your gear. This is where having an always-engaged flash comes into play. If you keep everything ready to fire, your “1, 2, 3, go!” is actually that, and not a “1, 2, 3… oh wait, hold on, don’t move!”

Once you’ve posed, prepped, and exposed your subjects, you’ll pull your film out of the back. I usually re-cock the shutter (if you’re using a camera with a shutter cocking mechanism) right after pulling the film so I’m ready for my next group. It’s a good habit to get into.

You can use a timer to let you know when to peel off your backing (it usually takes about 2 minutes for the picture to finish developing). I’ll also hand the developing print to people with an hourglass. Once the hourglass runs down they can peel the back off themselves; it adds an extra sense of magic to the whole process.

K: Sounds great, Mark! Thanks for sharing your secrets.


Jason Kelley runs a 4x5 Graphic powered photo booth at Powell's (Photo by Katt Janson)

Jason Kelley runs a 4×5 Graphic powered photo booth at Powell’s (Photo by Katt Janson)

There’s more than one way to run an instant photo booth, and while this has been a tried and true way for Mark and many others, there’s certainly room for you to add your own spin on things. Jason Kelley is an instant photo booth photographer who uses a 4×5 Graphic with a pack film back in his booths rather than a Polaroid camera. Examples of his photographs are seen throughout this article, and can be seen on his website as well.

What it really comes down to is having fun. Try some of these methods out for yourself, have some fun, and send your guests home with a physical memory they can hold in their hands for years to come.

Integral Film – One Woman’s Impossible Obsession

Breakfast at Broder in Portland, OR - Polaorid Photograph by Briana Morrison

Polaroid Spectra + Expired Polaroid Image Film, by Briana Morrison

As my college career came to a close I noticed my love for photography starting to fade.  Art school seemed to have squeezed me dry so I started to look for new ways to create beautiful images.

I first fell in love with Polaroid–integral film–photography in 2008 but I didn’t know much about it.  I found images I liked but didn’t know what sort of cameras produced them.  I started out with a new Polaroid 600 camera, and though it was fun, I noticed that my photographs didn’t have the same qualities as the ones I really admired by other photographers.  After a little more research I discovered the Polaroid Sx70, the very first integral film camera complete with a manual focus, shallow depth of field, and a wonderful lack of glaring flash.

From that point on, instant photography and I have been inseparable.

Polaroid portrait of Leah Morris by Briana Morrison

Sadly, shortly after my newly discovered passion for instant photography, Polaroid announced they would no longer be making instant film.  I rushed to the store hoping to pick up a few last packs but I was too late… they were gone.  I knew this couldn’t be the end for me and my Sx70 so I started searching for a solution.  That’s when I came across The Impossible Project and my heart lifted, just a little, to know that someone was desperately trying to save integral film photography, impossible as the task may seem.

Jaime de Fna, the main square in Marrakech, Morocco. Polaroid photograph by Briana Morrison

Polaroid Sx70 + PX70 Impossible Project Film, by Briana Morrison

The Impossible Project released their first film edition in March 2010.  It was the day after I arrived in London–my very first time in Europe–and I was anxious to find a computer with Internet access so I could order my first few packs of their untried film.  When I came home and loaded my camera with the new film, it didn’t take me long to realize the learning curve was steep.  I kept at it and was able to make some beautiful photographs from nearly every film edition they’ve produced since.

Polaroid boudoir portrait by Briana Morrison

Polaroid Sx70 + PX70 Color Protection Impossible Project Film, by Briana Morrison

Today The Impossible Project is producing some beautiful films that don’t take quite as long to get the hang of.  Their color film is gorgeous and I love that the emulsion resembles an old painting when scanned and enlarged.  Whether you’re new to using Impossible film or a seasoned veteran, you will find yourself awed by the beautiful photographs this medium helps to create.  It is like no other, and though people may try, the effect of integral film’s emulsion can not be duplicated digitally.

Polaroid photograph by Briana Morrison

Polaroid Sx70 + PX70 Color Protection Impossible Project Film, by Briana Morrison

So if you are ready to go out and try your hand at instant photography, I suggest picking up a couple packs of Impossible Project film, grabbing your camera of choice, and photographing with an open mind.  Integral film photography has its own sort of magic, one that cannot be wholly controlled, but will surprise you with beautiful results.

Cat on a rug in Essaouira, Morocco. Polaroid photograph by Briana Morrison

Polaroid Sx70 + PX70 Impossible Project Film, by Briana Morrison

Briana Morrison is a former employee of Blue Moon Camera & Machine.  Based in Portland, she spends her time photographing alternative weddings, fine art boudoir sessions, and documenting her travel adventures on film.  You can find more of her words and photographs on her website

Instant pack film and medium format cameras, or why I went to the dark side.

Mamiya 645 Pro + Polaroid back + Fuji FP-100, by Anne Di Elmo


 A few months ago, I borrowed a Hasselblad for the sole purpose of attaching a Polaroid pack film magazine to its dignified body. Heresy, I know, especially for a first time Hasselblad user. It’s important that I tell you I am not a Polaroid user. I admire good work produced on Polaroids, but I have never felt the pull to shoot them myself. That said, I liked the concept of peeling a print away from the chemical-laden backing paper, so I decided to give it a try. I must have exposed a pack in a weekend, and they weren’t important images, but they meant a lot to me because I had put so much effort into the process itself. Thus began my love affair with peel apart film.

 Even though Polaroid backs were designed primarily for proofing (checking exposure and composition before exposing a roll of film on a job), for a growing group of amateur and professional photographers, instant images made with a medium format camera have their own charm and intrinsic value. They’re still useful and artistic on their own. Once the print is digitally scanned and cropped, you have, on your computer screen, a fine scan of roughly the same caliber as that of a negative. The only difference is the reality of the physical artifact: a shiny print you can hold in your hands shortly after the exposure. It is beautiful in itself, and is the kind of object that is complete on its own. It is a tangible keepsake of that moment when you pressed the shutter, and as such, is something to cherish.


Mamiya 645 Pro + Polaroid back + Fuji FP-100c, by Anne Di Elmo

 One of the reasons that I never really entertained the idea of shooting Polaroid cameras was that I wanted to have as much control over my results as I am used to with my medium format cameras. I had to be able to choose my lens, aperture (ultimately, depth of field) and shutter speed. I am a control freak, so being able to meter a scene in a way that has become an essential part of my style was another factor that led me to go the medium format route.

 I never had the privilege of trying the original peel apart films made by the Polaroid corporation. I arrived late to the party, and unless some kind soul gives me a pack of extremely expired film, I probably never willi. When the Polaroid corporation stopped production of its instant film line in 2008, the Fuji corporation, which had started making pack film in the 1980s, began exporting more of it to fill the void left by Polaroid. A few years later, Fuji is still the only one making peel apart but recently announced that it was discontinuing its black and white film. The Polaroid back I borrowed from the Blue Moon Camera store stock still had a pack of film inside of it. There was a single frame left, and after exposing it, I realized that the pack was a discontinued film, the revered FP-100B. Just my luck. Not that it took me very long to fall in love with its replacement, the higher ISO FP-3000b, with its fine grain and low contrast, or the color FP-100C that produces rich greens and browns and is perfect outdoors.


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Mamiya 645 Pro + Fuji Pro 400H.  Exposing peel apart film with a Polaroid lover at the Ace Hotel, by Anne Di Elmo


 I am so passionate about this new-to-me process that I have been showing it to anyone with the slightest signs of interest. Case in point: at the end of summer, I bumped into a fellow instant film shooter (I guess I am part of that group now) and over coffee at the Ace Hotel, I exposed a few frames and lent her my Mamiya 645 so that she could do the same. As I watched her expression turning from expectation to surprise to jubilation, I realized what a powerful thing that tiny print could be, even for someone used to larger prints from Polaroid Land cameras. The image above shows our cumulative efforts, minus a small pile of instant prints on the left hand side. That day, a few of us bonded over the photos, discussed their grain and tones, and also got the attention of a Leica photographer who was fascinated by the instantaneous aspect and the tones, contrast and casual beauty of the images we had just created in front of him.



Hasselblad 500c + Polaroid back + Fuji FP-100c by Anne Di Elmo

 You might object to the gigantic black frame around those 6×6 and 6×4.5 instant film prints. I have heard that many times, and it is the biggest reason why I am thinking of moving to a larger format: 6×7. On its own, the 6×7 format is not my favorite, but slap a Polaroid back to a Mamiya RB67 and it suddenly becomes desirable ii. With a Hasselblad, you get a square that covers a little over half of your image area. The size of the image on the print is the same as the negatives produced by the Hasselblad with a 120 film magazine. It follows that with a Mamiya 645 Pro or Super, you get an even smaller, rectangular image. And a Mamiya RB or RZ67 gives a square image that fills up over 3/4th of the print area.

 The process was the real appeal for me then, and it still is the reason why I reach for my Mamiya 645 with a pack film back more often than I will pick up a 120 film back. There is nothing quite as satisfying as inserting a fresh pack in the magazine, pulling out the white tab with the frame number on it, then pulling out a fresh photo with the backing paper still on and its chemicals starting to develop the image. And still, these steps are nowhere near as enchanting as peeling the image from that backing paper, revealing your pristine image and the negative on the other side. It is such a tactile experience, and like a lot of the processes that us film people cherish, it encompasses several of our senses.

 Now, for the number lovers among us, here are a few details: a Polaroid film back for your Hasselblad can be had for between $80 and $100, and we get them sporadically at the store. If you own a Hasselblad, it’s a wonderful camera accessory to ask for a birthday or Valentine’s day. A back for a Bronica SQ-A (6×6) will set you back roughly $40, one for the Mamiya RB67 approximately $100. A pack of FP-100c (color film) costs $13 and contains 10 frames. Trust me, they’re worth every penny. Now, follow me down the rabbit hole.


For inspiration, be sure to check out


i Read what you want into this statement (and if you so wish, send any expired film to the store).

ii So desirable you can expect me to drool all over yours. No, I am not above that.


Nikon Non-AI, AI, AI’D, AIS…. oh my. Part 2.

And here we are again, at the cusp of further discussion regarding the Nikon F lens mount.  Part one of this Codex article detailed the various Nikon F mount revisions that have occurred through the years.  While there have been numerous modifications to the F mount, it has remained essentially the same mount since its inception in 1959.  If you were to raise your hand at this point and ask if this meant you could use any Nikon lens on any Nikon camera the answer would be…mostly, but there are exceptions.  These exceptions break down into three main categories: mounting, metering and focusing.


It is true that the F mount has remained basically unchanged for over 50 years. However, the universal rule that one Nikon lens can mount on any other Nikon body has one big exception. Due to several modifications done to the mount (and the associated cameras) over time, early Non-AI lenses should not be mounted onto all AI-era or later bodies.  The reason for this lies in a small lever that sits around the lens mount on the camera body.  This lever was introduced along with the AI modification to the lenses.  When a lens is mounted the lever recesses into the notches cut into the base of the lens mount and allows aperture ring information to be communicated to the camera’s meter.  The key point here is that the lever recesses into those available spaces cut out of the lens.  A Non-AI lens does not have these notches and when one attempts to mount a Non-AI lens onto a later camera they jam this lever into the body.  At best this leaves the lever out of place and the meter reads incorrectly.  At worst it breaks the lever and results in a hefty repair bill.


The AI lever on some Nikon bodies makes Non-AI lenses unmountable without damage to the camera body.

This is true of both Nikon film and digital cameras.  With DSLRs many of the more consumer grade cameras (think lesser expensive bodies) have no such lever meaning they can mount either Non-AI or AI (and later) lenses.  More professional DSLRs have this lever on the camera’s lens mount meaning they should only be used with AI or later lenses.  Do not mount a Non-AI lens to your D800!

A few Nikon cameras (such as the F3, F4, FE , FM and the new DF) allow the user to swing the lever out of the way, clearing a path for the mounting of a Non-AI lens. The trade-off for this is the loss of meter coupling with the lens.  If the camera has a depth of field preview this can be pressed to engage stop-down metering.


Some AI Nikon bodies have the ability to flip the AI lever up and out of the way, allowing the mounting of Non-AI lenses. These levers must be unlocked by depressing the small silver button in the lower right corner of the red rectangle above.


Ok, so you have that lens successfully mounted, all is golden now right?  Not necessarily.  Next up is the question of metering.  Some Nikon bodies will not meter properly with various Nikon lenses mounted on them.  This is especially true of Nikon DSLRs.  Lower end DSLRs without the coupling lever on their mount were mentioned above.  These cameras can mount either AI or Non-AI lenses safely.  But if you mount any lens that is pre-AF (any manual focus lens) the camera’s meter is disengaged.  You will have to either meter with a hand-held meter or guess and check.  Furthermore, the only exposure mode you will be able to use is M (manual).  It is important to note that the lens will still function properly in terms of aperture and focus, there is just no metering in-camera.


Some Nikon bodies lack the coupling lever, making them safe to mount both Non-AI and AI lenses. However, this is often done at the sacrifice of metering.

If you have a more professional DSLR like the D700 – which will only safely accept manual focus lenses of the the AI variety – then you are in better shape.  These lenses couple with the metering lever on the body of the camera and allow aperture information to be conveyed to the camera’s meter and voila!  You have metering capabilities with that 20 or 30 year old lens as long as you stick with the M (manual) and A (aperture priority) exposures modes.  S (shutter priority) and P (program) will not function with older, manual focus lenses.

On the film camera side of the equation, if you own a Nikon N55, N60, N70 or N75 then neither Non-AI or AI (and by extension AI-S and AI’D) will meter on these bodies.  In the case of these cameras, if you want to use the on-board meter you will have to stick with AF lenses.


It goes without saying that if you mount an old manual focus Non-AI or AI lens on an autofocus camera there will be no auto-focus capabilities.  Furthermore, some Nikon DSLRs (think the D40, D40X, D60, D3000, D3100, D3200, D5000, D5100 and D5200), in order to make smaller, lighter cameras have no auto-focus motors in the camera body.  These cameras rely on Nikon AF-S (or the very rare AF-I) lenses with the AF motors built into the lens to auto-focus.  You can mount other AF lenses on these cameras and they will otherwise fully function… as manual focus lenses.  Two other cameras to keep in mind are the  Nikon N55 and N60 film cameras from the early 1990s.  These cameras will not auto-focus with AF-S lenses, preferring AF or AF-D lenses.


With this knowledge added to your mental toolkit, you could potentially open up for yourself a whole generation of Nikon lenses for your body of choice. If you’re careful about mounting, flexible on metering, and comfortable with manual focusing, your options will greatly expand. There’s a lot of great Nikon glass out there; you might as well take advantage of it all as much as you can.

Nikon Non-AI, AI, AI’D, AIS…. oh my. Part 1.

The year 1959 was a pretty momentous year for Nikon.  That was the year they introduced their Nikon F professional SLR and with it the F style mount for their lenses.  Fast forward to today and Nikon continues to use the same F style mount on their current lenses.  That is a pretty impressive accomplishment in a photographic world where such consistency is sometimes hard to find.  That isn’t to say the F mount is exactly the same as it once was.  There have been modifications to the mount over the decades to reflect the evolution of SLR camera technology.  That is where this Codex entry comes in, to help you – the consumer and avid photographer – sort through the varieties of F mounts available and to understand the compatibility issues that may arise with each.


We will begin here because this is where Nikon began.  The original Nikon F mount is referred to as a non-AI mount (AI being short for auto-indexing).  Non-AI Nikon lenses relied on a metal flange attached to the barrel of the lens just forward of the mount to couple with a pin protruding from the meter prism on the camera.  As the aperture ring is turned, the position of the flange changes thereby changing the position of the pin coupled to it, which in turn informs the meter of the selected aperture.  Additionally these lenses had to be “indexed” when mounted on these early cameras which involved rotating the lens first to the smallest aperture and then to the widest.  This action informed the camera of the fastest possible aperture of the lens being mounted, insuring proper metering.

Nikkor 50mm f2 H Nippon Kogaku 3

The smooth face of a Nikon non-AI mount is its distinguishing feature. The metal flange used for meter coupling can also be seen in the center of the image.



Nikon refined the F mount in 1977 by introducing the AI modification to their lenses.  This took the form of a ridge cut into the previously smooth face of the lens mount.  The cuts produced tabs that coupled with a small metal or plastic tab on the body of the camera, achieving the same purpose as the metal flange/pin combination of the previous non-AI mount but without the need for manual indexing.  It is worth noting that most AI Nikon mount lenses still included the metal flange making them backwards compatible with previous Nikon cameras.

Nikkor 35mm f14_1

Notches cut into the mount of an AI Nikon lens allow it to couple to the meter in the camera.

Nikkor 35mm f14_2

Another look at the AI mount showing the various cuts made into the lens mount as well as the continued presence of the coupling flange seen on earlier non-AI mounts.


An AI’d lens mount is a Nikon lens that began life as a non-AI mount and was later converted to an AI mount.  This could be done in a couple of ways.  One method was to send the lens to Nikon who would replace the aperture ring with an updated version (complete with metal flange for non-AI cameras and a second smaller aperture scale located beneath the main scale).  This would make the lens functionally indistinguishable from a true AI lens, the only difference being the change was applied to an older lens.  The second method involved everyone other than Nikon – camera repair stores to the guy in his garage – manually cutting their own notches into the lens mount to replicate the AI notches.  This home modification was a rougher solution than the job done by Nikon but could be as functional.


The AI-S modification is a small footnote in the progression of the F mount.  Nikon AI-S lenses have a small semi-circular notch cut into the base of the lens mount which allowed certain metering modes on the Nikon N2000, N2020 and F4.  Later cameras did not need this modification.  So unless you own one of these three Nikons and use automatic metering, there is no difference between an AI and an AI-S lens in terms of compatibility.  AI-S lenses still included the AI ridge and many also had the metal flange from the non-AI era.

Nikon 100mm f28 series e_2

When shopping for lenses, AI-S lenses tend to sell for slightly higher rates over AI lenses.  This is due to the fact that AI-S lenses tend to be newer and sometimes enjoyed improved modifications to aperture, optical or coating designs.


AF stands for auto-focus and, despite marking an incredible change in camera and lens technology, remained based on the same F mount.  Yes, a Nikon AF lens will mount just fine to your 1979 Nikon F.  You won’t have coupling with your meter (as AF lenses do not have the necessary metal flange on the barrel), but the lens will otherwise function just fine.  Nikon AF lenses still retain the AI ridge as well as the AF-S cut in the mount, making them fully backwards compatible with the appropriate cameras.  AF lenses have two additions: the first is a series of electronic pins in the mount which communicated various information to the camera, and the second is a coupling for the auto-focus motor.

Nikkor 28-105mm f35-45D_2

The AF mount introduces electronic contacts for communicating information between lens and camera seen in the lower left as well as a coupling for the auto-focus motor.


The only way to tell an AF-D lens apart from a standard AF lens is to read the aperture information printed on the lens barrel; the letter D will be printed after the maximum aperture. For example, a lens may read “Nikkor 70-210mm f3.5-4.5 D”.  The lens mount itself remained virtually unchanged from the previous AF mount.  Nikon AF-D lenses have better compatibility with the matrix metering modes of modern cameras.  Subsequent Nikon AF lenses dropped the “D” from the lens barrel but continued to include all AF-D features.


The D after the maximum apertures signifies the AF-D mount.


AF-S lenses incorporated a new type of auto-focus motor in the lens itself, as opposed to the camera body where it was usually located.  They are otherwise identical to AF-D and still retain the AI and AI-S modifications.


