The chronophotographs of Franco Marinai

Marinai, 2011

When the cascades of color fall away - soon they will - these tendrils of red, blue, silver, ochre - you say to yourself: this is all about movement, but it is deafeningly still, there is no movement, it has ended or is about to begin but it is not here - and yet here it is, everywhere.

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Marinai, 2011

In the luminous pictures of Franco Marinai, we have stepped across a boundary of perception.  Instants of motion are deconstructed, splintered, laid out under the delta-t of our calculus.  These runners from the NYC Marathon of 2011 offer their bodies to a surrealist vision of malleable flesh, against freeze-frame streaks of background.  From these nightmare slices, it is for the viewer to intuit and recompose a human reality.  In an earlier period this would be a task for the gods, but times have changed.  There are newer truths.

Marinai, 2011

Franco's inspiration may be in his blood.  His city of Florence has produced others who have wrestled with making depictions of the kinetics of real life - Leonardo da Vinci is one who comes to mind.  Toward the end of the 19th century Etienne-Jules Marey invented the chronophotograph and coined the word for it; borrowing from him, Muybridge contributed his famous images of horses and runners.

Marey, Pelican, ca. 1882

But it was in Italy, home of Fiat and Ferrari, that ideas of speed and motion found their most fertile reception.  The futurist movement in art developed there, in the urgent, stacatto-filled works of Boccioni, Marinetti, Balla and others, drawing connections between perception and the new world of machinery.

Balla, 1913

 

Berkeley had said esse est percipi, everything is sense; the Italians taught us to practice it.  The confounding thing about time however - and this is the great paradox implicit in Franco's photography, made possible by his own technical prowess - is that when you chop it up into smaller and smaller bits, it seems to stand still.  Thus there is an immense quietude in his work, a beautiful calm that resides at the heart of motion.  He has discovered this.  It is not too much to think that Da Vinci would understand.

Technical note:  Franco works with a modified medium format Bronica SQ-A camera shooting Velvia Fujichrome film.  His website is www.marinai.com.

Nolan Preece talks about his work - part III

(Part I appeared in December 2011, Part II appeared this January, and here is the latest sequel.  Will there be more?  We'll ask him when he comes out of the darkroom.)

Preece, The Popular War, chemigram hybrid, 2003

The first time I heard the word hybrid in relation to my work was about 3 years ago.  A colleague who liked my work told me that the way I was experimenting, some of my work were hybrids.  I'm a photographer and a printmaker so combining these two pretty much is automatic.  I suppose my definition of a hybrid would go something like this: the combining of two or more media including digital imaging and transformation, to create a final work of art.  To be sure, there are gray areas, for example I'm not so sure that combining a printed negative and some chemical coloration on the same sheet of paper qualifies as a hybrid but rather just as a chemigram.  However, if it is then reproduced digitally, I would be inclined to call it a hybrid.

Preece, A Clean Slate, chemigram hybrid, 2011

If I am working with a printed image from a negative and I want to color parts of the photograph chemically, I first of all make the print on photographic paper using an enlarger.  I place the negative in a carrier and focus under roomlight conditions.  I then go dark, working under safelight conditions.  I run control strips, first adjusting for density (the lightness and darkness of the image).  I then run control strips to adjust the contrast (the difference between light and dark) using variable contrast filters.  I process the control strips all the way through developer, stop bath and fixer under safelight conditions.  The lights come on once the control strips are processed in order to evaluate and make adjustments.  Once I am locked in on what I want, I print and process the image under safelight in the developer tray, then I place it in the stop bath to halt all development.  I then take a brush and paint the areas I want to preserve with fixer from the fixer tray to remove the unused silver halide, creating a kind of chemical mask.  I flush the print with water and, still under safelight, I sprinkle thiourea and then lye into the unfixed areas I want to chemically color.  I flush it off with water when the desired effect has been reached, again still under safelight.  I then place the image in the fixer tray and after about a minute, on come the lights.  I can then evaluate the results, wash it, or discard it (however I now save everything for possible scanning).  If the print is going to be gold toned, it must be well washed for about 20 minutes.  For gold toning I use a GP1 solution I mix myself from scratch.  Gold toners should be used with caution, they are a heavy metal and will penetrate the skin.  Always use rubber gloves and tongs when working with any wet chemistry.  The print can be soaked in the gold solution overnight to obtain a range of colors.  Gold toning takes place under roomlight.  Pull the print when the desired toning effect is reached, wash and hang to dry.  Prints may then be flattened in a dry mount press.

Preece, In The Woods, chemigram hybrid, 2003

I like combining digital photo imagery with scanned chemigrams or mixing it with printmaking such as etching or engraving.  I've found the Epson Radiant White Watercolor Paper to be an excellent printmaking paper for etchings and engravings.  Imagery made with the Epson Ultrachrome K3 inkset does not bleed when soaked in water, enabling the artist to make digital prints and then overlay the image with etching ink.  This is one form of hybrid.  For years I would go through the trashcan in my darkroom and pull out the 'chemigrams by accident'.  I use this serendipity as an environment from which to start a hybrid, scanning it in and then adding digital photo imagery using Photoshop.  Just a word of advice though, if you decide to work this way - don't settle on the first combination that comes to mind.  Try thinking in terms of fifty different combinatios and then picking the one that works best.

