When I was a boy I used to go fishing a lot. Not too often in a boat, but mostly on local piers along the Niagara River, Lake Erie or Lake Ontario in and around Buffalo, NY where I lived. Sometimes my Dad would come with me and hang out and other times he would drop me off with a couple of my friends. As I got a little older I would lash my fishing rod onto the frame of my red Huffy bike, strap my tackle box to the rear rack and peddle all the way down to Niagara Street myself. Neither my parents nor I ever thought twice about me riding down main streets by myself, miles from home, but I guess it was a different time then.

I would spend hours sitting on those old wooden or concrete structures that protruded into the water with my Dad, my friends or by myself. The fact is that I didn’t catch very many fish. But even at a relatively young age I realized that it wasn’t all about catching fish. The fishing was a means to an end because I was having a great time talking about all the girls I liked that would never want to be seen with me, telling stories and bad jokes, and just meeting other people, particularly the old timers.

I was taking in a world that was different from the world of my family, school, Boy Scouts or Little League. This was my special private world, void of expectations, but full of daydreams, fresh air, snacks and soda pop, and if I was lucky, sometimes some “keepers”.

Perhaps you are wondering why I am bringing up my fond memories of being young and going fishing. Well what I described is how I have felt for over 45 years when I go out photographing. I am in another special world. Not the world of my family, work, religion, politics or a hundred other things, both wonderful and not so good. This is my special world of seeing and just taking in life’s moments that are surrounding me as I walk, hike or drive. It’s wonderful and another means to an end, just like it was when I was “fishing”, even if I don’t end up ever snapping the shutter or getting any “keepers”. Of course not making an exposure or capturing a wonderful image is not the intended outcome, but just as I always hoped to catch a nice fish, it doesn’t always happen. Seeing the world and taking it all in, on your own terms, in your own time, is really special and an opportunity to be grateful for.

Think about it. You might enjoy yourself, and without the stress or self-imposed expectations of the results, you may get more “keepers” than before.

A November 24th economist.com blog entry concerning the photographer Anton Corbijn stated, “PHOTOGRAPHY as a slow, analogue art-form is dead. Over 200,000 photos are uploaded to Facebook per minute—that’s six billion each month—and there are over 16 billion photos on Instagram. Thanks to digital products anyone can be a Photoshop hack, selfie whore or filter junkie. We see with our smartphones, not our eyes. What need do we have for old-fashioned specialists using toxic chemicals to make a physical print that can be neither insta-shared nor “liked”?”

Recently I heard somewhere that over 3 billion photographs are being made each day. That’s right – 3 BILLION! Very few of these are being printed. So when displayed, they appear mainly on the Internet via the various photo sharing sites. As indicated above, the vast majority are most certainly digitally based. I think that’s fine, but how do you rise above the overwhelming quantity to create something special and truly meaningful to you?

Well, I believe more and more people are going back to film based photography, and to a lesser extent, getting back into the darkroom. Things will never be what they were 15 or 20 years ago, but again who would have thought vinyl LPs would make such a comeback (Not surprisingly, I never left vinyl and don’t own a CD player!). People are longing to create something that is really tangible, the results of a linear and creative process that can be held in one’s hands, vs. something viewed in a fleeting moment on an electronic device.

There can be no doubt that there is a tactile pleasure and emotional experience when holding a black and white print you made, mounted and matted, that cannot be duplicated when viewing something on your computer screen, tablet or phone.

I think you may know this is true. Yes, there is no hiding, no excuses, and it takes much more effort and more thought — but so does anything that is truly worthwhile in life!

Think about it…It’s the picture you first envisioned in your mind’s eye and exposed on film; the developed negative resulted in a print you labored to make as best as you could to recreate your original vision, then you finally viewed and ultimately held in your hands the results of your finished work. That is satisfying, and even more so if you take that print and put it on a wall somewhere.

