A Darkroom Diary

My professor quoted a master last night.  I believe it was Szarkowski.  It's possible I am off because my mind was mostly present and partly adrift, but he said a photographer must learn and come to terms with an image living in the "perpetual now."  These words resonated so much so that the little 5 year old girl I used to be felt it.  

home is where the mind is

Laguna Beach, August 9, 2011

Beating the Heat

Red Hook, July 22, 2011

Another Rooftop

It was chillier.  The fireworks were still too far away.  Buildings sprouted sparkling, colored afros and I waited in a timewarp.  The moment was made of "only yesterday" mixed with "long ago" and a vague recollection of what went right because it's a whole f*cking year later.  I was in love.  Big, exploding love.  Now I'm out of it.  Mostly OK.  Floating into the night.  Aiming to land on another rooftop.  A little closer this time.

showtime!

A Darkroom Diary

                                 Prayer in The Heights © 2011

A Darkroom Diary

I was dreading going back to the darkroom. Spring propelled me deep into sunlight and movement of my own. I've been camera-shy lately, too... Like a boy (or girl) you've missed for a year and then suddenly you're meeting for a drink, I was that kind of nervous. With my hearty broom in tow, I unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and swept. The dust had really settled. It was thick, but I managed. Spraying down the sink, I noticed a bit of rust. I shined it all. The trays were crusty with old chemicals, so I rinsed them down. I made everything ugly from the past 12 months go away. It felt good. Now for the work.

Oh Marcelito!

MARCEL THE SHELL WITH SHOES ON from Dean Fleischer-Camp on Vimeo.

a Degas love affair

No one could possibly understand women better than Degas.  Not in the late 19th century anyway.  Movement so wonderfully executed in every meticulous stroke.  Degas knew the burden a woman carried.  So much of her existence a performance, this predisposition to protect, and mostly, an overwhelming sense of herself - a quiet storm.  I may be romanticizing his intentions.  Maybe he loved horses more (worked on them with the same fervor).  I just don't think it matters as I wasn't in his Parisian studio to witness the process - rubbing in the blue pastels... trying to lay still... not moving even a stroke.

a stranger in a strange land

                            Chinatown, 2010

A Darkroom Diary

Can darkness be englightment?



It's a question I've been grappling with for some time now. Of course, for many it's always the "path leading to," but to make darkness your destination, even for a second?

My professor and peers will say there isn't enough information in this image. I tried so many different settings and timings and I didn't care about the dusty books on the shelf or the intricate patterns of the Persian rug. I kept going back to this - wanting my subject to live in the shadows, so I exposed it all until almost everything faded to black.

anyone can see...

:::sigh:::

"save me"

Sculpture, trees, and gray skies courtesy of Woodlawn Cemetery

A Darkroom Diary

On the rainy day of this shoot, I remember my deteriorating eyes searching through the viewfinder for assurance. It occurred to me that perhaps we were all impressions - remotely true, stirring and still... lovely beings - even in real time. My subject either moved or moved me when I finally took the shot. In print, her wondrous face is a bit blurred.

Found: Lost Pictures of New York Blizzard

A Darkroom Diary

I've given up on the idea that I can beat time. I can't. It takes me three hours to develop, search, prep, and process one image. If I'm lucky, two. And then, it's the waiting game. Waiting for the paper to curl up, to dry out, to settle into whatever is. After contemplating all the labor and energy, there are decisions to be made... Do I try this again? Are you worth rescuing? Am I in love?

Whatever will be, will be.

A Darkroom Diary

My version of a Boticelli. A real live beauty. Reminiscent of the days when a hint of a gaze behind a fluttering fan inspired sonnets and epics. The tones are exactly what I wanted. It took almost an entire box, right down to my last 10 sheets, to understand this paper. The mood here is perfect for me, too. The only problem I have for all my finished prints is that I can't separate experience from the quality. I love shooting. I love the result. Are they ready? I couldn't say...

Oh Supermoon...

if only i could touch you.

another Sunday Secret

Sunday Secret