AF-G is the latest modification to the Nikon F mount.  AF-G lenses lack a mechanical aperture ring on the lens, relying on control via the camera body to manipulate aperture.  Since AF-G is still a Nikon F mount, you can mount an AF-G lens on any old Nikon camera but unless that camera possesses the ability to electronically control aperture, you will have to do all your photography at the maximum aperture of the lens, which is just as well since AF-G lenses also lack the metal flange and the AI ridge for metering on those cameras as well.  Some AF-G lenses also cast smaller image circles appropriate for cropped frame DSLR’s and won’t cover a 35mm frame.  So, while the lens remains mountable on virtually every Nikon SLR ever made, significant compatibility issues may arise.


The lack of an aperture ring means no manual control of the lens aperture on older pre-AF Nikon cameras.


That covers most of what you need to know Nikon mounts on the lens side of things. Coming up next: a discussion on the practical usage of these lens on the wide array of Nikon bodies available.

My Kingdom for a Voice

You shouldn’t read this article. There will be no happy endings or satisfactory resolution. It poses problems without solution, and offers you no advice whatsoever. Among the wildfire of online articles that claim to guide you safely through artistic turmoil soothed and unscathed, I am interested only in fanning the flames. The problem, you see, is that I have no voice. My photography is completely bereft of a unique style, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

This might not seem like a terrible thing; just keep shooting until I figure it out, right? At least that’s what every photography blog on the internet tells me to do. “Go out there and shoot everyday, kiddo. You’ll find your style like I found mine. Eventually.” Well, I’m tired of waiting for eventually to come. Not having a vision for my photography feels like writing a book with nothing to say. Without a point, I won’t even get started. I crave direction and with a whole store full of cameras at my disposal it’s hard not to get distracted.



Pictured above: girl distracted


In my writing I never have to think much about my voice. I realized early on that any narrative I wrote always came out with a lighthearted and optimistic tone, even when everyone died in the end. The thought that I could choose and shape my voice—or style—over time was not something that occurred to me. As I’ve traveled further down the photography rabbit hole, however, I’ve found that it isn’t quite that simple. With many different looks and styles available to me, I am able to make a choice. I usually like being able to choose (and I’m a rather choosy person) but having this much freedom is almost stifling.

Luckily though, there are as many potential mentors for me at Blue Moon as there are cameras to learn. I’ve started looking more and more at my coworkers’ work. Of everyone at the store, I probably most discuss my search for style with Jake. As many of you know, Jake recently delivered an entire lecture on his work, process, and style, which you can read here. He told me one day he was going to teach me large format and while my first thought was “great, another film type to distract me from my self-discovery”, it is a format I have ended up really enjoying. After a few months of shooting 4×5 though, most of the work I’m producing now looks suspiciously like Jake’s. Oops.


Jake Shivery

The quintessential Jake Shivery.


Now, Jake has style. There’s a mood his photographs capture that is hard to overlook or recreate. He occasionally dismisses this as “taking the same photograph over and over” but that isn’t the case. While I (unconsciously) mimic some key aspects of his portraiture work, my photographs will likely never be mistaken for a Jake Shivery; there’s a mysterious element in his work that I can’t quite capture. The one photograph of mine that comes the closest to his is probably my favorite piece of my own work so far, which is telling. Clearly I like Jake’s style, but it’s Jake’s, not mine.



4×5 Self Portrait, from the Not Quite Shivery Series


Naturally, both respect and the desire to be an original motivate me to stay away from straight mimesis of a mentor’s work. But there’s something else that pulls me away from enrolling completely in the Jake Shivery school of photography: I want to do more than large format portraiture. It’s important that someone does it, and does it well, but I have too many interests pulling me in different directions. I’d never have the self-discipline it takes to focus on one camera, one film type, and one subject area.

Picking one thing and sticking with it has never been my forte. By the time I entered high school I’d been playing the clarinet for six years, but I was bored. I decided that what I really wanted to do was play the oboe. My director warned me that switching instruments could be detrimental to my clarinet skills, but I was determined. Soon, I added the alto sax, as well. I even added the baritone for one marching season. I had a great time with them all, but by senior year I’d lost control of the finely tuned muscles that helped make me proficient on the clarinet; I left high school a weaker clarinetist than I was when I started middle school. There go my chances of being a concert clarinetist. If I’m honest with myself, I can image something similar happening with my photography.



Learning large format while shooting my AE1


I know I get distracted. I know that, after a year or two or maybe even six, I’m going to want to do something different. If I focus on portraits now, I’m certain that in a few years I’ll never want to take another portrait again. And what then? Will I put all this effort into building my image and my style just to eventually and inevitably have to start all over again when I get bored?

Style takes discipline. And it’s my fear that, at the end of the day, style might be a limitation. Even the most loose and carefree of photography blogs on style, the ones that tell you to go forth and shoot anything and everything, do warn you that eventually you’ll have to choose. One day you’ll have to commit to a camera, a film type, a subject, a composition, something, or you’ll never be taken seriously as a photographer. They all sound just like my high school band director.

But there might be another way. One day at the scanner, I heard Jake walk up behind me. “Are you scanning Faulkner’s work?” he asked. I was. “You want a lesson about style, you get it from Faulkner. It doesn’t matter what camera he touches, his photographs always look like his.”

That’s certainly true. In the same way that I can spot Jake’s handiwork from several feet away, I can recognize almost anything by Faulkner with no more than a passing glance. His photographs can be so varied—taken with a wide range of cameras, film types, film sizes, and subject matter—and yet all recognizably similar, like the same refrain played in a different key. Faulkner’s approach to style is vastly different from Jake’s methodical process, and yet they are both easily recognizable. I thought Faulkner might have some insight on style that would help me shed light on my own, and so I asked him about it.



Self portrait by Faulkner Short


“Hey Faulkner,” I said one Saturday during whiskey basketball, “what’s your photographic voice?”

“Pee-wee Herman,” he said.

“I was not expecting that.” I wasn’t.

“I think humor is very important,” he continued. “I always like it when a photograph makes me laugh. Balance between form and content is important, but there also needs to be some element that grabs you—and humor is a good one.”

I asked him if he considers himself to have a style.

“I do… but I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

And neither do I. The adaptability of Faulkner’s style impresses me: it’s certainly less limiting than what I’d been doing, but more difficult to pin down. While I know one of his photographs when I see it, I’d be hard pressed to actually describe his style. Perhaps that underlying desire to capture the moments that make him laugh is what gives his photographs a consistent look. For him, style is less about limiting your scope and more about concentrating on a consistent thought.


Tallulah by Faulkner Short

Tallulah by Faulkner Short


When I first started thinking seriously about my style, I did it with a certain air of annoyance. Why even have a style? After all, it doesn’t necessarily seem to benefit me as an artist; the individual photographs I take are not better because they resemble other photographs I’ve already taken. From the outside looking in on the art world, style seems like a categorical tool that is helpful for those people who are not the artist. Jake takes large format portraits. Vivian Maier did street photography. That one wedding photographer you’re thinking about booking does macro detail shots, while the other one takes a lot of contrast out of her photographs in post-processing. If you want to be known for your photography, you need to make it easy for people, and that means having a style.

While the creative side of me wants to rebel against this whole idea and the underlying business aspect of art, I do understand why it has to be this way. If I want to make any kind of impact on the photography world I, too, will need to limit or concentrate my efforts in some way to make my work recognizable. And though this realization doesn’t quite help me find my style, it does help to know there’s more than one way to achieve consistency in photography. So next I suppose I’ll go out, and keep shooting until I figure it all out, or I’ll say to hell with it and just shoot what I want. If it ends up looking consistent, great. If not, well, I never really wanted to be a concert clarinetist anyway.

Interviewing Clarke Galusha

Interview with Clarke Galusha

Date: 9/3/2013

Where: Saraveza Bottle Shop and Pasty Tavern on N Killingsworth, Portland OR.

ST: So, I wanted to start at the beginning and ask those same questions that are always asked…have you always been interested in photography? Or were there other forms of art that you were interested in?

CG: Yes, I had an interest in photography at an early age. My brother is, or was, 6 years older. He was always an inspiration and an idol for me. He was a prolific painter and won all kinds of awards in high school and went on to study art in college.

He was the first person to put a camera in my hands. He saw in high school that I was struggling with other art forms, so he put a camera in my hand, probably right after high school.

I was working at Wolf Camera. It was a one hour lab. I was able to process all my 35mm film there and took it from there and eventually ended up going to art school, studying photography.

ST: Where did you attend art school?

CG: Louisiana Tech. How it happened was – I was living with this girl in Tulsa, OK, where I grew up. She moved to Louisiana to go to school and I followed her. I found out that Louisiana Tech had a BFA in photography, so I thought I might as well go for that. It turned out to be really awesome.

ST: So you were shooting with a 35mm camera?

CG: Yes. It was my father’s Nikon F that he gave my brother, and my brother gave me. There is some history to that camera.

So while I was at Tech, I was a somewhat older student and it wasn’t really an art school. There was myself and another guy who were really into the craft of photography. We had our own darkroom, were very close with the professors, and got keys to the building. But the biggest perk was being referred for a job with a local photographer, who lived in Monroe, about a half hour away.

I became an assistant for Deborah Luster for two years, while she was working on her project called “One Big Self, Prisoners of Louisiana.” She made portraits and printed them on painted aluminum, so they looked like tintypes. So most of my job was creating the plates.

ST: What was it like to work with Deborah Luster?

CG: Seeing her multi-year dedication to her one project of photographing the prisoners and how much involvement went into it was fascinating. She also gave thousands of prints back to the prisoners. Some of those prisoners hadn’t had pictures of themselves for many years, and she was able to give those to the prisoners. Then they could send them to their family, which had a big impact for those families. But just being involved with a working photographer, it’s really nice to see how much effort, love, and dedication it takes to pull off a project. I feel like I owe a lot to her.

A wet plate portrait of Clarke and Christie by Deborah Luster.

A wet plate portrait of Clarke and Christie made by Deborah Luster.



When we were leaving Louisiana, Deb was finishing her prisoners project and starting to work on her next project. She had just learned the wet plate process, and I was about to get married. Debbie shot our wedding invitation photo as an ambrotype. At the time I had no idea what the process was all about. I think that may have planted the seed of making Tintypes.

ST: What were you working on personally?

Well, I met Christie, who is now my wife. I lived in a little rental home in the “ghetto,” and she would walk around with me. And we got invited to neighbors’ family reunions, BBQs and things like that. I walked by all the time, and back and forth to school. My neighbors and I got to know each other. I didn’t try to take their photographs the first day we’d meet. I was eventually able to get some really intimate pictures. I also spent a lot of time shooting Christie. My senior show was shots of her in large format.





ST: After graduation- how did you end up coming to Oregon?

CG: In 2003 I graduated, got married, my brother hanged himself, and we moved to Oregon. We wanted to get out of the south, both of us did. I had a best friend up here, and my brother had lived here and in Olympia. So I came up here and had a friend who was working for the Willamette Week and did some work with him. But, really I just didn’t pursue anything artistically for years while I ran away from dealing with my brother’s suicide and not processing it. I really didn’t do much photographically from 2003-2008.

Looking back, I was really successful photographing my neighbors, and family reunions, and senior portraits and thought I had life figured out. I was 27 or something. And having my brother die, and moving to a new city, where every other person is an amazing artist. You know, being overwhelmed. It was weird to have this 7 or 8 year hiatus and then just come back to it and try to find myself- it has been an experience.

ST: Nothing seems forced about anything that you do, or have done. It’s nice and refreshing.

CG: Thank you. I do struggle with that. I think if I were to push harder or have more deadlines…well maybe it’s a double edged sword because having the deadline of the Newspace show really got me to make this body of work. When I don’t have a deadline I tend to get lazy.

In 2009, I kind of started picking up photography a little more. When Christie got pregnant with Jasper, I really started shooting more. I started taking classes at Newspace. That first year that I was a member of Newspace – where they have an annual juried show – I entered the show with ten of the images I had taken of my rural neighbors in Louisiana and ended up winning the big prize – a solo show.

Clarke's earlier work from Louisiana.

Clarke’s early work from Louisiana.



ST: How did you decide on your subject matter for the show?

CG: Well, so, I won, and I was overwhelmed. I started taking classes at Newspace: I took a lighting class, I took a Photoshop class and some others, and started shooting again.

The original project that I had in mind for the show was to document my elderly neighbors in NE Portland. I had a horrible time getting into these peoples’ houses. They weren’t as open and friendly as the Southern folks.

I actually got a Hasselblad 500 CM from Jake at Blue Moon and was very down to once again go out and document my neighbors. I wanted to get in their houses because a lot of their houses were stuck in the late 1960s, early 70s. But I had a lot of trouble doing that, so I tried to do a landscape project. But there were no people in it, so it didn’t really do anything for me.

I was at the end of my rope and didn’t know what I was going to do for the show that was due in three months. I had to have my show to Newspace by the end of October 2012. I had to fill up 120 feet of wall space with work. So I decided to look up tintypes in Portland and found Ray Bidegain and there was this instant connection. I took a tintype workshop with him at the end of August 2012, and he agreed to be my mentor.

ST: How did your subject matter come about or develop? Why kids?

CG: I think I wanted to photograph kids because Jasper was just born, and I had all things children on my mind. I’m the youngest of 17 cousins, and all of my neighbors growing up were older. I never experienced kids so much. I was overwhelmed by how brilliant and amazing they are when they are so small. Jasper was going to this awesome playschool, and I just wanted to make portraits of all of the kids there. So that is where I started recruiting kid models. I took tintypes of Jasper and his friends and some of the other playschool kids. It turned out that Chris Bennett’s kid was starting there, so I photographed his son. It just kind of snowballed.

ST: Your tintypes are very unique, and I’ve never seen anything quite like them. So, I wanted to talk about your technique with the strobe lights. Can you talk about that?

CG: Ray Bidegain was a huge help with this. When I first told him that I wanted to shoot kids, he said that would be really rough, that I would have to shoot older kids or get strobes. The day that I learned how to create tintypes from him, my wife and son Jasper came and modeled. He was two-and-a-half at the time, and we did three tintypes, and you couldn’t even make out that he was a kid. He was a blur. So I knew I had to get some strobes.

Clarke's son Jasper, when he decided he must use strobes when photographing children.

Clarke’s son Jasper, without strobe light.

Portland has an awesome wet plate family, and Ray is part of that, so he introduced me to a couple of other guys. A few of them were using strobes, so I was able to pick their brains. I started by shooting Jasper at home. Something about it worked. The second-hand tripod that I got could only be lowered to a certain height, so I had to be shooting down at the kids somewhat. Something about them looking up worked, too. I also didn’t direct any of the kids to smile or do anything. I just had them sit there and be themselves.

I had two weekends where I was able to shoot in Ray’s backyard. His younger daughter, Emogene, recruited the neighbors, their friends, and her friends. She was awesome. I had two weekends with five or six appointments each day, so that was 12 kids. And I think those were some of the best shots I’d made. Ray sometimes talked with his neighbors or checked out the tintypes but gave me full access to his darkroom, and I had my strobes set up and my backdrop in his backyard. It was a grueling, ether-induced day. I think I shot almost 250 tintypes in six weeks, just to get the 42 for the show.

After I had said, “I don’t need any more kids,” I just kept getting emails and requests from parents. So I started Tintype Portland.

ST: That’s pretty awesome.

CG: I had 14 months to come up with this show, and here I was in August, just coming onto this new process. But that whole year was awesome. I’m really glad I had that year because I went through so many stages of growth and reconnected with myself again.

ST: That’s understandable. It was probably built up from the years that you were dormant, right?

CG: Yes. I had just gone to Italy, and I won a solo show, and I was having a son. It was a re-birthing.

I learned at the end of August how to make tintypes, shot 59 kids in six weeks, and put up 42 tintypes.

Clarke Galusha's solo show at Newspace.

Clarke Galusha’s solo show at Newspace.

ST: I think it’s in their eyes; they really glow.



CG: I mean, there is something about the catch lights of the reflectors in their eyes. But it’s more than that–it’s just kids. The process ages everybody, but when you have a four-year-old on a tintype, looking straight into the lens, and it’s super sharp, it’s intense.

ST: Your strobe setup really allows you to shoot any time of day and virtually anywhere.

CG: It does; it is nice. I love the immediate satisfaction thing. It’s kind of like digital, in that you are getting something right away. But it definitely is not digital.

I don’t have a darkroom, well, a traditional darkroom, or running water or a drain, but you are able to complete the process that way. And you can do it on location because of that.

ST: Do you have any plans to explore other subject matters in the future?

CG: I think I will be sticking with photographing kids for my business.

So, personal projects that I really want to do–I have always really wanted to shoot some of my clients at Cascadia. There is a lot of red tape involved in that because they have mental health diagnoses, and I work there or have worked there. So, there are their rights and what you can actually do with those photos. In the back of my mind, I think it was part of me wanting to go back to working there.

ST: You are offering workshops on making tintypes now; is this correct?

CG: Yes, it is on my website. I teach one or two people at a time to make tintypes, which is how I learned, by going to Ray’s house for six or seven hours. I think it’s really fun. I’ve been doing it for a little over one year, and I am still amazed, obsessed and surprised by it all. It is still really magical. I’ve done three sessions so far independently. Ray and I also taught a class at Reed College which was over two evenings. I love sharing the process with other people.

Did we cover everything?

ST: We did, but I just like hearing you talk. Thank you for sharing everything.

How to Date your Hasselblad (but not in THAT way)

Ever thought it would be neat to know the year your Hasselblad was born?  Or better yet, its birthday?  Turns out that finding that information is much easier than you might expect.

Hasselblad bodies and most film backs have serial numbers that begin with two letters followed by a string of numbers.  To find the serial number for both, simply remove the back from the body and you’ll see the serial numbers on the inner faces of each piece of equipment.


Serial number locations on a Hasselblad back (left) and body (right).

The cool thing about these numbers is that Victor Hasselblad implemented a secret code (less secret now than it was) that identified the year a camera was made.  Here’s the code: VHPICTURES.  (Get it?  VH for Victor Hasselblad.)  Each letter in this ten digit code represents a number between zero and nine.

V = 1
H = 2
P = 3
I = 4
C = 5
T = 6
U = 7
R = 8
E = 9
S = 0

Now all you have to do is take the two letters in your serial number and translate them into numbers.  If the number is greater than 50, add the prefix 19 to it and if the number is less than 50 add the prefix 20.  For example, in the image above, the camera body (right) has a serial number of UV114133.  We see from the code that U = 7 and V = 1.  Seventy-one is greater than 50, so we add a “19” to the front end and voila! This camera was made in 1971. Let’s try another: take a look at the magazine on the left, with a serial number starting in RR. This translates to 88, making this magazine’s vintage in 1988.  Simple, no?

Order your Hasselblad Party Hat today

Get your party hats on; it’s birthday time.


You can do a similar process with the Zeiss lenses that mount on your Hasselblad.  If you remove the lens from the body and look inside the back mount on the rear baffling near the rear optic you should see a small three or four digit code stamped in red ink.


It should look something like this.

The last two digits of this code represent the month of manufacture where 01 = January, 02 = February and so on.  Take the remaining one or two digits at the beginning of the code and add those on to 1957 and you have the year the lens was made. For example, the code above is 805. The fifth month of the year is May, and 8 + 1957 = 1965. Therefore, this lens was made in May of 1965. If the code was 1805, it would indicate a lens manufactured in May of 1975.

This process works for pre-1980 Zeiss lenses.  If you have a post-1980 lens you will see a code comprised of two digits and a letter.  Reverse the two digits and you have the year, where the letter once again signifies the month (A = January, B = February, etc).  So a lens with the code D48 would have been made in April of 1984.