In her wonderful essay “Photography Is My Passion,” Nancy Newhall eloquently expressed in greater detail what I am trying to say. It makes as much sense today as when she wrote it over 40 years ago:

“ There is always, eventually, the ‘moment of truth.’ Your straight photographer faces his ‘moment of truth’ constantly; there is nothing to hedge behind. There is only himself, a flexible instrument called a camera, with changes of lenses, filters, and films; and reality. And he usually has less than an instant to work in. The terrible pull of world events can indeed kill the journalist, blow him up or imprison him, but the average dedicated photographer just tries to face his environment, to face up to what he or she is or is not. Or what the environment is or is not.

There are two other ‘moments of truth’ in photography: first, when you examine your developed negative. Did you think it through? Have you what you hoped to have? Have you yet the discipline and the compassion and the insight? Stieglitz said, ‘When I make a photograph, I make love.’ And that is true. But if you don’t know enough to get your love into the negative, you will not have the next magic ‘moment’ – when you see your image coming up as a print in the developer. And that is magic. Then you set to work to see how much more revealing you can make your print. Adam, the old musician, says, ‘The negative is the score. The print is the performance.’”

There is no doubt that these moments of truth can be frightening, but to the dedicated and curious, they are worth the fear!

The great comedian Jack Benny was fond of telling a joke about Carnegie Hall.  “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”  The answer: “Practice, practice, practice”

The same is true with photography, or for that matter anything that takes work to get better at. The Internet is flooded with millions of photographs that are … well, not very good, because they are not what was originally in the mind’s eye of the photographer when the picture was made.

That is not an indictment of the pictures or those who took them. What I am trying to say is that it doesn’t always work out as intended, even with the best of intentions.
Ansel Adams said, “Twelve significant photographs in any one year is a good crop.” Think about that for a moment. Adams made thousands of images most of us would die for, yet very few made the cut. We all want more than a dozen a year but lets be honest with ourselves; are they really good, or in other words are they truly what we had in our mind’s eye when we made them?

What will give you or me a fighting chance to get to the Promised Land? Well guess what; before you hit pay dirt you need to kiss a lot of frogs, or make a lot of pictures, unless you have the special gift that most of us don’t have.

We all lead busy lives so I am going to go out on a limb and say that if you can’t be constantly out and about with your camera you need to keep your head in the game. Most of us work and have many obligations that somehow get in the way of what we want to be doing. I try to keep my head in the game when not photographing or being in my darkroom by reading as much as I can, looking at books by photographers I admire, practicing indoors without film in the camera or going to exhibits like the recent stupendous Paul Strand retrospective at the Philadelphia Museum of Art (I went twice in one week!). Sometimes I also go to an equally bad exhibit at a local gallery (seeing this type of thing encourages me to press forward with my own vision!).

Anyway, after I seriously got interested in making photographs as a teenager not many of my attempts were very good. But I kept on trying, kept going places with my camera. I am sure it helped that not having much money forced me into using only one camera with one lens. Yes I progressed beyond the Brownie, Instamatic and Argus, moving on to a Konica fixed lens rangefinder and eventually reaching the promised land … a new Honeywell Pentax Spotmatic with 50mm f1.8 lens! Yes, all those papers I delivered finally paid off!

Somehow I think that simplicity of the one camera/one lens philosophy can give you a better opportunity to “put yourself in the picture” as some have described it (I hope to talk about this more in another entry). I think this is a good strategy, at least until you reach a certain level of accomplishment. In any case, it took me about three years until I finally made a photograph that looked to me how I truly envisioned it to be in my mind’s eye.

Pay dirt!

So I had to make a lot of pictures…kiss a lot of frogs. I got better results the more time I put into it and the more images I made. By the way, the same was true of my darkroom skills (more on that at another time). I am not saying that it takes everyone as long as it took me. Maybe I am picky, who knows, but the point is that “practice, practice, practice” equals fun, fun, fun and results, results, results. So don’t sit around thinking about it, buying more gear or spending excessive time on the forums. Make images, some of which will be “keepers” and be meaningful to you!

