There’s nothing quite like the solitude of my darkroom at dawn, the hum of my enlarger in the background, and the image slowly appearing on paper in my hands. For me, photography is more than capturing a moment—it’s a meditative journey into light, shadow, and form.
It’s three a.m. Something by Bach or Mozart is playing softly in the background. An image of “Morning Light on the Towers, Needles District” is slowly appearing on the piece of paper as I gently massage it in a tray of chemicals under the soft amber glow of a safelight. The fan of my enlarger hums softly in the background. In my mind, this is what photography is all about. This is, for me, after all, a solitudinal endeavor. I create in an atmosphere of quietude—quietness and solitude. It’s where I think best, both in the field and in my darkroom, and where I can concentrate most readily. In fact, to a great degree, I lose track of time. It is with purpose, then, that there are no clocks in my quiet, dark workspace.
Months earlier, I had carried my backpack of over fifty pounds into the early morning darkness in search of this and other images. After scouting this place the previous evening, I thought I knew where I wanted to be the next morning, pre-sunrise. I thought I could get a promising composition, but you never know for sure until you are there and in the moment. I quickly set up my camera, field edited the composition, determined the exposure I thought would yield the best results, and waited for the sun to make its morning appearance. When the sun was in the right position, including a setting moon, I exposed the film. From there, the piece of film was transported to my darkroom, processed by hand, and proofed, and now I am in the process of extracting the image I know is hiding inside the negative.
Creating and printing great, even good, black-and-white photography demands a commitment. It is not for the weak of heart, weak of knee, or the uncommitted! The reward for all this effort is an image on the wall whose highlights softly reflect image detail and whose shadows glow in subtlety. They almost always evoke an emotional response. You can’t simply “take them or leave them.”
A primary task in black-and-white photography is to remove unneeded and unnecessary elements. Black-and-white photography is, by nature, a more abstract medium than color. Removing color from the equation allows one to reduce the scene being portrayed to its most basic elements, removing the thing that most often interferes with understanding the material: color.
In reality, a photograph isn’t really black and white, though that is what we call it. A great black-and-white photograph can have a range of tones that go from very dark, or very, very dark, with detail but not black, to tones that are very light, approaching what we call paper-base white, but not an absolutely white white, with no detail. Black-and-white photography is a medium unto itself and should not, as often happens, be an afterthought or the byproduct of a color photograph that isn’t good in color. Chances are, if it’s bad in color, it’ll be bad in black and white too. I work in black and white as a purposeful action, and because I do photograph that way, mainly using black-and-white film, the decision in the field and at the time of exposure is to create a black-and-white image for my wall or someone else’s wall.
(By the way, and for what it’s worth, I will be publishing an article in the near future about a method I use for making my black-and-white images when I start with a digital original. There are times when using a large-format film camera isn’t practical. More on that later.)
This image was done using a Canon 6D camera and a Canon 24-105mm lens. Phenomena like this change and disappear very quickly, so I grabbed the camera and tripod that were closest to me at the moment. The black-and-white conversion was done completely using Photoshop.
For me, black and white has a much greater capability for self-expression than a color image, but that’s probably more a matter of personal preference. Since black-and-white photography is my background, it is my usual default position. Working with black-and-white film means I have to really slow down and consider what I am portraying. I spend all my focus in that moment on the composition I am building. It requires me to concentrate on the light: how does it fall across the subject? What is the pattern of light? I almost always want a very organized pattern of light, and getting that requires me to pay close attention to the details of the composition—form, shadow and highlight, texture, and how the elements work together or against each other to form a cohesive image without the distractions of hyper-saturated or desaturated colors.
There is a much greater opportunity in black and white for an object to “morph” into a “what is it,” losing all sense of scale or proportion. Being reduced to pure form and elements of design enables the art and artist to produce images that are emotionally evocative.
I place these two photographs in proximity, and I title them together as "Entanglement." Even though they are over a thousand miles apart—more like 1,500 miles—there are great similarities, and part of what I try to do is to see those similarities and show them. When a photographic artist goes into the field to produce traditionally processed black-and-white images, especially when using large-format cameras, they must, of necessity, be very observant. I move very slowly, especially in new territory with previously unknown material, trying to be as focused as possible on the material I might want to portray. (With the image on the right side, there was a guy standing nearby who was frustrated by not seeing anything, only complaining and wanting to talk about camera junk. But there they were... photographs, and I didn’t have time to talk. He remarked that I was pretty rude, but I question who the rude one really was.) I have mentioned the necessity to slow down greatly when working this way. In fact, I enter almost a meditative state where an image begins revealing itself to me, almost intuitively. I enter a zone and honestly don’t hear people nearby chattering away about nothing. The process demands that I pay attention to my material—the art side—and then pay attention to technical details—the technical or craftsmanship side.
When the Whole World Is Digital, Why Still Analog?