If you really must know which day of the month your lenses came into the world you can contact Zeiss directly and they should be able to tell you via the lens’ serial number. That way you’ll be sure to never miss another birthday.


Update: We’ve received some great questions about Hasselblad dating on our Facebook Page. One Hasselblad lens owner was looking at a serial number similar to D89B. So what’s with the extra ‘B’ at the end? After 1980, when Zeiss switched over to the two numbers and single letter system, they included on some later model lenses an extra A or B after the two numbers. It’s not yet be released (to our knowledge) what these letters stand for, and the dating system still works using the first letter and following numbers. For now, the purpose for the extra A and B remains a mystery.

Jake’s speech at the Portland Art Museum – The Decisive Morning

What follows is the unabridged text (and slides) from Jake’s speech at the Portland Art Museum on July 17, 2013.



Thanks to the Photo Council for having me. And by “having me”, I mean “bullying me into this”. Thanks to all of you for breaking up your day to come down for a bit. I will do my best to make it worth your while.

And thanks to Pro Photo Supply for sponsoring these events. You guys are great. I hope that at some point, my little company will be in a position to mirror some of your good efforts.

Let’s just move right onto the robots, shall we?

MT01_10 Mr. J. and Mr. J. Wenderoth, Linton, 2009 No1

The first point I’d like to address is: “Who is in control of the portrait: the photographer or the subject?” You can’t have a portrait without both, after all.

Here’s an excellent example. This is my friend John and his father. John is an artist of the first order himself, and he is used to knowing exactly what he wants. Nothing is different here – he knows exactly what he wants out of his portrait. So his father’s coming into town, and he’s excited about the shop space that he’s subletting to work on his current obsession: the renovation of Airstream trailers. In addition, John is a builder and a craftsman, with a sense of humour to boot, and he’s recently constructed himself a robot costume, which he would like to incorporate into the portrait. He’s been waiting for the stars to align just so before proceeding.

So John asks me to come down and make a portrait, about which I’m very excited. That’s a lot of great elements to work with. I go down to set up; I’ve been in the shop before but never really looked at the light, and I’m not sure what we have to work with. I get the camera the way I want it, and start placing the subjects. That’s John’s grandfather’s tool chest that he’s sitting on, another subtle and important detail. Father and son, dissected Airstream, robot costume, tool chest – layers on layers – John’s life in fragments. A code.

John and I had been planning this shoot for several weeks before the actual event, anticipating his father’s arrival. John described his idea about using the robot suit, about which I showed some skepticism regarding his father’s willingness. John told me not to worry.

As you might expect, John’s dad was more than a little skeptical once the idea was finally presented. Everything else was largely ready, and John produced the bottom half of the robot costume. His father looked at it with bemusement. John looked at his father with impatience.

John’s dad: “What do you want me to do with these?”

John: “Dad, we spoke about this at length. Now go put the robot pants on.”

And, being the good sport that he is, John’s dad put them on; John himself climbed into substantially less of the robot costume, set himself down on his grandfather’s tool chest, and they took mild direction from me.

It’s layer on layer on layer of one man’s psyche representing itself. It’s a portrait in the truest sense, since it’s John’s own direction. Levels of generations, levels of strength, levels of craft. Levels of information being passed down and passed on. It always pleases me to help my friends create their own self representations, and this is one of my favorites.

And so, I get my shot. It’s more or less my classic “jake portrait” – family in the front, family in the back, some details for interest. I’m proud of it, but ultimately, I was just showing up with the camera.

John and his dad took some subtle coaching from me, and they held still while I did my thing, but he knew what he wanted.

Whose portrait is it? Well, it defies the question, and makes for a good answer – collaboration. This is what makes for a good portrait – work with really good people who you love, try your best to make them look good while they’re trying their best to help you make a good photograph, and you have actual, legitimate collaboration.

There were a couple other things happening in my evolution as a photographer when I made this portrait. Notably, I had decided that I wanted to have a smaller camera with me, where I could shoot more than six frames of film, and where I could have faster results and where I could work in color. So I brought along my trusty old Hasselblad, and a second tripod, and I set it up next to the Deardorff, and tried my best to work with it.

The next day, I had the work processed and proofs to look at and was excited at the relatively “instant” gratification of being able to see results the following day. And it looks great – Zeiss optics, square and compact, lovely, in color and everything – and they all just left me all the more anxious to see the real film. After getting used to dealing with 8×10 negatives, it’s really hard to look at anything else.

MT02_12 Mr. J. and Mr. J. Wenderoth, Linton, 2009 No3

Let’s speak a bit about the limitations of the large format system – principally, the number of frames you can expect to make during a given shoot.

I try really hard to get it within just a couple of shots. I’ve recently been trying to limit myself to two or four per shoot. One reason is expense, obviously – it’s five bucks every time you pull the shutter.

Another reason is advice from one of my old photo mentors – the amateur photographer will show you everything that they shot – the pro will show you “the” photograph – the finished product. So I’m mindful of this, and when I’m prepping for a show, there’s always some teeth gnashing about which one is “the” one. For today, clearly, I’m going to break that rule a bit.

MT03_13 Mr. J. and Mr. J. Wenderoth, Linton, 2009 No4

For today, I’m going to show you a couple of shots with their out-takes, because it’s relevant to the subject of editing. Which is a constant struggle.

I work with a couple of editors, but ultimately, I like to make sure that I’m making the final call on which photo actually reaches the wall.

And here, it was hard. I mean, I had five of these robot series and I liked every one of them. But you have to pick just one.

Later, I’ll put some of the “b-sides” up on Flickr and see how the world responds, but not until after I’ve made my final decision. Not until I’ve actually hung “the one” up on a wall somewhere. The results are always interesting. Not surprisingly, different people like different things. But this kind of public election after the show does have an impact on how I shoot.

MT04_14 Mr. J. and Mr. J. Wenderoth, Linton, 2009 No5

On the note of “B-sides”, I also wanted to show you the more traditional portrait work of these two men. I was a bit overwhelmed with how good these elements were, and the robot suit and the layers on layers was really exciting, but I also wanted a bit of work of just the two dudes. Sometimes, shoots will go like this, and there will be many which are hard to choose from.

MT05_15 Mr. J. and Mr. J. Wenderoth, Linton, 2009 No6

At this point, John’s gotten what he wants. He has his family portrait with his father in the robot pants. Now he’s free to chill out in the nice light.

John’s father looks like he wants to kill me. He doesn’t. He made us sandwiches.

And now onto the clown and the mermaid…


This is as close as I’m liable to come to a “one hit wonder” – this thing gets more views on the internet than everything else of mine combined, by a considerable degree.

And so… I’m sick of it. I don’t think it’s representative of the body of work so much, even though it does have that in focus out of focus action. It’s just so… popular. Granted, if nobody paid any attention, I’d be out there saying “hey – Clown! Mermaid! What do you people want?”

This ties in with John’s robot picture, because it’s more of a collaboration. Similarly, I didn’t ask my friends Leif and Claudie to dress up in this drag, and that’s an important point. They were in the process of making one of Leif’s short films, and I happened to see some of the still work, and barged my way in so that I could exploit a bit of their set design. What I mean is that I’m trying to capture some of the creativity on which they’ve worked so hard. This is a successful portrait not because it’s weird and idiosyncratic, not because it’s an odd clown with a mermaid in the back – but because it captures them working in their craft.

And there’s a funny story about how my dog always comes with me on sittings. I’m down there setting up the camera and working out the landscape aspect of the portrait. It’s wise to get going before you start hassling your subjects. I like to have some time with what the background will look like before I get started. I find that it’s important to generate a pleasing landscape first, get it balanced and nice looking, and then impose the subject(s) on it. That’s why when I’m looking at landscapes, I wonder when the person’s going to show up.

Anyway, there I am, down on the beach setting up – Leif and Claudie are up in the car getting changed, and I realise that I haven’t seen my dog Daisy for a little bit too long. I whistle and she comes exploding over the hill, with Leif, made up and costumed, in fast pursuit. She has his red rubber nose in her mouth.

“Your dog has my nose!”

Oh, and here’s the out-take, which no one has actually ever seen before.


It’s creepier, right? Sometimes, I think restraint is nice in a picture. You can get too creepy.


We had a lovely morning shooting the clown and the mermaid, mostly because we had the extra treat of musical accompaniment. This is my friend Anna, who agreed to come along to the island and let me have two sittings in one. So the whole time that we’re making the clown and the mermaid, we’re being serenaded by a lovely woman with a violin. For portraitists looking to ease their subjects, I highly recommend bribing musicians to come along for the ride.

It was a swell morning for all, and everyone enjoyed themselves. I think that the look on Anna’s face really shows this off.


“Candid” photography with the 8×10 is awkward but not impossible. Right after we made this last portrait, I noticed a boat coming down the river. Moving boat in the background? That sounds great. I yelled to Anna and she came running; I banged the camera around to get it in just the right spot and managed to get off two shots with the moving boat as the background. This is the one which worked.

I know that a lot of people like to switch out their cameras regularly. Sometimes, people like to have a new toy, and sometimes the modern technology demands it, but I think one of the unexpected consequences of this is that people never work with their gear long enough to really know it.

Me, I’m a one camera man. For my own flow, it’s critical that I know where everything is, what every shutter speed is actually doing, what levers and knobs are loose and which are tight, where the bellows may or may not be leaking light. Think of it like a soldier with his weapon – because I spend so much time with it, I could field strip my Deardorff in the dark with a blindfold on. Part of this is because I have sort of an unnatural relationship with my camera. Part of this is because every once in a while I find myself running down a beach, chasing a violinist and a boat. These things happen. You better be ready.

MT10_Ms. T. Miller, Sofada, 2010 No1

Speaking of action and adventure, here’s one where it gets dangerous. My friend Tasha is pretty breath-taking by herself, and she has a weakness for ballgowns. I ran into her and she mentioned that she was having a dress commissioned especially for her. I had made portraits with her before, both her and that car – with its “Tasha” vanity plate – and had been contemplating the next shoot for a while, so I suggested that we shoot her in her new dress.

Turns out that we had to go to the dress shop itself, because she needed the staff there to help her get into it. This dress was kind of a big deal. Well, that’s fine, cause it gave me some time to get the car right where I wanted it in the frame. That took about five minutes. Tasha took about half an hour, which left me on the street with the Deardorff, fending off passers-by. Anybody who has ever been shooting in public with a big wooden camera will sympathise with this. And we’ll speak a bit more about it later. Back to Tasha – eventually she emerged, all decked out, ready for her fancy portrait. Now, bear in mind that this is first thing in the morning – like 9am – on Burnside – and I swear to god we’re lucky we got out of that without causing a car accident.

I mean, it’s easy to be sympathetic. Imagine that you’re a dude, you’re driving to work with your coffee between your knees, and you look up and there’s this Amazonian goddess in a ball gown standing up in the back of her Cadillac convertible. There was a lot of screeching of brakes and so forth. You’ll be pleased to know that nothing bad happened. And dudes at work all along Burnside had distracting thoughts for the whole morning.


Let’s talk a bit more about “the decisive morning”. Everyone knows that photography happens fast, really fast, like a thirtieth of a second. And Cartier-Bresson and the street shooters have pummeled into us the truism that the decisive moment is everything. That practicing your whole life so that you’re ready for that moment when it occurs is what we should all be doing as photographers.

This is a sentiment with which I agree.

However, it’s not the only truth. Large format photography, especially large format portraiture, is exactly the opposite. I miss stuff all the time – all those beautiful little in-between moments always go unrecorded by me. When I’m standing there prepping, I see them, the simple little flashes in between poses, and I love them, but I’m not going to get them. There’s some loss there, and I acknowledge it. Hopefully, I’m making up for it by going hard the other way.

I like the formalism that the camera causes. I like how it sort of scares people – it’s big and intimidating and it does its job nicely. Not just the job of taking pictures, but the job of working with me as a collaborator. By having some impact on the scene, the camera completes the process.

So, here we are with my friend Tomás. Now, I’ve known him for a while and think he’s an interesting person, but I’ve never been to his house. We start talking, and his obsession with carrier pigeons begins to emerge. Well, now – that’s interesting.

So we go heading over there one fine fall morning. I’m minding the light, but we seem to have enough time to let the morning evolve. Tomás serves espresso in little white cups and we set and talk for a while, watching the pigeon coop. I’m getting a little nervous about the light changing up on me, but we’re really enjoying our conversation.

The sun comes up abruptly – it seemed abrupt at the time – and suddenly, I’m in a panic. So we rush around and jam the camera into place and he gets his favorite pigeon and I manage to pull two or three frames before the entire backyard is flooded with high key sunshine. At the top of this frame, you can see the sun creeping in. I was a bit late.

My point is this – the actual moment is important, but for this kind of portraiture, the events leading up to it, the coffee and the conversation, are what gets us both on the same page and makes an image like this possible. It’s not the moment, so much – it’s the whole morning.


So, here’s the “famous” picture of me bending spoons. This was a really pleasant afternoon, raining, I was more or less trapped in the house, and I wanted to make a photo. No one else was around, so I had to be my own victim. I’m a big advocate of making self portraits – I firmly believe that every working portraitist should be making pictures of themselves with regularity. Not as a one time experiment, but all the time, to remind yourself what it’s like on the other side of the camera.

So I made this shot. I was quite pleased with the negative, and anxious to print it. My ex was working with me in the darkroom when I pulled the print and her reaction was priceless. I hadn’t told her what I was printing, or that I had even done this, I just handed her the exposed paper. While she was swishing it around in the developer, she stamped her feet and said “That’s what happened to all my spoons! You bent all my spoons for this goofy picture.” I replied: “Baby, I bent those spoons with my mind and then I took this picture. Aren’t you impressed?”

The public response was a little dicier. I was a little shy about showing it, but I had an exhibition and not quite enough new work, so up it went. While it was pretty well received, I also got a lot of interesting comments. “Jake, I had no idea you had such a dark side”. And that took me a couple of minutes to figure out.

No, folks, I am not a heroin addict. Yes, I bent those spoons with my mind. And then took a picture.

I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to show it. This is pretty early in the series, and I was a little fussy about the narcissism necessary to put a picture of yourself up on the wall. But there was a show, and I had space to fill, and really, I liked it, so up it went.

Coincidentally, Terry actually made an appearance at an art show, and he liked it, and suggested that it should be added to the museum’s collection.

Well, that’s cool. I mean, that’s sort of the final thing, right? I’m in the museum collection, I can stop now, right?

And then there’s months of paperwork back and forth and getting through the collections process, and the longer I have to think about it, the more I think – “Oh, was Terry just being nice?”

Then we got Julia. We’re good friends now, but we hadn’t even met when she executed her first show of portraits at the museum. And she hung it.

And that was the best. It’s cool when your pal pulls something for the collection; it’s even cooler when the new lady actually hangs it.

It honours me greatly that I had anything pulled for the museum’s collection. I guess it’s sort of the ultimate recognition for a “fine art” photographer. It pleases me even more that one hundred years from now, I will personally be glowering down on the rest of the photo collection.

MT13_Mr. Shivery, Mr. McFadden, Mr. Ogden, N. St. Johns, 2009

I’m going to stay on self portraits for a bit longer; don’t worry. This one took a little doing, cause we’re shooting into a giant eight foot by eight foot mirror, and, as it turns out, it’s really hard to find an eight foot by eight foot mirror. These guys – Sean and Oliver – were members of my loyal staff, the class clowns if you will, and they were pleased as punch when I asked them to come stand behind me and mock me.

I was pleased with the way that it came out. It was the first shot in one of my autumn photography breaks – I try to take off a week from work when the light changes and just roam around and shoot. It’s very good to be able to concentrate on that and nothing else. This one kicked off one of those especially productive weeks.

Ultimately, I was sort of interested in what I actually looked like when photographing. But I wanted to make it with my own camera, and not another camera taking a picture of my camera. Hence the mirror. Which we did end up breaking. Of course we did.

MT14_80 Mr. J. Shivery, N. Syracuse St., 2012

I’ll abuse you with one last one of myself. I bring this up because it takes me back to my roots. When I was a geeky kid and didn’t have any friends, I knew I wanted to make portraits. Since I couldn’t lure anybody in, I ended up shooting myself a lot.

Well, one morning I woke up to an April snowfall and when I went outside realised that my camellia tree was in full bloom, covered in snow, and broken by the weight of the snow. Perfect for a picture. No one wanted to come out and play, so I had to use myself.

So, now that we’ve looked at three pictures of me, let’s talk a bit about narcissism. There’s people in the room right now – you know who you are – who are currently stewing about my implied narcissism. Just cause I’m showing pictures of myself.

Well, they’re wrong.

Listen, every time you take a picture, any time you do anything productive, really, you’re engaging in a sort of narcissism. Add to that the idea that you have the gall to take pictures of people and try and freeze time like that, well that’s the definition of the term. Who am I to take pictures at all? Who am I to take portraits of people and then show them? Much less sell them…

Well, if you’re going to have the gall to take portraits, then you can’t hide from it. You have to be willing to administer the same treatment to yourself, and then deal with the results. Ultimately, I think it’s true narcissism to be a person who thinks they can do it to everybody else and not do it to yourself.

This is not the most flattering photo of me. If someone else had taken it, I’m not sure I would like it very well. But I was there, and that was a really nice morning. And I think it’s important for portraitists to remember that sometimes we like the photos better than our subjects do, even when our subjects are ourselves. It’s useful practice.

MT15_26 Ms. T. Slottke, N. Syracuse, 2010 No1

This is my friend Tiffany. Months before we made this portrait, I was talking to her at a party when she turned her head just a certain way. That moment got fixed in my brain, and we started scheming on her next portrait – I’ve shot her several times. Eventually, she had inherited her father’s shotgun, and wanted to incorporate that. I was stuck on cars at the time, and so we integrated all three things – the tilt of her face, the gun and the car, and made this one. I’ve always liked it, because it’s not uncommon for people to miss the gun completely. Every once in a while, though, that’s all they can see. I love the quiet menace.

OK – This is a weird segue, but don’t worry, I’ll bring it back around.

My old man asked me a question once, while he was looking at a hanging show. Now, he’s a smart man, my dad, but he is firmly entrenched in the “I don’t know art, but I know what I like” school of thought. Let’s just say he’s had better things to do with his time than consider the definition of art and so forth. So he comes to me with the first thing on his mind: “Why are they in black and white?”

Well, because the film’s cheaper, of course.

Actually, it’s a profoundly good question. I got thinking about it, and right about the same time I was gifted a small box of color film, so I thought I’d try the experiment. Had a photo in my head, got everything lined up the way that I like it, made the portrait. Without changing anything at all, made it again in color.


By way of process, I tried my best to mirror my usual technique. I’m not the strongest color printer in the world anymore, so my colleague Faulkner pulled the contact prints for me. The color negs were darkroom contact printed, nice and dense and warm the way that I like. I had the opportunity to hang two shots in a group show, so I hung both of my “experimental” color portraits. And you know what? They looked just like pictures.

When is a portrait actually just a picture? When it’s in color.

No, seriously, the portrait is meant to have a little heavier presence than just the picture. A really easy way to convey this is to take people out of their usual perception and show it to them in a way that they can’t actually see it. Black and white does this. Except for our color-blind friends, everybody can see the world in color. Nobody sees it as a tonal scale of grays.


In this example, I’ll draw your attention to the shotgun. In the BW picture, most people have to look at if for a while before they even notice the weapon. In the color version, you can’t see anything else. In the portrait, this is of the girl. In the picture, this is of the gun.