When I was young, if you were serious about color you had to shoot Kodachome 25. Even Paul Simon had a song called Kodachrome! Underexpose of about one half stop or so for even more saturated color!!! I was able to get a used Agnecolor laminar flow processor in the late Seventies to make Cibachrome prints directly from color slide film. Funny thing is that when I finally got it all set up, bought all the funky chemicals and the necessary paper, and made a few prints, I realized that I really didn’t like color very much; it sort of reminded me of post cards.
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After we bought our house in the late Eighties we finished our basement and as part of the project the contractor was able to construct a separate space for a darkroom. What was so exciting was that for the first time I was going to have running water! Beyond having the small plastic sink located in the space, I would now have the opportunity to have a real darkroom sink my printing trays (and eventually a Jobo processor) could easily fit in. After considerable thought I decided I wanted a ten-foot sink that would easily accommodate a number of 16×20 trays.

Of course I wanted a stainless steel sink and in the late Eighties before the digital onslaught they were expensive, even when used. The price – – about $3000! Not even remotely possible! I informed my wife of the price and she promptly informed me that we couldn’t afford it. Then I told her I would build one out of wood. Her immediate response was laughing derision. She was familiar with my skillset so it would be better if we found the money for the stainless steel sink. She said at least it wouldn’t leak. Yes I had never built anything of any significance and even the small jobs were pretty much of a joke. I was aware of this. I love being told the obvious by the one I love.

So what was I to do? The only thing possible, given the perceived gauntlet that had been thrown down – BUILD A LARGE WOODEN SINK! Locate some plans. Check! I found a great book that I recommend to anyone considering a darkroom, “Build Your Own Home Dark-Room”, by Lista Deren and Will McDonald, Amherst Media (still available used). Purchase all the requisite materials and necessary tools. Check! Proceed to build it. Check! Yes, it wasn’t completely perfect, and it took a lot longer than I thought it would take to build, but damn it, it held water and even drained as it should!

There was only one problem that I didn’t think about then. I built it in the confined space of the newly completed darkroom and I soon realized that I would never be able to get it out the door, around the corner and up the adjacent stairs if we ever decided to move. No problem, I used it for twenty-five trouble free years and actually developed an attachment to the thing.

When we sold the house I promised the buyers I would get rid of the sink and cap off all the associated plumbing. Then I had another idea as improbable as my one to build the sink in the first place. I would saw both the sink and its base in half so it could be moved to Pennsylvania where it would eventually be put back together!

Again, my wife thought I was crazy, and after over thirty-five years of marriage she had the evidence to prove it. So what was I to do? Call me a sap but I wasn’t going to abandon it! So a good friend of mine brought a very frightening power tool over and together we were able to saw the whole thing in half. Well sort of.

The pieces were moved to Pennsylvania, and with the help of a kindly carpenter, who first laughed but then felt sorry for me, the sink was put back together again.

All’s well that ends well!

I lived in several suburban areas in the Washington, DC area for over thirty years and had a very interesting career. During a portion of it I did a significant amount of foreign and domestic travel that enabled me to make pictures in locations I would not normally be able to visit. All good, but I realized after a period of time that I really didn’t like living in the DC area any more. My kids were gone and for a variety of reasons I felt stifled. I know … a lot of people love it, so if I offend anyone, I apologize! But anyway, I had had enough. It got to the point where as much as I wanted to photograph, my desire to do so was loosing steam. I didn’t stop, but I did less and less and went into my darkroom fewer and fewer times. It was time to cut the cord and take a flyer!

But things don’t work out as easily as you always want them to so it was important to try to keep my head in the game in whatever way I could. And I think this important. For many reasons, it becomes difficult to photograph, either because of the demands of your job, or all that is involved in raising a family, or myriad other reasons. Somehow you need to keep your head in the game. Stay interested, keep trying to learn, find ways to motivate yourself so you are still trying to live a photographic life. Whether it is reading monographs of photographers that you admire, or going to exhibits at galleries or museums, or taking a workshop – it is critical to do whatever it takes!

