I was living in the upstairs of a two story duplex on the West side of the UT campus. That was back in 1979 and 1980. I was just getting into "real" photography which meant that I worked some extra night shifts at Kerbey Lane Café to save up the money to buy a very, very shitty Novatron 120 electronic flash box and one plasticky Novatron flash head. But the flash head did have a modeling light and that was truly something. I waited tables for a while so I could take the plunge and buy a medium format camera. I was out to emulate my two idols, Irving Penn and Richard Avedon; both of whom used 6x6 cm twin lens reflex cameras for many of their definitive images from the 1950s and 1960s.
The camera I could afford was a used YashicaMat 124G (not a Rolleiflex or Hasselblad) which was in very, very good condition. A few months later, for my birthday, my parents helped me out so I could buy an actual flash meter. Now I was on a roll. A roll of Panatomic X, that is...
My upstairs apartment was Austin Chic at the time. It was about six blocks from the UT campus, situated in an older, residential neighborhood and surrounded by trees. I had an (seemed like it at the time) enormous living room, a separate dining room, a bedroom that looked out onto a forest of trees, a workable kitchen in which I personally made the finest quiche Lorraine I have ever sampled, and the kitchen fed out onto a second story patio that was perfect for parties in temperate weather. I can't remember if I had an air conditioner but this was pre-global warming and we were used to the mid-90s for Summer temperatures. I am certain I had a box fan and that was pretty good too.
I'm sure you know how it is when you first get stung by the photography bug and decide that you might want to do this for, well, the rest of your life. Every day was an opportunity to shoot something new, rush to the Ark Co-op Darkroom to hand develop my film (one roll at a time; all I could afford), and then spend long nights in the darkroom, making prints on Ilfobrom, double-weight, graded paper. I'm pretty sure I wore out a couple pairs of flip-flops pacing back and forth, waiting for film to wash.
In one corner of my living room I set up a photography area that consisted of a short roll of gray seamless paper, my single flash head on a stand, and the electronic flash generator box -- which scared me when it occasionally sparked and smoked. The flash head held a 42 inch, translucent/white umbrella that some kind soul passed along to me, a spindly tripod and, of course, my Richard Avedon and Irving Penn wannabe YashicaMat 124G. No Polaroid. No previews. Just blind faith.
One afternoon B. came over in the heat of the Summer. I asked her to pose in front of the gray seamless. In those days, in order to conserve the pricey battery in my flash meter I'd done some tests and I had a string attached to the light stand and I had tied a knot in the string at the point where the flash meter had shown me the best exposure. Rather than fire up the meter I'd have my subject stand so they were just at the knot point of the string and I'd set the camera for the exposure implied by that simple tool.
I made prints that I still have in a box in the file cabinet next to my desk. They’ve withstood the test of 45 years without yellowing, staining or losing their ability to bring an huge, warm smile to my face.
I used the "string method" of exposure control for a couple of years and just like the guide number routine for on camera flashes, it worked pretty well. Not anywhere close to "state of the art" in 1979.
I sometimes wonder if my modest assemblage of gear in the early years goads me to spend like a drunken sailor now that I've figure out the money end of the equation. I'd ask my shrink. If I had a shrink.
I recently unearthed this roll after many years. A whole roll of images. Twelve of them. And you know what? They look pretty good. And that can be interpreted three ways... On the one hand it may tell us that photography is not that hard to master; or at least be proficient at. On the other hand it could be that I'm just an amazingly talented photographer. But the most obvious answer is that I've cheated by nearly always having models who were so cute, and beautiful, and animated, that the technical stuff didn't matter at all. That's the idea I'm going with.
I worked at an Austin restaurant for about two years. I was a short-order cook who did the Saturday and Sunday brunch shifts (the money makers for the business) as well as several "bar shifts." We cooked burgers, fajitas, omelettes, eggs to order, enchiladas, salads and four kinds of pancakes until the wee hours of the mornings. We helped the folks who closed down the bars get some solid food into their beer and liquor saturated bellies at 3 in the morning. But the schedule worked for me because it left the normal workday hours open for me to do portfolio shows at magazines and ad agencies, small jobs and much daylight experimentation.
I eventually discovered and locked onto Tri-X as my preferred film but seeing how nice some of these shots from 1979 look I wonder if I've been barking up the wrong tree. Panatomic X seems pretty nice to me.
Much later I succumbed to the lure of the 35m cameras. At least for a while. Canon TX and then, afterwards a Canon EF. My great, great, great aunt brought it over on the Mayflower. But it worked well. Never did like those batteries though.