OK, Humour: A few years back, Zeb and I went down to see the museum’s show of Elliott Erwitt. When we talked about it afterward, we both had basically the same comment – everybody today takes themselves so seriously. Erwitt was not afraid of humour. Erwitt’s work is always elegantly executed, and a bit of it is humorous, but he’s not going out of his way to be a “funny” photographer. He’s just not scared of making a picture which will make you laugh. Because what’s wrong with that? I think it’s possible to still take a body of work – dare we say “medium” – seriously, even if it’s got some quirky elements to it.

So I’m photographing my friends Bruce and Carla, who have just had their first baby, Olympia. Now, Bruce is a puppeteer, and he is so all the way to the core – he can’t quite ever stop being a puppeteer. So when he brings his infant daughter out to meet me, he holds her up alongside his head and starts in with the ventriloquist routine. “Hi Jake”, he makes her say, in a funny monster voice. Now, that’s funny. The way I see it, it’s my job as portraitist to try and bring that humour and good spirit across.

Important to note – I’m not making fun of my subjects. If they’re funny, I’ll try and bring that over. But if they’re accidentally doing something funny, it’s my job to skirt around that. I think that the whole point of portraiture is to make something that the subject will not only like, but relish.


But I keep it easy on myself, and don’t try to make portraits of people that I don’t have a relationship with already. I only make portraits of people for whom I have affection. I don’t have any interest in making portraits of the famous or the important, or even the interesting. I don’t roam around and ply my trade with people that I don’t know, because it diminishes my point. I keep it easy by only having sittings with people that I care to sit with.

MT20_01 Ms. A. Jones, N. Willamette, 2009 No1

Here’s my friend and neighbor Angela. We’ve been making portraits together for several years now, and I’m always pleased with the results. This is her in her backyard chicken coop. This is a monstrous coop – me and the Deardorff are actually inside there with her – you can’t see Daisy running around like a maniac on the outside.

Angela was preparing for a trip to the South Pole – not McMurdo, but the really little station down at the actual bottom of the world. This was promising to be an intense trip, and she was going to have to be giving up her chicken coop and the rest of her life for a year, so we wanted to make something that she could use to remember it all. Fleeting moments.

You can’t tell this from the screen, but the 8×10 format really shines here. Looking at the contact print, you can make out the delicate lace of the dress. It’s really rich. Generally, I don’t like that dappled light; I find it to be a pain in the neck to print. Here, I think it works pretty well, and it gives her some warmth to look up into.

MT21_Ms. A. Jones, Sauvie Island, 2009 No2

Here’s one of our favorites – another excellent morning out on Sauvie Island. I’m not sure I really remember where the blindfold came from, but it made sense at the time. Just to finish it off, you’ll notice “incidental Daisy” in the car.

And so all this gives me a much more limited base upon which to draw, which is, ultimately, also the point. I’ve mentioned this in the past, but photographing the same people repetitively is really a major part of the point. I’m aiming for the long term, and the big – really big – body of work. I’m going to make portraits of the same people until I die. When I’m through, what I hope comes out is the evolution of my favorite subjects – a giant, 8×10 flip book of folks getting older.

I feel especially blessed to be as close as I am to as many people as I am, and even more so because they all make such agreeable portrait subjects.


This is a more recent shot – I just went over to visit for coffee one morning – Angela and her husband Nick live a few blocks away – I was intending to shoot, but as we often do, we got very distracted by conversation. We ended up talking forever, but we still squeaked this one out. It’s all natural, it’s all incidental.

One of the big advantages to shooting people over and over again is that they become more comfortable with the process. Angela is not necessarily the sort of person who likes having her picture taken, but she likes my project, and by this point it’s old hat for her. It’s comfortable and easy and that helps make portraits like this one.

That’s Angela and Nick’s new dog Lily, who’s much happier looking in person.


This was the first one we did, back in 2008. I had known that I wanted to shoot her, and then she sprained her arm in a biking accident. Perfect. I mean, for the portraitist, events like these are a gold mine. I like catching people in the midst of something different. One of the big points of portraits for me is capturing time when it happens – gathering images of people at important and pivotal moments of their lives.

Busting your arm might not seem like a pivotal event, but it is something to remember, and it gives the portrait a certain strength that it wouldn’t have otherwise.

MT24_05 Mr. D. McCormick & Mr. M. McCormick, Ace Typewriter Co, 2008

This is Dennis McCormack and his son Matt of Ace typewriter, up in St Johns. They run a retail typewriter repair store, and keep Blue Moon Camera in the typewriter business. He’s ninety, and warm and a pleasure to be around. He’s very active, and very Catholic, has a shrine to his deceased wife in the back of his shop, the whole bit. Any time I stop by, he always offers me a little wine or a little beer, or a little coffee with cranberry juice in it.

The in-focus/out-of-focus thing works really well here. My pal Matt back there, he’s the guy that fixes all the machines these days, but he’s not the kind of guy that’s going to stand still for a portrait. But he’ll happily hang out in the back while we make a portrait of his father.

Ace typewriter is important as one of those businesses which won’t exist in a hundred years. We as photographers should be doing what we can do to preserve these things for posterity. Men like Dennis McCormack aren’t likely to exist in a hundred years.

Get it while you can.

MT25_21 Mr. R. Dietrich and Mr. J. Kelley, NE 28th 2009

OK, so here’s my boys. That’s Rob up in the front and Jason in the back. They both have held similar spots in my life – always nice to have men around who like loading and driving trucks. I’ve known Rob about fifteen years, we were friends in Denver – where he still lives, and Jason pretty much the whole time that I’ve been in Portland. They are similar men who still manage to enjoy each other’s company. They are both very handy to have on hand when it’s time to move stuff around. Generally speaking, when it comes time for a truck to get loaded and driven away, it’s my job to step aside and let men like these ply their craft. Many trips with many different kinds of trucks full of loot have been made significantly easier by having one of these men in my life. This morning was important, because they were both present and ready to help.

There’s a great confluence of events here – they had just finished rapidly unloading this truck and they looked very pleased with themselves – very accomplished. The yawning maw of the truck looked great, the light was really perfect, and for some unknown reason, I had my camera with me. Serendipity.

Have you noticed that they’re dressed the same? Rob’s visiting from out of town – we put him to work and Jason’s always ready for the task, but the identical clothes are entirely incidental. This is what you wear when you’re a pro at loading and driving truck.

It’s a nice picture, and I’ve always liked it. What’s important about it is the lesson about editing and selling. This was the thirty-ninth portrait in a thirty-eight print show. When I dropped off my stuff at the gallery, I left it behind, you know, just in case there was a hole somewhere. It didn’t especially fit with the rest of the show, but I liked it well enough.

Well, it was the first thing to sell – it sold before I even got back up for the opening.

I had shown something pretty similar in an earlier show and I don’t generally care to repeat myself, but this image kept evading various culls, and I knew that at some point it was going to have to be on a wall. Being wishy-washy about it just proved the point – you can’t edit yourself. This one paid for itself. First.

MT26_56 Ms. L. Shmulewitz and Mr. J. Kelley, N. Maryland, 2010 No1

And this is what you get when you ask me to shoot your engagement portrait. Something that looks like a divorce portrait. You can almost hear the violins in the background.

This is one of those where I’m going to get my chops busted for “dressing my friends up” for portraits. I rarely ask for any specific wardrobe, and this is one of the times where I didn’t. Lori and Jason would look good in their jeans and sneakers, but they had something else in mind for their 8×10 engagement shoot. It’s one of the reasons I like the format so well – it causes a different type of behavior in the subjects. Generally, because it is such a formal process, it makes people wish to look their best. Or look the way they ultimately wish to. I do my best to accommodate.

There were more romantic shots from this sitting, but this one continues to stick out in my mind.

MT27_45 Mr. R. Graves, Latourell Falls, 2010 No1

Rude under the waterfall is an example of a highly produced photograph – this is an image I carried around in my head for a year while I was searching for a barrel.

This is not a picture of a guy in old fashioned swimwear acting like he just went over a waterfall in a barrel. This is a shot of my friend Rude, who is the only guy I know who would go over a waterfall in a barrel. Specifically, I did not have the thought first and then cast Rude in the main part – I spent some time considering what would make a good “narrative” portrait of Rude, and this is what I came up with.

Unlike most of my other portrait shoots, this one involved a crew. Generally, I’m not interested in making a production out of it – this is not commercial photography after all, and I feel like a bunch of extraneous people only puts distance between me and my subject. This shot required it – if only because there was a big barrel that needed carrying.

So Rude and I and Jason – you’ll remember him from the truck driver portrait – and John – you’ll remember him from “robot pants” – made a trip out to the Columbia Gorge in search of the correct waterfall. Lucky for me that I had such stout help along, as the waterfall was at the bottom of a cliff of precarious wet rocks and down there was where we needed the camera, tripod, film and barrel. There was a lot of carrying. Furthermore, the light was perfect, but rapidly changing.

And so it was a stressful shoot, and I am glad to have the image. Even at that distance, the waterfall was spraying my lenses and dark slides. Rude was freezing. The sunlight was rapidly rising in the sky and working its way down the waterfall. This frame was taken moments before it was too late – the sun was just at the edge of the frame, threatening to blow out the waterfall completely.

And then – here comes the dentist. Now, the dentist is the nemesis of the large format photographer – we’re talking here about a guy who has a lucrative day job during the week and a camera obsession at night. They’re easy to spot – carrying a lot of photo gear, traveling to tourist spots, generally wearing a tackle vest stuffed full of photographic accessories. You’ve all been there. You all know what it’s like when you’re trying to work and some guy wanders up to talk about photography.

But there they are – they’re out on the weekends, making “art”, following the well worn paths of a century of waterfall photographers before them. And they’re a nuisance to anyone using a big wooden camera, because they can’t help themselves.

So this guy is up at the top of the rise, and I’ve already seen him see me, and the Deardorff, and he is now making a beeline down the slope and I know what’s next: twenty minutes of him discussing with me everything he knows about large format photography, the history of the Deardorff, the reason why he, himself, has decided that he’s better off with a modern digital camera, etc, etc. Smoking and cussing while I’m shooting is generally my good defense for warding these people off, but I knew that this time it wouldn’t be enough.

Meanwhile, as mentioned, the camera’s getting wet, Rude’s freezing, the light is changing and I am desperately trying to actually make this work. All the elements are before me, I just have to get them lined up and in focus, and I’m on the edge of losing twenty minutes to a tourist. To a dentist.

Bear in mind, this guy is also my client base, so I can’t piss him off. I don’t want to show my feelings and point out that I’m busy, because sure as hell he’ll wind up strolling up to the counter six months later, possibly to buy something, and he’ll suddenly remember – “Oh, you’re that guy.”

So, the dentist is chugging down the hill as fast as his fat little legs will carry him, his family of piglets in tow, camera bouncing on his belly, and he’s already lining up his speech. John is standing behind me like a human shield – he’s clearly aware of the incoming threat. The dentist gets within about six feet of my back and is already opening his mouth when John, totally deadpan, quietly and dryly announces:

“Gay porn in progress”.

Bam. Like a ricocheting billiard ball, the dentist slingshots forty five degrees in a heartbeat and doesn’t break stride heading down an alternate trail. I pull the dark slide on my last exposure – the winner, of course – this one – and the crisis is averted. The sun cruises down the waterfall too late to stop me, and we’re finished – a successful day in spite of the best efforts of nature, light, and incidental dentists.

MT28_01 Ms. L. LeBlanc, N. Winchell St., 2011 No1

Here’s part of the “work” series – that is, folks with their tools. I think I was actually over there shooting because Loly was getting ready to cut her hair and wanted a little testament of having it long. But I saw this dress form and went a little crazy – and then even more crazy when she told me that it was conformed to her actual proportions. That’s just a perfect thing to shoot.


I was really pleased with the way it came out, and it turned into the promotional card for the Powell’s show. I liked the way the card came out, and decided to try something unusual and make a really big print. The nice people at U-develop did an excellent job pulling that thing all the way up to four feet wide and we hung it in the stairwell landing at Powell’s.

It was a little surreal, for both me and for Loly, to see this gigantic image up on the wall. And that’s what you’re supposed to do with 8×10, right? I mean, it’s a huge negative, so let’s make really, really big prints.

And I’ve done it, I’ve used the big 8×10 enlarger and pulled darkroom prints and made stuff that was life size or better, but it’s a little like shooting in color – it starts looking like just a picture. Nothing out there really looks like a contact print. Big prints are cool, and certainly trendy right now, but for me, they don’t have the same depth and punch as a contact print. I like the little 8×10 contacts because they seem more like artifacts. They have a certain gravity I just can’t achieve when I blow images up very large.

Having said that, I’ll share with you all that I have a secret long term aspiration. I’m aiming for this when I turn fifty, maybe sixty years old, but I’d love to have a giant show of giant prints. I’d love to fill a space with thirty or forty of these things, all blown up to eight feet by ten feet, hanging like flags, holding their native proportions, doing everything I can do to make them look like contact prints, just really, really big contact prints. Of course I want to do this in the darkroom, so it’ll take some doing.

And a raise. And a grant. And lotto.

MT30_38 Dr. J. Dolan, Sauvie Island, 2011 No5

So here’s our lovely curator Dr. Dolan, out with me on one of my favorite decisive mornings.

We went out to Sauvie Island really early in the morning, in the winter time, despite perhaps a little bit of protesting about the status of the weather. Julia, I’m sorry again about the cold, but that’s where the light is.

We were traveling with our mutual friend Julian and the three of us were enjoying some nice conversation and camaraderie. I was plying them with coffee in tea cups and the light was diffuse and wintery. Altogether a perfect morning.

Daisy was with us, too, of course – this dog gets very excited every time I load up the car with the camera rig because she always gets to go and there’s generally some fun for her. By the time we were out on the island, she was quite excited – cause this also means some playing on the beach.

So I’m hauling the camera around and fiddling with the lenses and setting up my landscape and more or less unconsciously pitching the ball for the dog. Everything’s looking great, and I’m moments away from calling Julia into the frame, when all of a sudden, the dog starts screaming.

For those of you who don’t know, she’s more or less a three legged dog; her front left doesn’t work quite right. She was about fifty feet away from me and had hit a pothole and twisted her bad leg.

So I go running over to her and by the time I get there, she’s forgotten all about it. She won’t walk on the foot of course, but she’s part lab, part mule, and she feels no pain, especially if there’s a tennis ball in play. I verified that the leg wasn’t broken, and made her lay down next to me, but this wasn’t her first sprain and I knew from experience that: A.) There’s nothing I can do about it except put her on light duty for the next six weeks and B.) She wants to stay on the beach.

So, a little rattled, we proceed with the shoot.

And that’s what you’re seeing here. Julia multi-tasking – sitting for her portrait and simultaneously caring for the dog, keeping her from running around.

The light’s perfect, the company is swell, everything’s hitting great, but the added drama and responsibility of the dog tripping herself up made this portrait complete.

And that’s the decisive morning.

MT31_10 Ms. A. Torresola, Oaks Park, 2008 no1

Here’s my friend Aïda with one of her favorite things – roller skates, and at one of her favorite places – Oak’s park. This is a little bit older, and at the time, I was roaming around the city trying to find every passé and trite landmark I could find, and then make it more interesting by sticking a person in it. That project didn’t last long – I don’t really like leaving St. Johns, for one, and I don’t really have the context to know what’s passé and what’s not.

I was pleased that RACC bought this for their Visual Chronicle of Portland a couple of years ago. Nice to think that some city hallway is being decorated with “hot girl on roller skates”.

On the subject of money, let’s talk about selling prints.

Specifically, I get a lot of flak about selling “too cheap”. Like I’m going to single-handedly de-value the whole industry or something.

I’m in business for myself, which you probably know is another way of saying that I’m perpetually broke. I do like to support the art community when I can and personally buy what I can. I wish for art to be accessible, and for my own art, specifically, to be available to people at my own income level. When I’m figuring out my price tags, I consider that if it was me, I might want to buy a print.

So I price “cheap”. It was only a couple of years ago that I finally sold enough prints out of one show to hit that golden break even point. That was a big deal.

In the meanwhile, I think it’s one of the great strengths of the photographic medium. It’s re-producible. They’re not paintings, folks, and while I take pride in my craft, I can always make another one. And another one. And so on.

Of course I like selling prints, and of course I like getting fairly compensated for it, but I’m also aware that I’m effectively just starting out, and I’m pleased that I’m in a medium which allows me to keep it accessible.

Which is a good segue for one of the questions I get a lot – “why show?”

MT32_40 Ms. K. Sorg, St. Johns Bridge, 2012 No1

Before we get to that, a couple of words about this picture.

This is Kelly Sorg from a pleasant little shoot last year. Blue Moon Camera was in the midst of renovating the store, and I was working A Lot – and really missing making any art. So I freed myself up long enough to sneak out for one morning shoot down under the bridge, and Kelly was nice enough to come along.

I’ve been working on a new little series, the “currency” photos. Once I get around to inventing my own currency, these are the shots that I wish to use for the bills.

I like them – non-narrative, close up and intense, heavily posed, pretty classic looking. It’s simple, and yet, it’s so loaded.

Oh, and now she’s my girlfriend. A lot of water under the bridge between when we took that and now, but it’s pretty cool dating the person who’s going to be on your hundred dollar bill.

OK – showing.

As many of you know, showing is a pain. There’s the money thing – it’s ludicrously expensive to mount a proper show. There’s the self promotion aspect – most of us don’t get a lot of joy in pitching our own work. Folks working at my level still have to be out on the street, trying to get people to have a look – it’s unpleasant and distracting. Then there’s dealing with the galleries – the less said about that, the better. Then there’s the anxiety and then it’s opening night and you have to stand around and talk a lot. I mean really, how much wine and cheese can one man consume?

Oh, and why doesn’t anyone serve proper spirits at these things? I swear to god, one day I’m going to have my way, and we’ll have an opening where everybody gets shots of rye and pork rinds.

OK – for me, it works like a deadline. I do enjoy the process of shooting, but of course it’s very easy to get distracted with regular life and find many, many ways to put it off. If I know I have a show coming up, then I have to shoot. And everything takes forever. Shooting eight by ten and then printing fibre and then matting and framing – I need months of lead time. So I try to get a show scheduled a year out, and that keeps me on track.

And when production is finally over and done with, and the stuff’s up on the wall, then I can resume shooting. Which is a relief.

But there’s a more important concept at work, here. Things need to be brought to fruition – visual work doesn’t even really exist until it’s out there in front of an audience.

Why show? Why not? Not showing a print that you’re proud of is like executing a perfect tango with a beautiful woman and then not shacking up with her in a hotel room. As I say, things need to be brought to fruition.

It’s a circle of life question. Taking the time to make them is important, and I, like many others, really enjoy the process. I love to make photos, both in the field and then later in the darkroom. I love setting up the camera, and I love setting up the trays. For me, that’s really the point.

But ultimately, they have to be shown. If you’re proud of them, or even if you’re just semi-proud and unsure – it’s always useful to get some public reaction.

I make a point of curating my own shows myself, before I release them into the wild. Showing is important, for the deadline, for the circle of life, and also for the public reaction. I’ll take a fifty image body of work and cull it down to twenty or thirty, and always with a mind towards keeping the project going. I am influenced by what the public says, either in person or over the internet, but it’s not the only factor. One of the big factors is keeping it consistent. In a way, I am making the same picture over and over again, but that’s one of the major points. I have a long planning horizon, and I want them to all hang together. I’ll always be tweaking my process, but I’m also completely ready to enjoy this period where I’m receiving some nice attention and where people like my work. I’ll keep kicking out more of the same, and I’m already braced to suffer through the next period where folks are tired of it. At the end, it’ll be a big old body of work, the one note on the piano over and over again, hopefully to perfection.