I did some interesting things that worked for me, like investigating different cameras and formats. Yes I admit I like cameras as precision mechanical devices, but I continued to go to exhibits, read and study a lot, particularly through reviewing the magazines, monographs and newsletters I have in my photographic library and by doing research on the various Internet photography forums and websites. I also took a workshop very close to where I now live with Michael Smith and Paula Chamlee, and eventually assisted Michael during a weekend long printing marathon. It was while driving through Doylestown on route to the workshop that I discovered completely by accident exactly where I would like to live! I guess that can happen when you blindly trust your GPS rather than look for the fastest route! So by dumb luck I stumbled onto where I would be moving and doing what I wanted to do for the next phase of my life. It took me a couple of years to make it happen, but it did. And now that I visit the DC area vs. living there I have begun to think about it photographically again. Go figure!

So I did whatever I had to do to keep my head in the game, which ultimately led to me making a significant life change. I am not suggesting something this dramatic as a course of action for others, but what I am saying is don’t ever give up. Do whatever works for you to keep your head in the game so you will have a fighting chance to rekindle your photographic spark!

My objective is to create a home for those who love black and white film photography and the black and white silver gelatin prints made from film – for those already using film cameras and working in darkrooms, but more importantly, for those that have yet to give these wonderful mediums a try.

My purpose is not to bash digital photography or processes, or for that matter color, be it digital or film based. By all means enjoy them. Rather, my purpose is to create an ecosystem for and community of those that are fascinated by something unique and wonderful that just won’t go away — black and white analog photography!

My hope is that I can share stories and my experiences, and by doing so to encourage those that are already using film and are making silver prints to continue doing both. I also want to encourage those that are shooting film but have yet to step into the darkroom to try it. Finally, I hope to demystify and remove the fear for those that have never tried or thought about trying black and white analog photography and printing. Simple and fun! Sounds like a good idea.

It’s a completely different world and world experience for those that wish to embrace it, as evidenced by the fact that a number of types of film and photographic paper remain and continue to come on the market. Even Leica recently introduced another film camera model to go along with the two others currently in production. And it comes packaged with a role of Kodak Tri-X black and white film!

The fact is that more and more people are going back to or want to try traditional photography and processes for a variety of reasons – for example, in my opinion it is hard to match the certain look and feel of a black and white film based silver image. Furthermore, as our daily lives seem to be dominated more and more by the omnipresent computer screen, black and white photographs made from film and printed using darkroom processes are a slower and more methodical means of creating something meaningful in a world that seemingly is rushing by at an ever faster pace. It’s a series of hand/eye/brain steps from the loading of film, to the development of the negative, to the emergence of the silver print in the developer, and finally to the mounting of the finished print that takes you to what I believe is a different, and yes, special place and completely different life experience.

The core of this site will consist mainly of entries I will write. I hope they will stimulate a conversation between us, all in support of making things entertaining and stress free — so that you will want to dip your toe, or better yet wade into the pool where the water is warm and fine.
Entries may consist of stories, discussions of processes, tutorials and in general, the things I am up to photographically that (I hope) will be interesting and fun to share. Embedded in the entries will be photographs I have taken, as well as audio streams or videos where I think they may shed light on what I am trying to convey and further our dialog together.

In addition to the core entries will be more detailed sections devoted to my gear and why I like it (not that it’s what is best for others!!), my darkroom, the books in my library that inspire me, a selected gallery of my photographs and notices of opportunities for meet-ups and workshops in Bucks County or possibly other exciting locations nearby.

In the end, I hope to create a meeting place for like-minded individuals that are drawn to the purity and beauty of the black and white analog process and final image created. To facilitate some thinking about what can be and provide some inspiration for those that need a push to keep going or just to keep their heads in the game until there is time to reengage. But most of all I hope to have some fun and hope you will too!

And so, with little fanfare, but with much hope, let the drums roll and the kazoos blow as I welcome you to Michael Marks Photography!