I am not anti-technology. Indeed, in my commercial work, I do work in a digital environment, and it serves me well. What I also know is that working using traditional methods and materials keeps a connection between me and the classic photographers alive. Working as I do, using large cameras and black-and-white film, requires me to slow down. A very hard workday—from before first light until after the sun is down and it is semi-gloom—might yield a dozen different and unique exposures on a good day. Most often, there will be only four or five exposures.
A good photographer, working very hard, may be able to produce 12 significant works in a year’s time. Quite a departure from current thinking that all I have to do to produce better photographs is to get the latest and greatest camera body and lens, and I’ll automatically get better photographs. Not when the weakest link in the equation is you! I believe that until you really, really know your material, your camera and film, and what they will do under varying conditions, any really good photographs you produce are more a product of chance than of your creative eye and developed technique.
Each successive iteration of a photograph that I process in my darkroom is the result of decisions made about the previous version. An initial print is made, based on my best judgment about that negative. When it is pulled from the fixer, it is placed on a sheet of Plexiglas and moved to an area for evaluation. It is examined to determine whether it’s too light, too dark, or just right; the initial print seldom is “just right.” What about the level of contrast? Is there too much or too little? Are there areas of the print that need to have the level of contrast increased or lowered, made lighter, or maybe burned down? All of these factors have to be evaluated before a final print is arrived at. Then, once these questions have been answered and a solution arrived at, it is time to produce the final print. Provided I have recorded all the steps correctly and executed all of them perfectly, perhaps ten or more tries later, the image is arrived at.
However, no matter how hard I try to make the perfect photograph, it is probably an elusive objective. Mistakes are an unavoidable part of the process. The foibles, errors, and emotions become part of the final photograph. They are an inextricable part of the equation. That is one of the things that separates a hand-printed black-and-white photograph from one that is produced digitally. When you see a photograph hanging on a wall and you see the small errors—maybe a black speck caused by a piece of dust that was inside a film holder, or a small white scratch on the image caused by film damage—you can know, at that time, that this is a hand-printed photograph. As much as we work to eliminate these things, they will always be there because this photograph was produced at the hands of the artist.
"... the initial print seldom is just right.” No kidding. Fortunately digital printing is not so terribly expensive. But, I too, see things after each print that I want to change. Anyone who tries to convince me that I can print exactly what I see on the monitor, either by monitor calibration or paper profiles, is probably content with about anything which comes off the printer, or isn't looking at their monitor or prints very carefully.
Black and white requires a completely different way of thinking in most instances. Western Colorado... sounds like almost paradise to me. I have a sister in law that lives in GJ, though we don't get up that way too often. Usually I will go over to Zion, then up to Capitol Reef, or up through Monticello, then over the ridge and to Hanksville and Cap Reef. Zion is too touristy these days, but there is a lot of open material near Hanksville. It has become famous in LA yet.
A thing I haven't addressed yet, that will lead to a lot of "squawking" I am sure, is the difference in perception between an ink jet print and a silver print. I use both Epson Exhibition Fiber paper and Red River Fiber based, and those are not cheap papers, for ink jet and Ilford MCFB Classic darkroom paper. Though I am not entirely enamored with the Ilford paper, it is what's available right now. Not my favorite paper ever, that was Kodak Polymax FB multi contrast, and it was the best paper I ever used. My perception is that while I can make a very respectable ink jet print, it looks quite good till I place a silver based print of the same thing next to it. The difference is that with an ink jet print, the ink sits on top of the paper base. In a silver based print the image is in the emulsion. I may be the only one that sees it, but I do. Interesting thing is I try to use an ink jet material that looks as close to a darkroom print as possible, and they do look very, very similar. But when they prints are directly side by side the gallery goers inevitably gravitate to the darkroom print, and those a people with little knowledge of the differences in processes. The question I most often get is, "is that a real photograph"? Interesting question since I regard them as co-equal, though I too prefer the darkroom print. BTW, paper has gone so high in price... A 16x20 sheet of fiber based paper is now almost $8.00 per sheet, and it might take 15-20 tests to arrive at a conclusion, and conclusions are never conclusions.
I'd love to see more Fstoppers articles on printing papers. I can't imagine too many people with silver printing experience would surface... seems most people can't even justify an inkjet printer of their own. I can't ever remember even seeing a silver print anywhere. But I really enjoy talking papers.
Digital prints don't have to be inkjet or dye-sub. Of course it is farming it out to a third party, but Millers and others print digital images onto papers with chemical emulsions by exposing the paper with lasers and then developing with chemicals. I've been pleased with monochrome prints done by Miller's/Mpix using Ilford True B&W paper, which has a silver-based emulsion. I've also had certain monochrome images that worked well printed on their "metallic" papers, which are also chemical, not inkjet nor dye-sub.
For what it's worth, the smell of fixers makes me nauseous, and if I ever have to smell fixer again it will be too soon. So I'm happy to do my dodging, burning, etc. on the computer before sending it to a third party printer who uses chemical paper in a precisely controlled environment that gives consistent results.