Give me ten more years, and I’ll make something that will make you cry. I promise.




Jake, Daisy, and the Deardorff by David Reamer



Eight Girls Taking Pictures: a novel – A non-literary review

by Whitney Otto

A novel by Whitney Otto


The short of it is that I love this book.  It caught my attention at Powell’s earlier this year because of the illustration on its cover – an instantly recognizable one for a film photographer- a Rolleiflex.  I didn’t buy it that day, but the book stayed on my mind and when I finally got my hands on it, I knew that if I should use my hard earned income on one hardback book this year, this would be it.  If you’re interested, there are plenty of reviews of this book from a variety of perspectives; this is a personal review from a young photographer.

The book, described as a novel, is divided into eight stories, each one centered around a single main character.  The stories focus as much on the women’s formative years as the years where photography was their profession.  Ms Otto’s characters share a common trait – they are independent and very modern women who travel the world on their own, and those experiences make them ponder their role within society and in the art world, as well as their professional and personal options when they come home.

I would recommend this book to photographers and non photographers alike.  It does not take a photographer to fall in love with the narrative and the ever relevant questions it raises.  And while it is a book that deals with photography, it is also one that deals with art in a more universal way.  Mostly, though, it is a book about women who are in love with photography and with men (or in the case of one character, another woman).

In addition, the novel is about the difficulty of being a woman in a field dominated by men and where women have to choose between forging their own path or following a path charted by their male counterparts.  Amadora Allesbury , a photographer practicing portraiture in the 1910s, decides to include color in her images, a bold move in an era where black and white was more common and less experimental.  She also creates her own brand of portraiture, moving away from the stiff portraits of society ladies and embracing a more unconventional style.  Lenny Van Pelt becomes a combat photographer during the Second World War, by accident, after a career as a model, a photographer’s assistant and later, a fashion photographer.

The wives and mothers among them have the choice to work but sometimes opt to stay at home and educate their children.  While they continue making art, it is within the confines of the home.  Cymbeline makes photographs of domestic life : of her children, garden and flowers; Jenny’s most popular and controversial subjects are also her children; Miri documents the events she sees happening from her apartment window.  She captures weddings, children at play, the changing seasons.  Their gazes turn inward, but there is still a sense that their photographs don’t reflect the particular as much as the general.  When Jenny makes photos of her children, she is not just capturing her children on film, she is showing us childhood.

Photograph by Anne Di Elmo

Photograph by Anne Di Elmo


Several times, the character Cymbeline Kelley broaches the question of photography as a serious pursuit for men, even a career path, but a mere hobby for women, who – according to their male counterparts – make ‘pleasant’ photographs (i.e not art).  This is an issue that particularly resonated with me.  Cymbeline remarks that “the men only see what we do as sweet, sentimental, missing the meaning entirely as they view us as women who make photographs in our spare time.  They don’t take our subject seriously because they cannot see it – even when Miri Marx writes, if you want to know what it’s like to be a housewife, I can show you.  Nor do they consider the steel it takes to raise the kids, run the household, be a wife and still keep alive the artist part of you”.

In the world of serious amateur photographers, men who practice street photography or landscape photography are revered and lauded often, but women who choose to concentrate on still lives, no matter how great their skills, will be told by male photographers that their images are simply ‘nice’.  Or worse, they’ll have to bear with such enlightening commentary as ‘I’ll have some of that’ about a particularly beautifully lit and composed image of food.  But a man who shares some exceptionally bland street or landscape photography will be hailed as a genius by his peers.

The same goes for women photographers who make photographs of their children or of attractive female models.  In this particular case, the attention of the male audience will be diverted to the attractiveness of said children or female models.  ‘Cute kids!’, as opposed to ‘beautiful composition and use of light’ is a comment that is often heard.

Another element of note is that Whitney Otto shows the trajectory that her characters’ art and processes take.  We follow Cymbeline’s growth as a photographer, from assistant to photochemistry student, to portrait photographer who focuses on a romantic relationship, to one who chooses to portray “domesticity as a garden, plant by plant, flower by flower, tree by tree”.

Photograph by Anne Di Elmo

Photograph by Anne Di Elmo


One of Whitney Otto’s many skills lies in not only understanding the shifts that happen in a photographer’s style and subject – which I imagine are fairly similar to those experienced by writers – but also understanding photography as an art and a craft.  She describes the techniques employed by her subjects in a manner that emphasizes not just the skills they require, but the senses they bring into play.  She aptly describes, for instance, the way a Rolleiflex feels in one’s hands, the operation of its advance crank, and the act of looking through a waist level finder and composing with the image reversed in the glass.  All of those gestures and feelings are familiar to film photographers (certainly to all of us at Blue Moon) who cherish the routines as much as the results.

So go buy this book and spend some time with it.  Spend more time than you might otherwise on the narrative and Ms Otto’s style.  Imagine the way the cameras used by her eight female characters would feel in your hands. Picture the events that led to the creation of the images she so vividly describes.  And when you’re done, you should take up Ms Otto’s advice and read some of the books in the attached bibliography.  Consider this your suggested summer reading list. For now go shoot some film, possibly through your old Rolleiflex, just like Whitney Otto’s characters.

Photograph by Anne Di Elmo

Photograph by Anne Di Elmo


Find the book at these fine local establishments:
St Johns Booksellers

Resolving to understand scan resolutions

Both images are sized to the same length and width but at different resolutions.


It seems they are either causing undue amounts of New Year’s-related angst or they are sending photographers into circles of confusion.  Well, we can help you with one of these problems (you’re on your own with that new diet come the new year).

Let’s start simple.  When we are talking about the resolution of a digital file – originating either from a DSLR or from a film scan – we are talking about a unit of measurement.  Much as you would use length and width to note how large a rectangle is, you use length, width and resolution to express the size of a digital image.  That’s right, digital images require three measurements.  Length and width are fairly self-explanatory, so if it helps, think of resolution in this case as density, or how much information is packed into the image.  I would like to take just a moment to emphasize the need for all THREE measurements.  If I ask ten photographers to give me an image sized to 8×10 inches it is entirely possible for each to ultimately give me different sized files by virtue of different resolutions.  They may all have lengths and widths that match my instructions but one image may have a resolution of 72 while another is set to 300 and so forth – see the opening image above for the difference this can cause.

So what exactly does this nebulous resolution number mean?  Generally it is expressed as “ppi” (pixels per inch) though “dpi” (dots per inch) is commonly used as well.  The more pixels/dots you have per inch, the more dense the information in your image.  So a resolution of 72 ppi means many fewer pixels are crammed in per inch than say, 300 ppi, which also means a print made from a 4×6 inch 72 ppi file is going to have less small detail and look more pixelated than a print made from a 4×6 at 300 ppi.

Resolution can be expressed with any number you can think of, which may seem overwhelming at first, but like length and width we can narrow that infinite number of possibilities down to a few popular choices: 72 and 300.  In short, 72 ppi is the resolution your images should be set to whenever they are going to be displayed on a computer screen, be that destination e-mail, Flickr, Facebook, Tumblr, you name it.  If it is on the web, then 72 is your number.  I know some of you in the audience want to raise your hands at this point to remark that this is not entirely true, that computer monitors can display at a variety of resolutions, but for the sake of simplicity and brevity, stick with 72 as a benchmark number.  A 300 ppi resolution is used for printing.  So whenever you are making a print to hang on the wall or put in a scrapbook album, you will size the image according to your desires and set the resolution to 300.  As with monitors it is true that not all printers output at 300; some suggest using 250 or 225 or even 200, but again as a general (and simple) rule of thumb, if you stick with 300 for printing you will always be fine.

Additionally there is little to no benefit from using a resolution higher than either 72 or 300 for their respective uses. Printing an 8×10 at 800 ppi will not result in a more detailed print than an 8×10 at 300 ppi because printers generally only output up to 300 dpi so anything beyond that is unused information. Likewise, a 5×7 image on a computer screen at 72 ppi looks just as nice as a 5×7 at 300 ppi because monitors are not capable of showing more than 72 pixels per inch.  So while it is true that using a lower-than-adequate resolution will negatively affect the quality of your images, using a higher-than-adequate will not result in any benefit.

So far so good?  A couple of examples, perhaps?  Let’s say Theresa gets an awesome photo of sunset at the beach and decides she wants to make a giant print for her wall which she is going to mat and frame and stare at proudly for years.  She settles on a 16×20 print as the size she wants, so she preps the image for her printer by cropping it to 16×20 and makes sure the resolution is set to 300, she saves the file and sends it off.  A couple of days later she picks up her new print and it looks gorgeous.  She then decides she is going to post the image to her Facebook account so her friends and family can enjoy it.  She figures that an 8×10 on a computer screen is large enough and sets her resolution to 72 and saves this as a new file (not wanting to overwrite her much larger original with this smaller version) and uploads it to Facebook.  Voila!

Now let’s take a gander at an image size editor.  The example below uses Photoshop, but Lightroom, Aperture, or most any other image editor will have a similar interface.

Image sizing

 The size of an image can be expressed in one of two methods, either through pixel dimensions or through document size.  Pixel dimensions is a bit tidier as it uses only length and width (but measured in pixels, not inches).  In terms of data, this is a cleaner approach.  The problem with pixel dimensions is that most of us don’t think in those terms.  You don’t look at a 16×20 on the wall and say, “that image looks great as a 4800 x 6000 pixel print.”  So most photographers tend to prefer document size.  By the way, pixel dimensions are calculated by taking the length or width of the document size and multiplying it by the resolution.  So our 6 inch 300 dpi image in the example above has a pixel dimension of 1800 pixels on its long end.

Ok, now I am going to throw a curveball your way.

Notice in both examples how my file size is 6.56M (as circled in red in the second image).  Also notice how the pixel dimensions remain the same in both images.  But look at the document size, in the upper version we have what amounts to a 6×4 at 300 ppi but in the bottom image we have 25×17.7 at 72 ppi, yet according to the pixel dimensions they are the same size.  As mentioned above, resolution is like density, so the thinner we spread it, the large an area it can cover.  Look at it this way; I give you a ball of clay and ask you to roll it out for me into a 4×6 rectangle.  Once done, you measure the thickness and find that your clay rectangle is fairly thick.  Now I ask you to roll that clay out into a 18×25 inch rectangle, which produces a very thin result.  The amount of clay overall has not changed, you have just spread it out thinner and over a larger area.  Document size works the same way.  The same file in this case can produce a 4×6 inch 300ppi print or it can make an 17.7×25 inch 72 ppi image on a computer monitor.  It is important to remember this because even though an image may have a resolution of 72 ppi, this one number by itself does not mean the image is low resolution.  An image of 72 ppi and a length of 60 inches has a pixel dimension of 4,320 pixels (72 x 60) which is the equivalent of 14.4 inches at 300 ppi (14.4 x 300 = 4320 pixels).  This throws some photographers off because they think that 72 equates to low resolution, but I remind you that it takes all three measurements used in conjunction with document size to fully express how big a file is.  Even a low resolution number coupled with very large lengths and widths can still make very large prints and therefore be a high resolution image.

In summary, it is important to remember that document size requires length, width and resolution.  A resolution of 72 ppi by itself means very little without an accompanying length and width, likewise a length and width without a resolution is equally incomplete.  Keep your resolutions narrowed to two numbers: 72 for computer screens and internet and 300 for printing.  Juggling only two numbers is much easier after all.  Finally, bear in mind that these numbers are flexible; an image 1800 pixels on a side can be either 6 inches at 300 ppi or 25 inches at 72 ppi. Hopefully this is now one less type of resolution you have to worry about.  Best of luck to you on those other ones that pop up come January 1st.

Vivian Maier, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Photography

My own attempt at a Vivian Maier-esque self portrait, using a similar Rolleiflex. Photo by Katt Janson

I can barely wait a week to see my developed film. Most photographers nowadays don’t even wait a minute. More and more I find myself wanting to see my work faster, oftentimes letting the quality and archivability of my art suffer so I can get gratification as fast as possible. I’ve become so obsessed with producing and perfecting the final image that my love of making a photograph has all but faded, and I believe this change in attitude is in fact detrimental to the tone and sincerity of my work. It’s been far too long since I’ve let my camera take me anywhere, since I let the picture-making become its own event.

The existential realization of this new change that has not necessarily been for the better came from an unexpected source. While living in Chicago during a year of career exploration and self-discovery, I was lucky enough to attend Vivian Maier’s first American show at the Chicago Cultural Center. Like many other people before and since, I was immediately inspired by the story of Maier’s life and the somewhat tragic, entirely serendipitous discovery of her work. There’s a lot to her story, most of which is inspiring. The thought that such a brilliant eye almost went completely undiscovered fascinates me. Unfortunately Maier’s life took a sad turn when she was unable to keep up with her storage unit’s payments, and the contents were sold at auction. Fortunately for us all, the buyers who discovered her negatives started showing her work to the world. When I walked into the Cultural Center that night, I became further inspired by her photography, as were the original witnesses of her emerging work on Flickr.

Rolls of undeveloped film at the Chicago Cultural Center's Vivian Maier gallery. Photo by Katt Janson

But perhaps the most inspiring part of that entire show for me was one very small, very curious detail. In the display cases containing her cameras, odd hats, and other personal effects found in the storage unit that contained her treasure trove of negatives were several rolls of undeveloped film. The note accompanying the rolls of film explained that of the 116,000 or more negatives known to exist in Vivian Maier’s various collections, many of them were never even developed in her lifetime. As a nanny, Maier often did not make enough money to have her negatives processed, but that never stopped her from producing them.

This one small detail blew my mind. It’s been two years since that show and I still dwell on the thought of going most of my life without ever really seeing a large portion of my work. I couldn’t imagine why Maier would continue photographing without the promise of seeing the fruits of her labor. It made me sad to think about her dying without having seen her powerful images, but then I realized that maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe it was the act of photography, the moment of exposure, the connection between herself, her subject, and her camera that mattered to her. And maybe that was one of her many secrets. She set out everyday, exposing on average twelve frames a day, for perhaps no reason other than she loved to do it. Maybe the labor itself was enough.

Somewhere along the way, I think I lost my love for the labor of photography. I’ve become so bogged down with thoughts of post process, alternative process, likes and faves and reblogs that my cluttered mind had little focus left to give to my environment or my camera. I’ve almost lost interest in environmental details that once interested me. As a photography lab technician, I spend my days looking at great photography. Because of this I’ve walked away from many photographic opportunities with the thought that I’d seen that picture before, possibly captured better than was within my capabilities. Most photographs, in my mind, now aren’t worth even an attempt, not one thirtieth of a second. And in looking at my work, it shows.

by Zeb Andrews

Zeb making pictures. Photo by Zeb Andrews

My coworker Zeb has a curious phrase that felt strange the first time I heard it, but makes more sense the more I think about it. Instead of “taking” pictures, he speaks of “making” them. A seemingly small change in syntax, the choice to “make” rather than “take” is one that intrigues me. What I see when I look at Maier’s work is someone who loved the experience of making pictures. With an undeniable understanding of the principles of photography under her belt, she left her home and places of employment to step boldly wherever her camera happened to take her. Sometimes it was just a walk down the street, sometimes it was Europe. Once it was the 1968 Democratic National Convention. There was no phantom audience, critic, or gallery curator to impress; she was into photography for photography’s sake. How many of us now can really say the same? Would you still do photography if you couldn’t see the results?

Maier’s story made me wonder who she was photographing for, until I finally turned my question on itself and asked: who am I photographing for? Recently it hasn’t been for me, not really. It’s been to hopefully please someone else, be it critic, friend, or general public. At some point I stopped making pictures for the joy of it, and the moment my own enjoyment stopped, my inspiration did, as well.

Making eye contact with an unknowing stranger through a waist-level viewfinder. Photo by Katt Janson

What I see now when I look at Maier’s work is someone who never stopped enjoying photography: a dedicated and enthusiastic capturer of moments and seducer of light. Hers is the work of someone in love with the click of the shutter, with the peak of a smile, with the thrill of eye contact made with an unknowing party through a waist-level viewfinder. Perhaps to her, the camera she held was an icebreaker between herself and her environment, a new way to view the world and capture it for a present moment. The permanent images might have only been a secondary bonus, and as a result her sincere empathy and engagement in the moment were captured as clearly as the people on her film. In my mind, Maier is the embodiment of that virginal moment when it’s just you, your light-safe box, and an open world full of possibilities.

Unfortunately, all this conjecture and discovery emerges without the ability to talk to the artist about her work. In 2009, the owner of 90% of Maier’s known body of work, John Maloof, found Vivan Maier’s name written on a lab envelope and Googled her. His search turned up an obituary published by the Chicago Tribune just days before. There are many of us now, myself included, who yearn to hear the artist speak about her work, to answer all the questions we’ve formed since seeing her images materialize from out of the shadows. There is intrigue, however, in the mystery. And I, for one, will always get a thrill and sense of gratitude in looking through the modern collections of her enticing images with the knowledge that regardless of whose eyes her pictures were meant for, they most certainly were not intended for mine.


If you haven’t seen Vivian Maier’s work in person, now’s the time. The show Vivian Maier Out of the Shadows from the Goldstein collection opened earlier this winter at Powell’s Books on Burnside, and is now at Blue Sky Gallery until March 3, 2013. I don’t know if her work will inspire you as much as it has myself, or Maloof, or all of the others I’ve spoken about it with, but I don’t think anyone can afford to miss the opportunity to find out.


Further Reading about Vivian Maier and her work:

Blue Sky Gallery:

The original Flickr discussion about Maier’s photography, posted by John Maloof:

The Official website of the John Maloof Collection:

Vivian Maier – Her Discovered Work; Maloof’s first website promoting Maier’s photography:

The Jeff Goldstein Collection:

Vivian Maier Street Photographer, ed. by John Maloof. powerHouse Books, 2011.

Vivian Maier Out of the Shadows, by Richard Cahan and Michael Williams. CityFiles Press, 2012.

Shooting Super 8 Today, Part III

All right! You have your Super 8 camera and an idea for a cinematic masterpiece. All you need to do is pop some film into the camera and you’re ready to roll, right?

It’s all so simple until it isn’t

For the first couple decades after Super 8 came about, there weren’t a lot of choices for film.  As a result, many cameras were designed around one now-discontinued film:  40-speed, tungsten-balanced Kodachrome, which was an excellent film.  If your grandparents shot Super 8 film, it was probably K40, and those films are probably still as vibrant as ever in a shoebox in a closet somewhere. Almost half a century later, there are better choices for film available than ever, but not every camera was designed with the future in mind.

The six film speed switches in this camera, circled in red, will detect a wide range of film speeds.
The color balance switch is circled in yellow.

The switches above the gate detect the film speed based on the size of the notch on a Super 8 cartridge.  The number of switches and how close they are together determines what film speeds a camera will recognize.  Some cameras have a lever instead of switches, and the range the lever can travel corresponds to a range of film speeds.  But how do you know which switch equals which film speed?

If you’re lucky, this information will be printed on the camera somewhere, usually inside the film chamber like in the picture above.  It may be listed in the manual – you might find it online if it didn’t come with your camera.  There could also be specifications for your camera online on a site such as the Super 8 Wiki.

If all else fails, someone else has thankfully figured it out already.  If you can’t find any information, then download, print out, and cut out the measuring sheet above, and use the flowchart to deduce the camera’s specifications.  The flowchart might appear brain-melting at first glance, but remember that you’ll only have to go through that process once for each camera you own.

