Experiments with borrowed 8×10 Deardorff

I have no idea why I wanted to try this. Maybe because, with the H2 camera, I can’t get a lens that’s any faster than f2.2. I want a 1.4 lens, but on an H2. So I go fantasizing about shooting 8×10, trying to drop the background soft. It’s been a gut-wrenching few days. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Newfound respect for anyone that can pull 8×10 off successfully.

Firstoff, my true feeling is: Don’t mix Film with Digital. If you’re going to shoot film, then call a real lab and pull a CPrint. It’s like making out with your sister or something — some things just ought to be kept separate. And don’t go messing around with lame Epson software or lame SilverFast, and try to scan the color negs. It’s just wrong. Do it right, go to a real lab, and pull a real Cprint. Just one opinion.

These frames are just tests with my friends. Just to see: “Is the 8×10-ness effect enough to justify the hassle factor of shooting it?”. (My qualified answer is: If you’re gonna put it on a website, or even put it in a book, CMYK, then it’s not worth the trouble, because the 8×10-ness just won’t show. But if you’re going to make a 30×40 killer CPrint and frame it, and put it on the wall at AIPAD, then yes, it’s worth it). There are also several frames from this local Dungeons/Dragons thing that happens in a local park here; I shot those yesterday afternoon. These are not keeper images; this is just me, trying on a new suit, seeing if it fits. (Not sure it does).

The whole thing about approaching strangers is made much easier when you walk up with a wooden Deardorff, compared to a Joe-Anybody Canon. Or even Hasselblad. That’s part of it for me, too — to use the camera in a small way to overcome my fear of approaching people on the street. There just seems to be this paranoia in the culture about being photographed; maybe everyone’s watching too much FoxNews. Like my friend Hollis says, “They’ll put their whole damn life on Facebook or a webpage or a blog, but God forbid you’d shoot a photograph of them.” So the Deardorff helps. You walk up with a hundred year old wooden monster of a camera, and it’s sort of an instant message that says, “Hey, I’m kinda serious here; I’m not a weirdo”.

But the downside is the Fear Factor about composition, and seeing everything upside down on the ground glass, and the trying to compose under a dark cloth, and then the biggest thing — making sure the subject doesn’t move out of the focus range, after you’ve closed the lens and pulled the dark slide. Made worse in my case, because I’m wanting to shoot wide open at f5.5, and the depth of focus is inches. They move a slight bit, and the whole frame is soft. So yes, lots of angst about the operation of the camera. I guess if I traveled with two assistants, it might be faster, but when you’re standing on the street with someone, one half of your brain is trying to maintain an intelligent conversation with them, and make sure they don’t get bored and leave, and the other half of the brain, simultaneously, is figuring meter readings, bellows factor, trying to remember if the lens is opened or closed, and freaking out about them moving. When you’re shooting people, alone, with 8×10, the inside of your brain is going a million miles an hour, like the 10 Freeway at rush hour.

Of course, I’m not going to get comfortable with shooting people with a Deardorff in one weekend, but this first weekend was nerve-racking and stressful. Hell, just having enough film holders loaded, when the lab is now closed three days a week, is angst unto itself. (I have to go to the lab, to use their holding room, to load film. Lab is closed; I have no film).

Andrew George was nice enough to let me borrow this camera. I bought a 360mm lens off of ebay to go on it. The camera used to belong to Slick Lawson, so it’s got some good JuJu on it.

Will I keep shooting this format, and commit to actually buying one? I have no idea. Can’t imagine shooting a real job with one. I’ve gone thru the initial 30 sheets, and I’m going to think about it for a few days, to see if it’s still calling my name. What I know is: I love the act of shooting the picture with this camera, but the post-production, after working with a Phase back for so long, seems very archaic and sloppy and Fred Flintstone, and not in a good way. I just had to write something down, and vomit out all this angst about the camera, and the scanning, to get it out of my system.

{Update, May 19th: I got mad today, and sat down and rescanned several images. Converted them, toned and bleached. Not sure if they’re any better, but they’re damn sure different. New page, just scroll down.}

Sleeper, from Elmington Park.

Tommy, (one armed monster), at Elmington Park.

Two Girls Fighters, at Elmington Park.

Harvie, (ringleader), at Elmington Park.

Buddy Jackson, after I photographed his new work for his upcoming show.

Brent Stewart. (neg copied to digital back, and then messed with).

Buddy and Adrienne, with their garden. Sunset, Friday.

Wolf Hoffmann, in my back yard.

