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!