About that bulb switch

If you’re scratching your head about daylight film and tungsten balance, this section is important.  The Super 8 specification was designed to handle color balance in a simple, straightforward manner, but not all cameras implemented it fully.  Here’s how it’s supposed to work:

Color film is designed to render a certain wavelength of light to look “white.”  To most movie film, household light bulbs with tungsten filaments – the kind that give off warm, orange light – look white, hence “tungsten-balanced.”  If tungsten film is shot outside in sunlight, the sunlight looks cold and blue; daylight needs to go through an orange filter before it hits the film to look normal.

This example shows the effect of an 85 filter when shooting tungsten balance in daylight.

Most Super 8 cameras have the orange filter built in.  The particular, standardized color of orange is called Wratten #85. Tungsten-balanced Super 8 cartridges will have a notch near the bottom to tell the camera to use that 85 filter.  The camera doesn’t know when it’s inside or outside, though, so there’s usually a switch on the side to override it.  (Some cameras have a “filter key” which is inserted into a slot in lieu of a switch.)

With tungsten-balanced film in the camera, put the switch in the “sunny” position to engage the 85 filter.  The other position on the switch should look like a light bulb, which disengages the filter for filming indoors – if you leave the orange filter on under tungsten light, everything will look too orange.

Daylight film cartridges don’t have the notch that tungsten-balanced ones do.  When you insert a daylight film cartridge, the cartridge should push a switch inside the camera to automatically disengage the 85 filter, regardless of the position of the bulb switch.  Outdoor sunlight looks correct to daylight film; tungsten light will appear warm and orange, much like tungsten film would if the 85 filter was used indoors.

Above:  Three light bulbs of different color temperatures.  The tungsten bulb is on the left; the “daylight” bulb is on the right.
The bulb on top has an in-between color temperature, and this picture is balanced for the in-between bulb
to illustrate the difference between tungsten and daylight.

Below:  The same image, as it would appear using tungsten-balanced film (left) or daylight-balanced film (right).


Super 8 cameras are supposed to automatically compensate for the position of the filter in order to correctly expose the film. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case for every camera.  The mix of film types available over the years has resulted in some cameras that don’t behave correctly with the films we have today.  If you downloaded and followed the flowchart above, you should be able to figure out how well your camera sticks to the specification.

If your camera doesn’t handle color balance quite right, you still might be able to make things work.  Instead of using the built-in 85 filter, you could use an accessory 85 filter in front of the lens, leaving the camera always switched to the light bulb. This is sometimes a good idea anyway – internal 85 filters can sometimes be faded or dirty after years of use, and you’ll always know when you’re using the 85 filter because the viewfinder will be orange.

Which film should you actually use?

Within the limits of camera compatibility, choose the film that is most suited to the conditions in which you’re filming.  In bright light, use low-speed film; if you’ll be indoors or in low light, use faster film.

Kodak deserves major credit not just for keeping Super 8 film available, but also for offering their most up-to-date motion picture film stocks in this small-gauge format.  At the time of this writing, there are four film stocks available – one black-and-white reversal film, one color reversal film, and two color negative films.

Reversal Film

Reversal film – you may know it as slide film – offers the most direct, economical Super 8 experience.  After your film is shot and developed, you can thread it into a Super 8 projector and watch the same physical film you ran through the camera, with no additional steps necessary.  There’s nothing to stop you from transferring reversal films to video if you wish, though.

Since reversal films have less exposure leeway than negative films, they’re also useful to test if your camera is exposing properly. Kodak currently offers just one black and white reversal film:

Kodak TRI-X Black & White Reversal Film 7266

ISO 200 (daylight) / 160 (tungsten)

TRI-X Reversal Film 7266 is a high-speed, panchromatic black-and-white film.  Provides rich blacks and excellent contrast… suitable for general interior photography with artificial light.

As of December 12, 2012, Kodak has discontinued Ektachrome 100D color reversal film and will replace it with Vision3 50D color negative film.

Color Negative Films

Negative films offer higher speeds and far greater exposure leeway than reversal films, but these benefits come at a cost:  the Super 8 negative films are more expensive, and you cannot project the film after it’s developed.  The only practical option after shooting is to transfer the film to video, which is an additional expense.  When transferred to video, however, negative films offer much more flexibility to adjust the image than reversal films.

Image courtesy of Kodak

KODAK VISION3 50D Color Negative Film 7203

ISO 50 (daylight) / 12 (tungsten, with 80A filter)

VISION3 50D is a low speed daylight-balanced film offering the world’s finest grain to ensure a pristine, clean image that is full of color and detail.  

Kodak VISION3 200T Color Negative Film 7213

ISO 200 (tungsten) / 125 (daylight, with 85 filter)

VISION3 200T is a 200-speed tungsten film that provides the image structure of a 100-speed film…  [It] performs superbly in both controlled interiors and in challenging high-contrast exteriors.

Kodak VISION3 500T Color Negative Film 7219

ISO 500 (tungsten) / 320 (daylight, with 85 filter)

VISION3 500T gives you noticeably reduced grain in shadows, so you can push the boundaries of exposure further and still get excellent results… What’s more, VISION3 500T Film’s extended highlight latitude gives you greater flexibility when lighting extreme situations, and lets you pull even more detail out of highlights. 

Shooting Super 8 Today, Part II

Technicolor Mark Ten Super 8 camera.  It looks awesome, but does it do everything you want?
Photo by John Kratz.

Do you have a Super 8 camera, but you’re not sure if it works, or if it has the features you need?  Or if you’re shopping for a camera, how do you know if one camera is better than another?  If you already have a Super 8 camera, then this article will help you get to know it better.  If you don’t have a camera yet, by the end you’ll have a lot better idea what to look for.

What’s the Best Super 8 Camera?

There’s a saying about cameras – the best camera is the one you have with you.  Any camera that works is better than no camera at all, and audiences will overlook all kinds of technical imperfections if the content in your movie is compelling.

The long answer is that there is no single best Super 8 camera.  There are some very good high-end cameras, a lot of completely decent cameras, and some that might be better avoided.  A partial list of camera makers would include Bauer, Beaulieu, Bolex, Braun, Canon, Cosina, Elmo, Eumig, Kodak, Konica, Leica, Minolta, Nikon, Rollei, Sankyo, and Yashica, but there are hundreds more.

Some types have distinguishing characteristics:  Nikon cameras are known to have good registration; Canon cameras offer great automatic functions with easy manual overrides; certain Braun and Elmo cameras are exceptionally quiet; Beaulieu and Leica cameras have excellent interchangeable lenses.  No camera has everything, though.  How do you pick the camera that’s right for you from the hundreds that are out there?

Walk before you run

“Does it work?” should be your first question.  Any Super 8 camera you find today is a decades-old electronic device.  Check the contacts in the battery compartment for corrosion.  Many cameras need two sets of batteries – one set for the motor, usually AAs; there’s often a separate battery just for the light meter.  Is that battery still available?  Was the light meter designed for obsolete mercury batteries – 1.35 volts instead of the modern 1.5 volts?  It’s a small difference, but the light meter might need recalibration to be accurate, and that could cost more than you paid for the camera.

The battery compartment of a broken Super 8 camera.  Two obvious signs of corrosion are circled in red.

There are other typical trouble spots.  Many Super 8 cameras have plastic gears inside to run the mechanism, and over time some plastic parts may have deteriorated.  Once you’ve put batteries in, open the film chamber and run the camera.  Does the pull-down claw have regular motion?  Does the wheel on the side of the chamber turn smoothly?  Point the lens toward a light – do you see any fungus or haze inside the lens?  Does the aperture open and close automatically as you point the camera at brighter or darker objects?  While you have the film chamber open, inspect the light seals around the door for any signs of deterioration.

If there are any problems, it’s probably best to find another camera.  If a camera seems loud, that’s not necessarily a problem – Super 8 cameras generally aren’t known for being quiet.  What’s important is that everything works smoothly and consistently; pay attention and trust your intuition.  If you’re buying sight-unseen over the Internet, make sure the seller offers a return policy.

Manual controls are the best feature

If you have more than a passing interest in Super 8, the single most important feature a camera can have will be manual exposure controls.  Auto exposure works well for the most common situations, but the camera doesn’t know when it’s wrong.  You’ll know with experience when to trust the camera, when to override it… and when it’s technically doing the right thing, but you want something different.

Manual controls – in different places on different cameras.

It’s the little things that make a difference

Given the sheer number of companies that jumped into the Super 8 arena, huge diversity among the cameras is a given.  Which features are actually useful?

Variable frame rates:  Every Super 8 camera will film at 18 frames per second, the silent movie speed that gives you 3 minutes and 20 seconds per cartridge.  If you want a more professional look, or to mix Super 8 with footage from other formats, look for a camera that offers the 24 fps sound speed, which gives 2 and a half minutes per each cartridge.

Many cameras will offer additional speeds – slow motion, up to 54 fps; sometimes 9 or 12 fps for fast motion; or one frame at a time for animation.  Having options is always a good thing.

Through-the-lens light meter:  Automatic exposure, at the heart of all Super 8 cameras, requires an accurate light meter.  The best light meters measure the light that’s coming through the lens.  Watch out for cameras that use selenium cells, which look like a honeycomb or a grid on the front of the camera.  While selenium meters don’t need batteries, they’re only found on the oldest Super 8 cameras, and aren’t always functional or accurate.

Reflex viewfinders:  Just as with light meters, the best viewfinders let you look through the camera’s lens.  These are called a reflex finder, which use either a beam splitter or mirror reflex.  A mirror reflex viewfinder shows the most accurate representation of what you’ll actually be filming, just like a 35mm SLR.  The drawback is that you can’t see what you’re filming at the moment of exposure; mirror reflex viewfinders flicker at the same rate as the film speed.  Mirror reflex viewfinders are uncommon.

A beam splitter reflex viewfinder system.  Image taken from Nikon R8 Super Zoom promotional brochure.

Beam-splitter viewfinders are the most common type on Super 8 cameras, and offer a continuous view through the lens.  They work by diverting a small amount of light that would otherwise go toward the film.  The camera will take the difference into account for automatic exposure, so the only downside is that they can be a little darker than reflex finders.

Shutters – standard, XL, and variable:  Remember the shutter animation from part I?  Well, it gets a little more complicated. Most Super 8 cameras have a standard shutter opening, usually around 150º or 180º, which works well in most conditions.

Starting in the early 1970s, some Super 8 cameras began to feature an XL shutter for filming in eXisting Light.  Typically between 200º and 230º, the longer exposure interval was combined with faster lenses to enable filming in dimmer conditions than possible with a standard shutter.  As usual, there’s a trade off – the longer exposure time leads to blurrier motion, which can seem less sharp if the camera or subject is moving.

The workings of the Canon 1014XL-S shutter control, from the Canon 1014XL-S manual.

Finally, a few cameras offer a variable shutter which can be changed from smaller to larger openings, even while filming.  This offers the best of both worlds – though it’s also one more setting to check before you start shooting!

Variable shutter control on a Braun Nizo camera.  Image taken from 1973 Nizo brochure.

Other features:  There are other minor features of more or less usefulness that you’ll find on some cameras.  The coolest bonus feature you might find is an intervalometer, which lets you make time-lapse movies.

Minolta offered serious time-lapse accessories.  Other manufacturers built simple intervalometers into certain cameras.
Images taken from Minolta Autopak-8 D series manual.

Some features are practically useless:  There’s in-camera cross-fading (which can sometimes jam in the camera, since Super 8 cartridges weren’t designed for it), a tape head for recording sound (sound cartridges are long gone), and a lid on top that opens for 200-foot cartridges (also long gone).  However, all those features were reserved for premium models at the time they were made, so if you find a camera that has one or more of them, it’s probably a decent camera.

Do your research

All Super 8 cameras perform the same basic purpose, and differ mostly in secondary features.  Today, you can choose from every Super 8 camera ever made.  Sites like the Super 8 Wiki have information on a huge number of cameras, and you can find feedback about practically any camera from people who’ve used them extensively through your favorite internet search engine – something that wasn’t possible when Super 8 cameras were new.  Decide what features you need – or don’t need – and go find your camera!

The author’s Super 8 camera, covered in reminders to help during shooting.

Camera manuals in this entry were found at

Shooting Super 8 Today, Part I

Why shoot Super 8 film today? 

With the ever-growing variety of ways to capture moving images today, why choose Super 8?  Because it’s fun and exciting! There are plenty of logical reasons – for instance, it’s the least expensive way to shoot analog motion picture film; and like Minox film, the diminutive size of Super 8 film infuses your images with a unique texture – but justifications can be made for any format.  If you’re inspired by a creative medium, what other excuse do you need?  If you’re excited about filming in Super 8, read on.

Technical information is less important than what you put in front of the camera. 

The goal of these articles is to provide a complete introduction to shooting Super 8 for anyone who wants to but otherwise has no idea how to do it.  It’s going to get very technical – this is so you can know what is happening when you’re filming, why it’s happening, and how to adapt it, change it, or repeat it. If you have some knowledge of photography already, it will help quite a bit.

All of what follows is meant to help you get better results out of every film cartridge, but keep in mind that technical knowledge is the bottom of the iceberg.  Your audience can’t see the knowledge in your head – they can only see what you put in front of the camera!

How movie cameras work

To state the obvious, a motion picture is just a series of still pictures taken in rapid succession.  When a series is displayed in the same rapid succession, we perceive the illusion of motion.

Film cameras achieve this by moving a strip of film through the camera in a repeated intermittent motion.  The film is advanced by what’s called a pull-down claw, which grabs onto a sprocket hole in the film, moves the film into position, then retracts.  The film then needs to be stopped in place in a consistent manner, which is called registration.  Most Super 8 cameras have the pull-down claw stay still for a brief moment before it retracts, which registers the film well enough.  Once the film is steady, a spinning half circle – the shutter – moves out of the way to expose the film to light, taking a single picture.  As the shutter spins back in front of the film, the whole process repeats – many times per second.

Movie camera shutter animation

There’s more on the Wikipedia page for movie cameras.

Because the spinning motion of the shutter is synchronized with the rest of the mechanism, the amount of time that the shutter is open depends on how fast the film moves.  A typical movie camera has the shutter open for half of each cycle, so if the camera is advancing film at 18 frames per second (the “silent film” speed), the shutter speed would be 1/36th of a second.  The 24 f.p.s. “sound movie” frame rate equals a 1/48th-second shutter speed.

There are two things to take away from this.  First, the time you get from each cartridge is determined by the frame rate.  18 fps will give you 3 minutes and 20 seconds, while 24 fps works out to 2 and a half minutes.  Second, shutter speed is not a practical means of controlling exposure, because it’s generally locked to the frame rate.  Once you’re filming, there are only two ways to adjust your exposure – by changing the aperture, or by changing how much light is in front of the lens.

2K fresnel light with barn doors

Sometimes you need a few of these.

Super 8 makes things simple

If the information above seemed dry, that’s because it was.  Obviating the complexities of movie cameras to amateur filmmakers was Kodak’s goal when they created the Super 8 format in 1965.  Kodak achieved that goal with an ingenious film cartridge which sets an automatic exposure system when the film is inserted into a camera.

The business end of a Super 8 cartridge.

A Super 8 cartridge is entirely self contained, with the unexposed film (in the feed side) pre-threaded to wind back into the cartridge (into the take-up side) after it is exposed.  The notch near the top of the cartridge indicates the film speed, and the one on the bottom tells the camera about the film’s color balance.  Since the camera will know this information as soon as the cartridge is pushed in, you only need to flip a switch to tell the camera if you’re outside in sunlight or inside under household lights, and then you can start filming immediately.

It’s that simple?  Can I go shoot a movie now?

Not so fast.  It’s true that shooting Super 8 is simple and easy, but certain parts can get really complicated; that’s why there are three more articles in this series!  Part II will discuss how to choose and use Super 8 cameras; Part III will discuss the film stocks available from Kodak and address color balance and camera compatibility; finally, Part IV will wrap up and address common movie-making questions – including any you might leave in the comments below.

A Super 8 film by the author.

What’s New on the Blue Moon?

In celebration of Portland’s second full moon in the month of August, we at Blue Moon Camera and Machine would like to update you on a few things that have happened since the last blue moon.



But before we get into the recent past, we’d like to talk a bit about our beginnings. Jake Shivery and Josey Peterson opened Blue Moon Camera and Machine on December 1, 2001. The store soon grew enough for the two to hire their first employee, Zeb Andrews, on September 1, 2002.


Josey, Zeb, and Jake


Thanks to a strong base of loyal customers and the support of the local business and artist communities, Blue Moon Camera and Machine has continued to grow and flourish into the twelve-person strong business that it is today. But eleven years after Jake and Josey’s grand opening, and almost ten years after Zeb’s first day, the store was beginning to outgrow its original design. And so, in spring 2012, a renovation was in order. Some of you will remember that we closed our doors this spring, and reopened them a month later with a whole new look.


The fearless Blue Moon contractors, Aren and John


Our staff and contractors labored day and night to give the store a complete turn-around in look and style. It wasn’t always easy, and it wasn’t always comfortable, and it certainly wasn’t always dry, but at the end of the four weeks the results proved to be well worth the toil.


The store now proudly wears tin ceilings and hardwood floors, pristine shelves to hold all those pristine cameras, and even skylights in the back lab to keep the production team from turning into sun-fearing vampires. Not that we have anything against vampires, but if a mirror can’t see them, will a camera lens be able to?


Blue Moon Camera and Machine's reopening party


We were excited to reopen our doors and celebrate Blue Moon’s new ‘do with our customers and supporters at a reopening party on March 10, 2012. Our customers came to party with us again on August 4th to celebrate the fifth annual Blue Moon Camera and Machine staff show, and we’ll hopefully see some of you all tomorrow to celebrate Zeb’s anniversary and Kendall’s departure into academia. If there’s one thing we’ve learned in the past blue moons, it’s that our customers know how to show us a good time.


So thanks for the past eleven years, everyone, and we’ll see you on the next blue moon with another exciting update from behind the curtain.


Drinking With Jake (Round Two) – Blue Mitchell

Next in a series in which Jake Shivery and a guest get pickled and talk photography. Blue Mitchell is a Portland based mixed media artist.  He is the co-founder of Plates to Pixels and the founder of Diffusion magazine.  The fourth edition of Diffusion hits the stands this summer.
Blue interviewed Jake a couple of years ago, for Plates to Pixels.  Now, with relish, Jake turns the tables on his pal.

Who:  Blue Mitchell, editor of Diffusion Magazine
Where:  Jake’s Garage
When:  May, 2012
What:  Bulleit Rye straight up, beer back

Jake:  Hi, Blue, and thanks for coming.
Blue: Thanks for having me over.  This is nice.

JS:  You’ve conducted a lot of interviews before.  I’m new at this.  Maybe you have some advice on how to conduct interviews.
BM:  I never get the chance to sit down like this – I’m always doing email interviews.  I don’t know – I guess I always start with the generic – background, art and photography, how did you get into the field, that sort of thing.  The questions can get more complex when I get to know the artist more, but that’s always where I start.  Sometimes I’m just at a loss – I get fresh questions from other people.

JS:  Well, that’s not very helpful.  I was counting on stealing interview techniques from someone with a lot of experience.
BM:  We’ll see how that goes.

JS:  Hmph.  Fine – what’s cooking?
BM:  This time of year, I’m buried in Diffusion.  There’s little time for anything else.  I’ve been lecturing a bit, and showing here and there.  I’ve got some art happening on the side – stuff that’s more playful. The serious stuff takes more time.

JS:  You have some long range projects simmering?
BM:  Always.  I’ve been working on “Mythos” for several years.  Since 2006, really.  It’s a pretty simple concept – crafting my own mythologies visually.

