sometimes I feel that I'm being told how to tie a necktie with a perfect windsor knot. Or how to fold a pressed, cotton cloth handkerchief. Or the correct way to brush HushPuppy shoes. How to practice my cursive writing skills. Why fountain pens still are the ultimate writing tool. Why we should follow the Zone System. Declarations that nothing will ever beat Dektol. How to adjust a carburetor. The importance of spit polishing dress shoes. The difference between Oxfords and Brogues. The right way to invest in whole life insurance. Learning how to manually change gears in a car. The vital importance in English literature of understanding the umlaut. The need for tube powered "hi-fi" amplifiers. Why people over sixty can't workout strenuously but must resign themselves to walking slowly. How vital contact sheets are to my process. Why I should admire Lee Friedlander (or fill in the blank with your favorite mid-1960s, black and white landscape photographer...). Why I should pay attention to the ramblings of the old folks of photography over at Lenswork. Appreciating the vital importance of pre-visualization. How and why to use a coffee percolator. How to keep the ink from drying out on your typewriter ribbon. How to type with two fingers. Why Sanka? Which hemorrhoid cream is most effective? How to maintain my lawn mower. And how to eat lunch in a classic American diner. The magic of eating soft foods. And hot cereal. The importance of making lists. Why skipping steps in a time honored process is frowned upon. And so, so, so much more.
Please, explain escrow to me one more time. And while you are at it be sure to quote some lines from William Blake. Remind me again...what is the Golden Ratio. Can you give me a quick, written tutorial about how to use the Rule of Thirds? And finally, what must I never do with a photograph if I want to win awards at my local camera club?
As older photographers (you can exclude yourself and set your own bar as to what makes one an "older" photographer) we tend to carry a whole lot of baggage around with us when it comes to our craft. And just about anything else. Everything else around us tends to move forward. to evolve. Cars get more efficient and more reliable. Great sounding audio equipment shrinks from room size, costly behemoth equipment farms to earbuds and an iPhone. Medicine cures more stuff better. We can get power from the sun instead of by burning coal or logs. But there is a constant current of thought amongst photographers who lived through the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s and onward that gets gelled in, locked in at a certain moment, a certain era of photography. And collectively we grasp that moment for all time with a death grip that defies any surrender to progress. Or social change. Or cultural progression. Or any sort of intellectual vitality.
If we were to listen to our peers, or if our photographer peers were able to legislate how photography "should" work we'd be locked in our darkrooms, chained to our enlargers, squinting through the red light and putting test strips of paper into microwave ovens to check and see how much our sample will darken as it dries down. We would make 11x14 inch prints with a live area of 6x9 inches. Each print would require archival washing after a stint in selenium toner. And once dried and flattened and spotted we'd rush out to see if it met the standards set by the holy saint of photography, Ansel Adams. Would John Sexton approve?
I'm not buying any of the nostalgia. I'm not getting behind the gold standard. I'm not bowing in reverance to the visual ramblings of Cole Weston or Judy Dater. I'm interested in what stuff looks like now. And I'm much more interested in the popular media for viewing images now. The web. The monitor. The screen.
I've been to too many galleries that cater to customers my age. It's like art stuck in amber. And it's the same old guys coming in for each opening. Favorite camera over one shoulder, bifocals at the ready. Plastic cup of cheap wine carefully clutched in one hand. Mewing over the "wonderful tonality" of a print with content as boring as a tax audit. While all the good stuff is floating around in the ether.
I'm still a working photographer but I haven't shown a print or made a print in at least ten years. Not a print that was made as a final product and meant for a wall or a show. Even as far back as 1996 when I did my last show of very large black and white prints from Rome the prints had accents of oil paint overlaid and handwritten notes in the exposed margins. The real draw for that show was a looped presentation of hundreds of color slide images from the "eternal city" shown on a Sony Trinitron 27 inch television set. That's where people ended up. Pulled up chairs. Drank less than cheap wine. Ate cheese but also dates filled with feta and wrapped in smoked bacon. It was an event instead of just a show.
The immediate and overwhelming acceptance of the audience to seeing images at five seconds per on a color TV screen told me everything I needed to know to go forward with the craft.
Beveled mats are now the polyester leisure suits of art. Endless gray tones are the two dimensional translation of Father Knows Best.
Just a thought after a particularly great swim practice. Surrounded by fast and passionate younger swimmers. We don't even swim like we used to. We swim better.
****Some very, very sensitive readers might misconstrue the time line here. MJ wrote something different but along the same lines of "photography changing" this afternoon. My post was published @12:37 CDT, previous to his, I think. Just sayin'. Since I didn't see his until later in the day there is no way that this could be construed as a reply or riff on his post.