Yes, it's different from film photography. But it's still capable of producing wonderfully artistic prints. And there are a few advantages to shooting raw and doing monochrome digitally. For instance, one can alter the color of a 'color filter' in very fine gradations, rather than having to chose from a handful of physical color filters with no continuous gradations between two of them on hand when the image was shot. Fine tuning the exact color of the filter in digital conversion isn't all that different from shooting film with an eye towards development and then "working" the development through various combinations on a series of prints until one finds the print they visualized before shooting.
I get it. Still, even type C prints have a different look than actual silver based, fiber based, black and white paper. I am not familiar with the Ilford paper you are citing, so I will look it up. There are people that are actually allergic to some darkroom chemicals, and maybe that's the issue. I, at no time am against digitally produced ink jet or darkroom prints made from digital file, since if one is producing a color print there is not a small darkroom material available for color printing with the demise of Ilfochrome, which was a singularly beautiful material, especially the very high gloss material. At some point in the future I will be doing a column here about using camera filters in the field. I have done some experimenting using those filters on my digital camera, and perhaps I will speak to that then. I have met film photographers that carried not one, but three or four different levels of Yellow, Red and Green filters. I do carry three different levels of Yellow in my back pack, two of Red and only one Green and a deep Blue - which is hardly ever used. The only reason to not carry more is that I like my options to be more limited in the field, since it forces me to think, not in terms of equipment, but in terms of solutions and how to make them do what I want them to do.
I am also aware that Leica had a camera model available that was only black and white and that my Canon digital cameras have a black and white setting too, so there is that. Not against digital cameras, since sometimes that is the only alternative there is, especially traveling internationally by air, since I hate paying for extra luggage fees.
It's the same Ilford B&W paper used in chemical darkrooms. The only difference is the light source that exposes it. Instead of an enlarger shining light through a negative, light is projected onto the paper using lasers.
I was not aware that this was available from MPix. I will check it out. I knew that Whitehouse printed on true black and white paper.
I am not seeing that on Millers website. They do offere giclee services in black and white, but I don't see actual Ilford black and white. Maybe I am just overlooking it. It would be an advantage to me since I have need to print oversized black and white. My darkroom can go up to 20x24 so a lab that can go larger would be nice for me. Can you tell me how it's listed please?
I got it via my Zenfolio account through their MPix branch. I just looked and it appears to no longer be an available option. Dang!
Always a pleasure to read your posts. The learning curve, the testing, the overall time that goes into analogue photography I think goes unappreciated on the digital crowd. Mastering these techniques takes years not days on youtube. It used to be a necessity before digital and you had to have a passion to pursue it. The results speak for themselves with unique original works.
Thanks for another great article. I am really enjoying your entire series on the subject.
Surely, you are welcome.
Truly masterly images, the product of commitment, attention to detail and most of all an awareness and empathy with the world around you. Your article is a fine exposition of the joy of monochrome photography.
On a practical note,to produce this level of work must require total dedication in terms of time? I struggle with balancing my obligations to family and friends and spending time in ‘solitudinal endeavour’. Is this a dilemma you face?
I think it's a question nearly everyone asks, to one degree or another. From a book that I have by Eliot Porter: "In a 1979 interview Aline (Eliot's wife) described her husband as a wonderful, honest, intelligent person who was very rare, very solitary, and she credited the success of their marriage in part to the fact that she had her own interests."
I prefer to keep my own company. Of course, it has to be a balance. Anyone that is always alone is probably mentally unbalanced. I do enjoy my friends. I do enjoy a good discussion that remains civil and intellectual and doesn't descend into ad hominem and emotional ranting. I enjoy my wife's company, but she allows me to be solitary, even when we are together. When we go to a location and I am out walking and doing my work, she gets a book and reads, or naps, until I return to camp or to my vehicle. Sometimes one of my dogs goes with me, however again, they entertain themselves and know not to drift too far away. I think that most artists do require solitude and quiet. I cannot work effectively if there is a lot of noise around, especially boomba boomba loud, obnoxious noise. I welcome soft classical, instrumental and even some opera, at low volume so that it doesn't draw attention to itself. BTW, I just passed 77 but am often judged to be in my early 50's. As I often say, aging is inevitable, becoming old is a choice.
I know how it goes. My wife is very patient.
I started in stills in High School backpacking and shooting B/W film processing my own, building a darkroom etc. Then a career in film I abandoned my still work for commercial cinema. Always pressure, always time tables, dealing with agents, producers, directors. It's own rewards but all encompassing especially with a family. I retired a few years ago and now I'm back to where I started. I enjoy my still work immensely and am getting back to those old skills with the same passion I had. What I am saying is that LIFE dictates what you can do with your time. Being retired I now have the time. It's all about finding balance at each stage of life and enjoying the ride at wherever stage that may be.
No clock? Surely you have some sort of timer in your darkroom? Or do you develop your film in a different location?
No clock for what time it is. Several Gralab digital and analog timers.