JS:  Oh, yeah.  That sounds simple.  You have an example?
BM:  One of the later ones was “The Journey Begins” – it’s landscape work, but all shot on a blanket in the studio.  Then I combined that with a real landscape outside of Bend.  Then it’s an acrylic lift on wood – it’s very warm.

JS:  This is part of a series?  How many in the series?
BM: That have been shown?  Probably twenty or so.  Maybe I should say ‘twenty or less’.

JS: Where have you been showing?
BM: My first solo gallery show was at Camerawork in 2007.  Before that, I was in group shows in a few different venues, sometimes with photos, sometimes with found objects, sometimes with some collage of both.  Since then I’ve shown at Newspace Center for Photography, Lightbox in Astoria and a few other galleries around the country. The Light Factory annual juried show is the one I’m most proud of outside of Portland.

JS:  Are you actively submitting?
BM:  Not really, not right now.  It’s been mostly requests.  That’s very nice.

JS:  Oh, yes.  It’s always nice to be asked.
BM:  I had a gig as a visiting artist at University of Texas in San Antonio and at Amarillo College. I got to see a lot of really strong student work.  In San Antonio I had the chance to visit the MFA students studios and look at installations.  It was great.  In Amarillo I did a workshop and lecture, about 60 people showed up for the lecture, I was impressed. They also kept me out ’til 2:30 in the morning.  Suffice it to say that they showed me a good time in Amarillo.

JS:  When you lecture for students, what do you discuss?
BM:  Generally, it’s about my experience in publishing.  My message is always:  ‘Create your own way’.  And networking.  You have to have good people around you.  There’s no way for you to know everything. On this Texas trip though, it was mostly about my journey as an artist, followed by the professional things I do now.

JS:  You’ve also had some experience as a juror and a reviewer.  Photolucida, and so forth.  When you’re looking at other people’s work, what are you looking for?
BM:  Stuff that surprises me.  Most people that look at photos a lot see a lot of repetition.  We’re all looking for a unique take and a strong artist voice.  I try to not be narrow-minded about our medium, and I’m looking for artists that agree.  If I’ve been watching an artist for a while, then I’m looking for the evolution.  I want to see what’s occurred since they started – how they’ve changed.

JS:  Any difference between what you’re looking for as a reviewer and what you’re looking for to publish in Diffusion?
BM:  Not really.  I’m watching a number of people, and I’m always looking for new folks, too.  With the magazine, we try to strike a nice balance with unknowns and emerging talents and well-established, well-represented artists.  Diffusion is a little different, because with each issue, we’re following a theme of some sort.

JS:  Diffusion Four is coming out soon [as of this writing].  You pursued a Kickstarter project for a special edition.
BM:  Kickstarter was great. We really hit the ‘sweet spot’ where we paid for all of our fees and made our goal.  There are so many amazingly generous people out there – both the folks who donated money and all the artists who helped with the donation goods.  I was blown away by the positive response.  This has enabled us to do our first special – a limited edition, hardbound version.  I’m pretty excited about it.

JS:  With four issues under you belt, how do you feel about your magazine?
BM:  I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m learning.  I’m learning how to deal with the stress and the pressure.  I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’re not keeping a very regular publishing schedule.  I’m learning that it’s OK to back it up, if that makes it good.  I’m blessed with a lot of people around me that make it all work.  It’s getting its legs under it, and I think it’s really evolving into something good.  I’m learning what works and what doesn’t.

JS:  How do you view Diffusion in the landscape of current periodicals?
BM:  As an annual, it’s limited.  We have a good international following, but not a lot of submissions from foreign countries.  The exhibitions are important – they’re one of my favorite parts.  I want more of everything – I want it bigger, more global.  And more exhibitions.

JS: You hung the last exhibition in Atlanta, much to the chagrin of your Portland artists.  I, for one, want you to be proud of being a Portland-based operation.
BM:  And I am.  I am.  Ultimately, the magazine is all Portland blood.  We get amazing support from this community, and I’m well aware of what we can do here that we couldn’t do other places.  Like I say – Portland blood.  Just not Portland-centric.  I want the shows to go on the road, that’s why we went to Atlanta.  We’re looking forward to a show in Victoria, BC in July, again in Portland in 2013, and Verve Gallery in New Mexico in 2014.

JS:  What else in the future?
BM:  Ultimately, I’d like to publish books.

JS: What do you have in mind for books?
BM:  Well, that’s what’s still up for debate.  Initially, I was thinking I’d like to do monographs – now I’m not so sure – we’ll see.  I think some other things might come before monographs.

JS:  Like what?
BM: Well, I’m interested in writing.  It’s the book form, after all – I think it should have more writing.

JS:  You mean more writing and less photography?
BM:  Well, yeah.  That’d be an interesting way to start.  The only thing I currently have brewing is conversations with artists about their photography and opening a dialogue about what their photography is.  How do they use photography in other art?  When does it become not-photography and becomes something else?  This is largely a medium issue.  Taking photography so far beyond an actual 2D photo, you know?  Is it photo-real painting, or mixed media or collage – is the photo just a piece of the overall image?  These kinds of questions lead to what photography really is – this subject really interests me.  I’ve been finding that it interests quite a few other people, too.  Maybe this is a book – initially, I was considering a special issue of Diffusion, but more about writing.

JS:  That’s our segue to the big question of the evening.  Process vs. content.  How do you view what’s most important?
BM: Are you talking about Diffusion?

JS:  Well, sure.  But maybe we’re also talking about Blue.
BM:  I think when I started Diffusion, it was perceived to be a lot about process, but for me it’s been an equal balance between process and content.  We do our group showcases – and these are really about a theme and a process.  In this section, I really want to show as many interesting processes as I can as well as a solid concept.  The issue with concept in this case is that you only have the one, single concept  that you’re trying to hold together.  A lot of different processes means that we can dive really deeply into this concept, open it up to a lot of different artists’ visions.

Process is important to me – that’s what we spend a lot of time in Diffusion talking about.  I find it very interesting to talk to artists in depth about how they do what they do.  But we also pay attention to why they do what they do.  I really feel strongly that the best work is the good combination of both sides – both concept and process.

There’s the whole gamut of photography out there – we see a lot series where the process is great, but the concept isn’t really there.  Or, you know, maybe your final presentation is lacking, but the concept is so strong that it makes up for it.  I’m interested in both ends of the spectrum.  I’m really interested in the middle, too, of course.

Did I even answer your question? [laughs] It’s possible that I didn’t even answer it.  Could just be more of my artspeak…

Let’s put it another way.  The stuff that I like on my walls isn’t really about process, necessarily, it’s more about the image, but when it comes to a body of work, it has to have both for me.  Photography for me is more about an emotional response – more on the feeling level, and less on an intellectual level.  The intellectual is not as important to me.  Visual impact is very important to me.

There’s a lot of photographers out there whose work is more challenging – social commentary or political commentary – that’s not really the stuff that I do or what’s in my magazine.  Having said that, I want to emphasize the order:  It’s always about the content first.

JS:  So, what’s better for you – a strong visual image that came off an iPhone, or a very heavy process- oriented thing, something with a great story behind it?  Let’s see – this guy is deep sea diving with a panoramic pinhole sheet film camera and one leg on fire while being chased by sharks – but he takes a boring photograph.
BM:  [laughs] I get that.  We see it all the time.  For me, it’s got to be about the strongest visual.  The best content.

JS:  Right, well, one argument regards an image’s value if you have to be standing behind the audience, describing the process.  Is it still a strong picture if it requires textual reference?  Can it still be a substantial photograph?
BM:  OK, with that in mind, process always come second.  I live in this digital world where I see the image, but outside of the context of the actual piece.  I’m really about the finished piece – the final execution.  I love going to the reviews, because I actually get to see the prints.  This gives me a much better perspective on what the artist is doing.  I don’t have to know the process, as long as I enjoy the print.  I like the tangible object – I want to know that it’s interesting in real life.

I like to see the artist in the print.  I want to know that they have some kind of thumb print left behind on the work itself.  A pure quality thing – I want to see the artists’ hand.

The quality of the magazine has only gone up since I’ve started seeing more work in person.  This is really important, since we’re doing an exhibition in addition to the publication.  I have to enjoy it on the wall as much as I enjoy it when we try to reproduce it.

JS: You’re ducking my question.  If the thing can not survive without text, is it still valuable?
BM:  I know a few artists who don’t have a lot of concept in their work – but their work is very striking, and I feel that that is just as worthy as a high-concept piece.  I just feel like it’s in a different category.  Maybe they’re not working on concept, but they might be putting together a beautiful image that really makes you stop in a gallery.  It doesn’t matter what it is, whether it’s the artist statement is needed or not,  if I’m engaged in it.

My personal work is obviously all about process.  Even when I’m starting with a concept, it’s still always back to process.  And the image becomes stronger through the more labor-intensive process.
Sometimes I go too far – I’m sort of known for over-processing, and now it’s not as interesting – it’s got too much going on and it’s too busy.

JS:  Your work is pretty well received, I think.  I mean, you’re being asked to show. You’re being asked to go to Texas.  That sounds pretty good.
BM:  That was great.  My fondest memory of the trip was during my lecture at Amarillo College.  There’s an old timer sitting in the room, and I don’t know who he is, but it’s obvious that he’s been around.  I found out later that he was a successful photographer in Aperture, Scott Hyde.  I’m showing my slide show, and because it’s for a college, I focused on my whole body of work, dating back to when I was a college freshman.  I was explaining why I switched from film to photography.  I knew immediately that photography was something I could do myself – all me – I didn’t need a whole crew of people to follow me around.  Film was hard for me because of all that.  It’s so involved with other people, it’s hard to just do your own thing.  With photo, you can do it right away, you can still have narrative, but with more immediate results.  I just wanted to create interesting things to look at – they didn’t have to move around.

Anyway, that’s an aside.  Let me get back – the first slide I show is from my really early work, this 3200 speed, super grainy shot of a woman exhaling from her cigarette.  And this gentleman gasped.  On the first slide.

I was like “OK, I’m done.  I don’t need to show any other slides.  That’s it.”  I don’t even know who this guy is, but that gasp – that’s like the crescendo of my career so far.  That one moment makes it all worth it.  Emotional impact.

JS:  Interaction with the audience is important.  I think all of us often overlook the idea that photography is basically an exhibition craft.  Eventually, you have to know that someone is responding.  That your work is carrying, like you say, emotional impact.
BM: I mean it happens to me a lot, but I rarely gasp at a photo.

JS:  What we’re all after is some sense of recognition.
BM:  And it comes with trusting the source.  With this guy, I could tell he’d seen a lot of photography in his life – it’s quite a validation.  It just makes me wonder if I should have quit with the early work.

JS:  I see a lot of early work which is great – I mean, just great.  And then the person in question gets more “serious” and it all just goes to hell.  What they were able to make before, just the sheer beauty, now it’s all lost in trying to figure out f5.6 or f8.
BM:  I think a lot of people work much better when they’re strictly intuitive.

JS:  Let’s do a bit more about Blue Mitchell, the dude.  Tell me about Montana.
BM:  Montana?  That’s fun.  I was born in Montana, but then we moved to Northern California before I could even remember, but my cousins were still in Forsyth.  So I have some memories.  My family’s bread and butter was iron ore, they ran a mining company.  We moved back to Montana from 1st through 4th grade, and then to Idaho, and then back to California.  My parents moved a lot.  I didn’t actually wind up back in Montana myself until I was an adult and went to Montana State in ’97.  I did, however, continually visit my family in the summers.

JS:  You were in the Army.
BM:  I was in the Marines for a while.  Very brief – shy of two years.  It was kind of weird for me – one of the hippie kids who had to have his head shaved.  A proverbial path in the road – I wanted a major change, and I gave myself a couple of options.  The marines seemed like the most challenging one, but also the most stable one.  Getting paid and getting college money, so that was good, but it was really hard for me mentally.  Pretty shocking, really – I mean, my dad was a marine, and when it shocked him, I knew it might not be my personality trait to be joining the marine corp.  That said, he supported me 100%.

My experience there was pretty limited. All I really needed, Jake, was boot camp.  I could have been done with it all after that.  Just send me through hell on earth – boot camp – and that’s enough.  For me, living in paradise and then going to the military, it was quite a shock to the system.  Not hell on earth, I guess, I mean, I never saw combat, so I should check myself there.  Nonetheless, the physical training was ridiculous, but it was good for me mentally – and I came out a totally different person – a new self confidence that I didn’t have before.  It  was hard, but I got more out of it than I lost.

I mean, I was only in there for two years, but I have so many great stories.  Now, years go by and I have nothing near the stories I got from that time in my life.

JS:  Your career with the marines was pretty brief.
BM:  Yeah.  The short story is, I got in a car wreck right after boot camp.  I fell asleep at the wheel and flipped my car six times, front over back – it was pretty traumatic.  I was lucky – I got ejected through the moon roof, and I lacerated my elbow, broke my wrist and pelvic bone.  [Blue shows off his elbow scar.]

JS:  That’s all you got?  You flipped a car six times and that’s all you got?
BM:  I was lucky, the only injuries incurred were from the pavement.  Thrown completely clear of the car and then landed on the interstate- the car stopped in a ditch.

So I ended up, after a long period of time, getting a medical discharge.  In the meantime, I was in a medical platoon.  When I left, I was actually platoon leader.  Which was ridiculous – this hippie kid in charge of 50 marines.  This is where a lot of the stories come from.  I put up a good facade of a marine.  It wasn’t like an actual heroic marine.  People compare me to other marines, but they had much different experiences.  I mean, I never left Camp Pendleton.  I didn’t go to war, I just went through the system.  More of an appearance, really.

JS:  What brought you to Portland?
BM:  Living in Montana, I was looking for an art school.   I moved to Seattle but I was having all of my fun in Portland.  Much more interesting things seemed to be happening here.  I kicked around with a couple of state schools, but eventually decided it was time to suck it up and just go to art school.  I scraped together my portfolio, and spent three years at the Oregon College of Art & Craft.  Since then, I luckily landed a graphic design job – it isn’t my degree, but I’ve been doing it more or less since high school.

JS:  So, you had the day job, and time to start your projects?
BM:  Yep.  Started Diffusion in 2008 – the first year of publication was 2009.

JS:  And there was Plates to Pixels before that.  Let’s touch on that.
BM:  At the time there weren’t a lot of on-line galleries.  That was really my first venture into promoting other people’s work.  Learning about marketing and educating myself on the photo industry.  I worked at the gallery at OCAC, and I really enjoyed the gallery process – bringing it in, putting it together, hanging the work.  The on-line gallery was a way for me to flex that muscle..  In reality, it was a low-risk way for me to enter into curating.  I treated it like a normal gallery, and this was right at the heart of the “big dichotomy”.  Digital was so big then, and then there was this resurgence of alternate process work, somewhat because digital was growing.  Now we have these polarized mediums, both growing at the same time.  For me, I was embracing them both.  These things are both valid – it doesn’t make sense that there’s even a discussion anymore – it’s just a matter of taste and preference.

JS:  So you waded into this with a brand new on-line gallery?
BM:  I wanted Plates to Pixels to become the nexus between the two, or all of the above.  A lot of technology-based digital work, and balanced with analog work – this became the big theme.

JS:  You keep at that project.
BM:  It works nicely as a side project.  I keep it going because I love it.  It allows me to do different things than Diffusion, and also more frequently.  In the beginning it was very challenging, but I found my feet in it pretty quickly.  Got it where I want it, and I’m happy.  But, it’s not ultimately fulfilling – I wanted a new thing, and so now there’s Diffusion.

JS:  And here we are.  You got anything else?
BM:  Good lord, isn’t that enough?
JS:  Just say ‘uncle’.
BM:  Oh, no.  I can keep going.
JS:  Yeah, but I’m not sure I can.  Just say ‘good night’.
BM:  Good night.
JS: Thank you, and good night.

Blue Mitchell’s Personal Website:

‘Roid week 2012: celebrating the instant…. right now.

Photo by Peter Carlson


Forget Poladroid.  Turn off Fauxlaroid.  This week is the time to celebrate instant film itself, the original form of instant gratification.  While Polaroid no longer produces film for our stalwart Land Cameras, SX70s and One Shot 600s; instant film is far from dead and gone.  These days those Automatic Land Cameras and polaroid backs for your medium format cameras can be filled with film made by Fuji (available in both 100 ISO color and 3000 ISO b&w).  Want to dust off your SX70 and 600 cameras?  A not-as-crazy-as-they-seem company in the Netherlands by the name of The Impossible Project can help you there.  If you pay a visit to their site, you can even take a virtual tour of the building where the film is made.  But that is not all!  Instant Film is not just about recycling those old cameras from the 70s.  Pick up a Fuji Instax, either in the wide or mini format, and you can get a fresh and modern start to your instant adventures.  There are still two days left for ‘Roid Week 2012, so to give you a bit of an inspirational boost, we figured we would share some of our own instant adventures.  We hope you enjoy.  If this modest selection doesn’t quite scratch the itch, try out the “Roid Week 2012 Flickr group.  Also, browse through Instax Gratification, a Fuji Instax-centric Tumblr group.

Photo by David Paulin

Photo by JaNae Hagel

Photo by Wendi Andrews

Photo by Peter Carlson

Photo by Nancy Guidry

Photo by Darcy Sharpe-Meade

Photo by Faulkner Short

Photo by Zeb Andrews


Why film?

A 30 minute Hasselblad exposure of star trails behind the St. Johns bridge.


During the course of my daily photographic life, both personally and professionally, it is not uncommon to hear one or more of the following comments or questions:

Is that really a film camera?
Does it work?
You can still get film for that?
I thought film was extinct.
Why would you want to shoot film?

Why indeed?  And why, in this age of digital cameras does a place like Blue Moon Camera and Machine insist on selling film cameras?  The reasons are varied, but here goes.

Perhaps the largest reason lies in the aim of the work we do here at the store.  Blue Moon Camera’s intentions aren’t limited to selling film and equipment to intrepid photographers, but perhaps more importantly to provide them with information, knowledge, and shared experience.  Our aim is to give photographers the tools they need to be better photographers.  To give them options, room to roam and explore.  Not to tell them they have to make pictures a certain way, with certain equipment.  Nor is it our goal to convince them that the more expensive the equipment, the newer or the flashier, the better their photos will be.  So, we provide the availability of film cameras as options.  As there is no shortage of businesses out there willing to trumpet the advantages of digital cameras (and there are several advantages), there are now relatively few businesses who make it a priority to remind us of the advantages to film photography (and there are several advantages).  This is where Blue Moon Camera comes in.

A composite image made from 11 Holga exposures


The worlds of film and digital photography has come to be seen by many as an “either or” approach.  This is a very limited fashion in which to approach photography.  Over a century has been spent tinkering and perfecting the art of the film camera, and that progression is still continuing.  Over that span of time an amazing number of incredibly well-designed, well-built, film cameras have been made.  Think of the Leica M series or the Hasselblad.  Don’t forget the Speed Graphic, Noblex, Nikon F, F2, F3, F4, F5,  and F6.  Heck, even throw in the Pentax K1000 or the Contax AX.  The Kodak Retina IIIC? A Deardorf 8×10? Fuji G617?  The list goes on and on… and on.  Chances are some out there know some of these names.  They are all incredible cameras, capable of producing incredible images in many cases at much higher resolution images than even the top DSLRs.  Yet so many of these cameras have been forgotten, left behind, discarded.  Blue Moon Camera therefore makes it a point to remind photographers, to educate our customers – not to convert them per se – to show them the range of options available.  And many of our customers do embrace aspects of both film and digital, as it should be.  Not an either or, but a choosing of the best tool for the job at hand.