Hollis Bennett, in his back yard, (working with Petzval lenses).

Another tough day: lost Clyde today

Who knew that you could get so attached to some stray cocker spaniel? Who knew? He was no MENSA candidate — couldn’t fetch a ball; couldn’t run after a Frisbee; couldn’t do much but eat endlessly, and walk through the park. He was terrified of most every loud sound. He smelled pretty funky after only a few days. But wow, did I get attached to him.

I apologize in advance for posting these “dog snapshots”, but you’ve got to suffer thru them. It’s just part of the deal.

I ran upon him, about seven or so years ago in Fort Negley Park. I was there, walking Dottie, my little Blue Heeler, and I watched this guy literally drive up, set him out on the ground, and drive away. Right in front of my eyes. To me, it was inconceivable that a man would do that — I thought it was some Wonderdog, who would walk himself, while the owner went to Burger King or something, and then came back an hour later and picked him up.

But the guy never came back. So now, I’ve got TWO dogs. I threatened to find a home for him, because Cocker Spaniel was not my choice of breed. But I got attached to him immediately. He was a “special needs” dog; the owners had obviously abused him. He’d run from me; not let me near him. Until slowly but surely, after months, he began to trust me.

One day, during the middle of an ad job, he got out of my fence, and disappeared for three days. I was a wreck; going to Kinkos at 3 in the morning, xeroxing signs for telephone poles, and driving the neighborhoods every night after the job ended, looking for him. One day, a woman called me from about two miles away — she’d seen him the day before, she thought. So the next day, I drove every street, and every alley, and then miraculously, there he was, walking down the alley — dirty, tired, and hungry. And not a scratch on him. How he crossed those busy streets without getting hit, I’ll never know.

We went on lots of travels together. The longest was cross-country, from Nashville to Santa Fe, in my old Ford F150 pickup. I built him an elevated stage in the back seat, so he could see out. We stayed for a week, and then drove home. A few weeks ago, I was fearing that we were near the end, so we took him to Seaside, Florida, to see the ocean, before he died. (He was not amused at the sand and the waves, but he did fine. He just stayed under the beach umbrella, with his hat on, and read Faulkner).

About six months ago, he began coughing. (This sounds like some setup to a scene in “An Officer and a Gentleman”, and it kinda is). I took him to this great vet at Hillsboro Animal Clinic, (Dr. Chad Given, awesome vet). He told me that Clyde had an enlarged heart, and it would only get worse. He chased it agressively with five kinds of medicines, but in the end, the fluid just started to build up around his lungs, and yesterday, it got really bad. So today, Dr. Given and an assistant came to my house, and put him to sleep. I gave him a haircut and a bath, to get him ready; not that he cared. But he’d been an awesome dog, and it just seemed right.

It’s been sixteen years since I haven’t had a dog in the house. Tomorrow morning will be very odd — no one to let outside, and no one to make breakfast for.

Tough day.

A Toast to his Good Life. About 3pm yesterday; it was getting so morose that I wanted to set up a happy picture to remember him by. The beer is just a prop -- he did not make me drink it.

This morning, after his bath, right before the vet arrived. He was pretty sedated at this point.

Yesterday afternoon, trying to get a smile out of him.

Clyde in Seaside, a few weeks ago. Obviously just overjoyed at being at the beach.

(Updated, after finding a couple of frames on a hard drive):

Here he is, weeks after I got him, maybe seven years ago. Look at the hair!

Summer Circus and the Unloved Mailbox

We’re in the fourth straight day of rain. But the circus is coming to town. The carnies had their windbreakers pulled up tight to their faces today, but nothing much was happening. They were all undercover, near the TiltAWhirl, smoking cigarettes and waiting for the sky to open up. The rides sat in the rain, waiting for something to happen. Below is one surreal scene I saw today — a scene within a scene.

Hillbilly Village waits patiently to open its doors. (click/enlarge).

And then, down the street, is what I call “The Most Unloved Mailbox In The World”. I drive by it almost every day; it’s near my house, and near my burrito place. Every time I drive by it, it’s like it’s leaning out to me, beckoning for me to stop and close its door. How can you have a relationship with a mailbox? Well, I do. It also reminds me of one of the scenes from the old original Batman, on TV, where one of the villains would get smacked by Robin, and his mouth would open, and he’d crash through a fake-glass window. I almost want to add in one of those bright yellow “POW!!!” signs, right next to the door of the mailbox.

The Unloved Mailbox, abandoned and desiring attention. (click/enlarge).