Personally, I have begun to tell people that I change cameras for the same reasons many photographers change lenses.  Want a sweeping, epic landscape?  You grab that wide angle lens, right?.  Making a portrait of a friend?  That mild telephoto is the likely choice.  And so on.  I have something like nine different film cameras that rotate through my daily use.  Do I want square images with a bit of a primitive feel or dreamier look?  I grab my Holga.  Do I want to work with long exposures and more impressionistic images?  The pinhole camera comes out of the bag.  Do I want super sharp, high resolution images where the eye can feast on all the little details?  I go with the Pentax 6×7, my Hasselblad or even a Graflex Speed Graphic 4×5.  I think you see where I am going with this.  It is about having options.    Give a skilled carpenter only a hammer to work with and he can still do an awful lot of work, but give him a screwdriver, a drill, a ruler, a level and an adze (why not an adze, after all) and he can do far, far more.

I’ll give you one last thing to ponder.  In a world where every DSLR is a miniature technical marvel, and most photographers are using one,  it has suddenly become incredibly easy to make technically well-executed images.  So easy in fact you generally just have to know how to turn the camera on and it’s on-board computer will do the rest of the work.  And since most photographers are using the same type of equipment and are producing images of equal technical achievement, unless a photographer is particularly crafty or imaginative, they are going to produce images that look much like everyone else’s images.  Here is where film cameras come in.  Imagine you have spent your whole photographic life on a DSLR and then someone hands you a Yashica TLR.  Your approach to photography is going to be revolutionized.  Suddenly, instead of thinking composition in terms of a rectangle, you are working with a square.  Instead of operating with an eye-level prism, you have a waist-level finder.  You can no longer change ISO on the fly, so you have to plan ahead.  Nor do you get to check a histogram to see if you exposed correctly, you have to learn to trust your own experience and intuition.  Additionally, film looks different than digital; the color palette is different from that which you were accustomed.  In light of all these differences, you learn and grow as a photographer – and what you learn even can be applied back to your DSLR, changing how you go about using that camera too.

Film is readily available.  A quick spin around the internet will demonstrate that.  There are dozens of different types of film out there, from subminiature to ultra large format, color negative to black and white infrared.  Even more importantly, not only is film still available, there are very important reasons to grab a film camera off the shelf instead of the digital.  Ultimately though, it is not an either or decision, and neither does Blue Moon Camera take that approach.  We are more interested in putting tools into your toolbox, not in taking them out.

An image from a homemade omniscope pinhole camera.

Whither the School Darkroom?

These days, I am frequently asked about the necessity and viability of the traditional school darkroom. As you might expect, I am a vehement supporter of keeping these facilities intact, functional and accessible to students from all walks of life. Working against the conventional wisdom that “film is dead”, I thought it might be helpful to discuss some of my arguments for why schools of all levels have a vested interest in maintaining the traditional educational darkroom.

Budget and Amortization

Let’s get right to the point and start with the money. For the sake of this argument, let us assume that there is a still a line item on a school’s budget for photography. The decision must be made to either initiate a darkroom or replace it with its digital corollary.

Simply put, darkrooms are cheaper to set up. Much of the equipment and ephemera may be had used at very low cost. Even better, there is the donation model – darkroom gear has historically proliferated throughout communities and much of it is currently unused in attics, basements and garages. Equipment of this kind frequently falls into the category of “too nice to pitch, too big to keep” and is often owned by folks very anxious to have it owned by someone else. Many private citizens are very sympathetic to the cause of education, both public and private, and would be thrilled to have their previously used darkroom equipment put to use in a student setting.

Even if donations are not forthcoming or convenient, there is a tremendous inventory of used equipment in stores such as ours, available at a fraction of the price of purchasing their brand new counterparts. Obviously, we’re looking to sell gear, and so are many others. For dealers, setting up special deals for school systems is generally a commercial no-brainer.

Photo courtesy Don O'Brien via Wikimedia Commons

We respond to questions regarding this issue with some regularity.  Is used equipment viable? Can school systems really make better use of used darkroom gear than they could from new computers? And how about a computer lab on the used (or donation) model?

Used darkroom equipment is almost always a safe bet. Unlike other used equipment, darkroom machines – principally enlargers and timers – hold up very well over the long haul. Remember, these are devices which largely sit in one place and perform repetitive, low-impact tasks. They are simple, easy to fix, and generally built to last.

Computers are expensive to begin with, and the viability of a used computer is very questionable. We are all intimately familiar with the usefulness of a ten (or even five) year old computer system. The technology has changed (and will change) so much, so quickly, that there is little reason to build a computer that will last more than a few years. Computers are complex, almost impossible to repair, and built to be replaced at regular intervals.

Which is a good segue to my next major point:

Amortization: my new favorite word, especially in this context. The fine arts budget of any school system is very precious and must be spent with the utmost care. Setting up a darkroom properly at the beginning of a program can provide students with years and years of steady and reliable service. The cost of this initial expenditure may be amortized over the very long term.

Compare this to replacing digital workstations at very regular intervals, and only being able to amortize the expense of a computer over a few semesters. Not only are darkrooms cheaper to set up, but they have a much longer useful lifespan over which to spread the expense.

But aren’t darkrooms obsolete? No, and this is part of the change we need to make in the thinking of the school boards. Very, very old enlargers do as well today as they did when they were brand new. Again, simple tasks performed by durable machines extend their working life cycles to “indefinite”. Not only do they not become obsolete, but they are actually the antidote to the whole concept of obsolescence.

Photo courtesy Frank Gosebruch via Wikimedia Commons

Much the opposite, the technology which drives computers has always been, by its nature, transitory and fleeting. Trying to instruct a student using a five year computer with four year old software is the actual definition of instruction in obsolescence.

Which brings us to materials. There is certainly an expense incurred with the replenishment of darkroom chemistry and paper. Often times, this may be spread out among the student body, and paid for using a per-use formula. In this mode, the materials expense per student is kept more consistent with the individual student’s actual output.

Even if the school is footing the entire bill, it is still cheaper to fill an order for consumables every semester than it is to replace the entire hardware infrastructure every few years.

There is a broader philosophical argument, as well – permanence. Unlike computer-based output, film-based products are, by nature, much more archival. Many strides have been made towards the permanence issue of the digital work flow, but effectively this is still a game of catch-up with film, which has always had a built-in and provable archival nature. The BW negatives which I processed in high school are every bit as printable as negatives which I produced last week. High school, by the way, was a long time ago.

Accessibility and Craft

Now for the good stuff – Photography is an art form. One of the most important components of any education in visual arts is the actual facility. Students must be allowed access to methods and techniques that they might not be exposed to otherwise. Specifically, nearly every student has access to a computer, probably even in his or her bedroom, but how many have access to a darkroom? How will the student even know if they have a proclivity for traditional printing if they are never allowed to try?

Offering darkroom classes allows for access which is not redundant. No darkrooms means that students are exposed only to computers, both at school and at home. Setting up digital labs, especially to the exclusion of their traditional counterparts, acts to hammer home modern, homogenous technique and puts more distance between the young artist and the fundamentals of his or her craft.

Darkroom instruction reflects a mature technology going back more than a century. While there are things which a computer will do which an enlarger will not, ultimately the bulk of what we are teaching computers to do is how to act like an experienced darkroom printer.

Darkroom work is a “hands on” craft. When asked about the future of traditional photography vs. digital photography, one of my old mentors quipped: “Don’t worry about the future – kids are always going to want to get their hands wet.” A bit flippant, certainly, but not without truth. There is that moment when your first image floats up from the developer solution – this moment is unlike any other. There is no way to digitally replicate it.

Drinking with Jake (Round Zero) – Jason Kelley

What follows is a reprint from 2011’s Diffusion III – a precursor to “Drinking with Jake”.
We reproduce it here in anticipation of Jason’s solo exhibition at Good Gallery, which opens on Friday, July 6th, 2012. 

interview photos by Oliver L. Ogden


Jason Kelley and Jake Shivery have been best pals for damn near a decade. They have spent most of that time talking, at length, about photography. For the purposes of this interview, they settled in to comfortable surroundings with their dogs and plenty of whiskey and then set about trying to describe Jason’s relationship with strip photography in fifteen hundred words or less.

Who: Mr. Jason E. Kelley, Linear Strip Photographer
Where: Jake’s attic
When: March, 2011
What: Corner Creek out of the bottle


Jake:  So, why use strip photography over a more “traditional” form of photography?

Jason:  With traditional photography, the focus is on the still image. Photographers go to great lengths to set up a still image. But with strip photography, the emphasis is on what’s moving. And what can be done with what’s moving.

JS:  There certainly is a lot of movement. And I’m seeing things I’ve never seen before. I’ve never seen a centurion battling a druid at Stonehenge, for instance.

JK:  With that particular image, I was trying to illustrate a warp in time. I’m not sure I would’ve felt comfortable trying to illustrate that concept without a sense of movement.

JS:  We’ve all been watching for the last couple of years and observing your slow slide over towards a more and more narrative form. Care to speak about the importance of narrative form in strip photography?

JK:  In the past, the narratives that I’ve seen in my head, I’ve never been able to handle them properly as a still image. But strip photography imbues the image with a kinetic energy, a sense of movement – something is happening. This is important for the ideas in my head because everything needs to be moving around. It doesn’t make sense otherwise, to me anyway.

JS:  In the past, you’ve worked with other forms: mirror lenses, pinhole, and some of my personal favorite work, the photo booth project.

JK:  And the photo booth was, or is, fun, but it’s just that – it’s my fun photography. It gives me something to do at parties. I enjoy doing it, but I feel like I’ve hit the ceiling with it, creatively speaking. Photo Booth was the only time I wasn’t actively trying to distort reality, and I knew I had to get back to that – from the first time I picked up a camera, I was working on distortion – with different lenses, focus shifts, focal length, and now with moving film. Even though it feels like I have a long way to go, and I’ll probably always have a long way to go, strip photography has finally afforded me that proper distortional balance for the ideas in my head, yet still leaving me plenty of room for evolution. Basically, the form resonates better with what I have to say. At the same time, the narratives and my thought processes have been heavily influenced by what strip photography does to the image. I’m going to guess it’s like that with every art form, the medium will always influence the direction of the work, while still being complementary to your personal artistic process.

JS:  Let’s use that segue to talk about process. We’re lashing together this interview so that there will be some context for folks looking at the images in Diffusion Three. How important do you think this is, and are you happy with the idea of the interview? Would you prefer that people have the paragraph next to the photo, or that they just saw it cold and had to wonder? Would you prefer that the audience wasn’t actually reading this interview?

JK:  I definitely don’t want a paragraph next to each image explaining what’s happening. But, I think that with the more labor-intensive processes, it’s important for the viewer to have access to an explanation of what’s going on. Certain people will be thinking: “Oh, this isn’t just a still image – this is something else – what’s going on here? I have to know.” It’s only fair that their curiosity be sated.


JS:  Well, we’ve spoken a lot in the past about how art, specifically photography, should always be able to stand on its own. That if a photo needs even a caption then it’s intrinsically missing something as a piece.

JK:  I know. And the need for explanation with strip photography is almost painfully required. How do I explain this effectively? When I see a photo on a wall, I want to have a reaction, I want to sense the beauty in the piece and have an emotional reaction – I want to be moved. And I think strip photography does that, or at least the successful images do. But then there are other people, the curious people. They want to know, and you have to tell them.

JS:  And to make any sense out of it, you have to be a photographer?

JK:  Well, yes and no. Lori [Jason’s fiancé] is certainly interested in the process. I mean, she’s certainly interested in the human element and the narrative as well, but even though she’s not a photographer, she’s still interested in the technical applications.

JS:  So let’s talk about tech. I love telling the story of you and strip photography, and your process. You’re out there in the field with your sundial and your abacus and your yardstick. You shoot with a modified Canon AE1 with a giant manual crank and you’re doing all this with your head and with your hands. I’m quite sure that when most people look at this work, they assume you’re using a computer. That, if anything, you just went crazy with Photoshop.

JK:  But I do use a computer. I mean, ultimately, I have to put them through the computer to be able to pull the kind of prints that I want. But all of the manipulation and distortion is done in the camera. I’ve always preferred to work on the front end – the computer is just a vehicle for getting to the prints.

JS:  I still think it’s important to point out that you could do all this without a computer.

JK:  Oh sure, all you really need is an opaque piece of material with a slit and a way to move the film. And some ideas that want to move.

JS:  Let’s talk a bit about the camera that you’re using and the modification.

JK:  The modification is simple. To do what I’m doing, you take a 35mm camera, and you put an opaque screen between the lens and the film. And in that opaque screen, you put a 1mm slit up the vertical length. This allows 1mm of light to strike the film as it passes by. You just open the shutter and start moving the film past the slit. I’m using a hand crank from a Beseler enlarger to transport the film. Other strip photographers have motor drives to move the film, which does provide smoother and cleaner images, but isn’t necessary.

JS:  And this is what makes everything look like a comic book?

JK:  True. At it’s most basic, anything that is moving in pace with the film becomes the “static” subject, and anything not moving blurs and streaks and becomes the background. There are subtleties here, of course. And it’s the exploration of those subtleties that’s most interesting.

JS:  Lastly, let’s talk about your short term and long term goals with strip photography.

JK:  In the short term, I need to keep perfecting my control.  As well as play more with depth in the image.  Also, start shaking things up a bit more – some macro, more elaborate costuming and props, panning, and precise control of lighting.  But ultimately, I’m most interested in using the power of the motion blur and then compounding the effects.  In the more long term sense, I’m interested in fully exploring the narrative, and specifically with the synthesis between science concepts and art. People seem to think of science and art as opposites, or at least irreconcilable. I think this can’t be farther from the truth. I think science and art are twins. Born of the same parents with different life aspirations perhaps, but nevertheless, family. Science and art are from the same gene pool.


For more Jason Kelley work, kindly visit his website:

As mentioned before, this interview is reprinted with permission.  Its original publication appeared in actual print – please see Diffusion Magazine, Volume III.

Thanks to Oliver L. Ogden for the incidental interview photography.

Jason’s first major solo show of Linear Strip Photography will be hosted by Good:  a Gallery.
The opening will be from 7-10pm on Fri, July 6th, 2012.
The gallery is located at 4325 N. Mississippi Ave.
We’ll be there.







Flying with film, X-rays, TSA and other fun stuff, Part 2.

An image from a trip to Rome several years back. This roll was x-rayed four different times.

Welcome back.  The last time we were here discussed some of the finer points of flying with film, specifically navigating the x-rays of airport security without risking damage to your film.  This week I want to talk about two ways to circumvent airport security (legally of course) altogether: processing out of country and/or shipping film via courier.

Processing abroad, pros and cons

X-rays only pose a risk to undeveloped film.  As mentioned in the previous post, x-ray exposure follows the same characteristics as exposure to light.  Just as developed film is no longer sensitive to light, it is also no longer sensitive to x-ray exposure.  It makes a certain amount of sense to have your film processed abroad and carry the negatives back through airport security on the return trip, right?

Processing your film in a foreign lab has its advantages, but I still don’t recommend it.  This strategy introduces you to a whole new set of risks, the greatest being the quality of the lab that you find to process your film.  The chemistry used for processing film is a tricky business.  It isn’t that hard to do it right, but it can be even easier to do it wrong, and sometimes the effects of poor processing can take years to show up.  I have an acquaintance who made a trip to India several years back and had all his black and white film processed while over there.  Four or so years after his return he was forced to start scanning all his negatives because they had begun to fade due to poor fixing in the development process.

In addition, once developed you are left to carry around negatives which are moderately more vulnerable to physical damage than when the undeveloped film was still wound inside the can or wrapped upon its spool.  You trade the risks of x-ray exposure for the risk of scratching, folding, or tearing your negatives.  One alternative to carrying around vulnerable negatives is to ship your film back home (or to a trusted hometown lab (wink wink)) after it is developed.

Despite the risks, avoiding x-rays is only one of the reasons to process film in a foreign lab.  If you are on an especially long trip, or traveling with camera new to you, or your camera has suddenly developed a strange new sound, it can be a good idea to have a couple rolls developed here or there to confirm that both you and your equipment are functioning as you would like them to be.  Better to find out about a mistake you are making or a failure of your camera halfway through that three week trip to Italy rather than after you return home.

If you are going in search for a lab while in a foreign country the best advice I can offer is to ask local photographers.  These days, thanks to sites such as Flickr or 500px, it is quite easy to link up with photographers living in countries you plan on visiting.  Send a couple of them e-mails and find out where they have their film processed.  A few quick e-mails could prove to be negative savers.  Additionally, look for a lab that has a more “serious” dedication to photography, as opposed to quick, one-hour labs attached to grocery stores, post offices, tourist attractions, etc.  The former cater more to the permanent photographer population in their area, the latter to the transient tourist crowd.  One is going to care much more about the quality of their work than the other.

So how about just shipping film?

Ah, USPS, UPS, FEDEX, DHL.  A photographer’s litany against airport x-rays.  But courier services can be as sticky a wicket as having your film processed by a foreign lab.  If you are staying in the US, and want to explore shipping methods, then USPS’ priority service as well as UPS or FedEx ground will probably be pretty safe and reliable.  Do make sure to take out insurance, particularly with USPS.  If you don’t and your package gets lost… you will be up a creek as they say.  Best to just trust me on that one.  Typically ground services are not x-rayed, though FedEx and others do state that they reserve the right to x-ray packages when necessary.  Putting a sticker that marks your package as “Film” will likely help, though it is far from a guarantee.  Blue Moon Camera ships and receives film via USPS most every day, and the only damage we ever see almost always results from improper packaging (think a roll of film in a normal letter envelope ripping open mid-transit).   FedEx and UPS have been similarly safe when it comes to domestic shipping.  But x-rays and poor handling should not be your only concern; ever seen those non-air-conditioned UPS trucks on a hot summer day?  They get pretty toasty, just ask the driver.  Heat and film are almost as poor a mix as x-rays and film.

The picture gets much murkier once you start shipping internationally because then you are introducing not only customs but local shipping procedures as well.  Some countries like Thailand (and perhaps Egypt currently) will x-ray every package going out in an effort to curb smuggling.  Also bear in mind while shipping from a foreign country that the English language warning labels you apply to your packages may not be understandable to everyone that ends up handling your film, and therefore the caution stickers may not be heeded at all.  X-rays aside, what kind of conditions is your box of film being held in while it is out of your presence?   There are just too many questions in this case.  X-ray exposure at the airports doesn’t pose enough of a risk and can be minimized such that I always feel much more comfortable with my film in my possession the whole trip.  At least then I know what is happening to my film, the ambient temperature it is being kept in, and where it is at all times.  I would resort to courier services only within the U.S.A. and even then only if I have exposed so much film, I could not possibly carry it back on the plane with me.

In summary

Despite the length and depth of these last two posts, I don’t want to heighten your concerns about x-rays.  The risk is real, but if you handle your film correctly, the risk is also quite slight.  In the event that you suspect your film has been x-ray fogged, then make sure your exposures are nice and healthy.  Even in film that has been damaged by x-rays, the fogging is usually pretty well masked by a healthy exposure.  It usually takes the combination of x-ray fogging and underexposure to really make the damage evident.

Flying with film is not difficult; it is not even all that dangerous.  Armed with good information, knowing how to ask for a hand-check and what to avoid – and flying with cameras and film is quite easy.  Simply avoid checked luggage, ask for hand-checks when possible, carry a changing bag if you have large format film, and don’t sweat an x-ray or two (just keep it to a minimum).  Don’t forget, if you get really antsy, you can always ship your film back straight to us.  We’ll  care for all those latent memories-to-be until you can return home.

So, until next time, safe travels and happy photographing.