Chemigram workshops ahead

Turnbull, untitled chemigram, 2011

A number of readers of this blog have been asking good basic questions about chemigrams, such as how do I make mackie lines, or how do I bring a photo negative into a chemigram, or how do I make these colors with my b&w chemistry.  Each deserves a clear answer, because the last thing we want is to keep a secret from you, that's just not our philosophy.  Once you understand the process better, you'll see it's not difficult.  Mysterious maybe, but not difficult.  In the end, what we really want is for you to use these methods in your own work, to develop your work with a new intensity and chemigramic flair, which we think you'll find rewarding.  We're excited for you, frankly.  So where to begin?

One way is to take a workshop.  Here's a listing of several we and our colleagues are conducting over the next few months.

April 22 - April 29.  Manhattan Graphics Center, NYC.  Glassprints and Chemigrams, with Douglas Collins.  www.manhattangraphicscenter.org

June 16.  International Center of Photography, NYC.  Chemigrams, with Richard Turnbull and Douglas Collins.  www.icp.org

April 25 - May 6.  The Leonardo, Salt Lake City, Utah.  Residency with Nolan Preece and Jeanne Chambers.  Innovative collaboration between artist and scientist, using chemigrams and glassprints as a way to study desert ecosystems.  For information and brochure contact npreece@gbis.com

Nolan Preece takes questions from the public, in Nevada, on chemigrams, 2012

Nolan Preece talks about his work - part II

(We published the first installment in December 2011.  His website is www.nolanpreece.com)

Preece, Chemical Nuptials (on Velox), 1987

After my MFA was finished, I started working for an environmental consulting company doing photography for the White River Oil Shale Corp in eastern Utah in 1981.  I had lots of time to play with chemistry between field excursions.  I wanted something that I could selectively control to alter the image, create color, and which was archival.  I found an old DuPont toning formula that called for thiourea and a strong base such as sodium carbonate and on b&w photo paper it could be toned in gold toner to achieve a range of colors.  My only problem was the application of the chemicals.  I experimented and finally came up with salt and pepper shakers as the tool to sprinkle thiourea and Red Devil lye into unfixed areas of the print. 

Preece, Contact Zone (on Velox), 1987

My next problem was the expense of the amount of gold that is in one of the old gold toning formulas.  I decided to try GP1 which is a gold protective solution without much gold in it.  At first it didn't look like it would change the ugly olive drab and brown color of the thiourea stain but then as I left it in longer, even overnight, bright colors began to appear.  I could also doctor it a bit with an eye dropper loaded with liquid gold chloride.  This process produced a two-fold effect: 1) I was getting a nice cool/warm contrast between any printed image or one created by using a weak solution of Dektol and the warm colors of the thiourea stain.  2) The image, as far as I can tell, is very archival, having been soaked in gold chloride.  By the way, the print should be fixed and washed to archival standards before gold treatment and well washed afterward.  Outdated b&w photo paper makes great chemigrams this way when working without a printed image under room light.  However, if an image is printed with an enlarger it should be painted with fixer before returning to room light.

Preece, Chemical Incubator - Homage to Pierre Cordier, 2011

More recently I've been experimenting with a version of the chemigram developed by Pierre Cordier.  We have been using acrylic substances for grounding copper plates for some time.  Future Floor Polish is one of them.  I decided to try this substance on outdated b&w photo paper.  The results were astounding!  Acrylics break down when placed in alkaline solutions, so as the Dektol or D72 (I mix my own from scratch) breaks down the Future on the surface of the print, it penetrates, creeps and dissolves the Future, leaving a variety of effects.  I have yet to fully explore this phenomenon.  I suspect there are many different types of acrylic applications that my work.

Preece, Chemical Dollops, 2011

 

 

Pierre Cordier sends his New Year's greetings

Cordier, Chemigram 1/9/11 II "Squares in Love"

Douglas Collins, inventor of this nonfigurative blog, has offered me the opportunity to wish his readers a Happy New Year.  Happily I accept: this blog is heaven-sent for all of us who practice or appreciate alternative or extraphotographic experimentation.  The texts are clear, carefully documented, the illustrations well chosen.  To my knowledge, in the world of such things, it stands alone.

For my participation in this first post of 2012, I've gone into my recent chemigrams and picked out three pairs of squares, each measuring just a centimeter on a side.  They have had intimate relations, a rare event among squares.  Presenting geometric forms with humor is the specialty of a French artist I much admire, François Morellet.

These "Squares in Love" are not as sharp and clean as the ones I used to make.  Let me explain.  On my website some of you may have seen the Chemigram 12/1/82 "Zigzagram".  It's a completely controlled work, except for three tiny imperfections cause by spots of dust in the 'magical varnish' I employ as a resist.  Some people tease me by saying, "But those are my favorite shapes!"

Cordier, Chemigram 12/1/82 "Zigzagram", detail

The other chemigram I'd take to a desert island (but what good would they do me there?) is the Photo-Chemigram 4/4/79 "Hexagram".  The fine lines you see in it are disturbed by numerous bubbles, dust and defects in the varnish, like a stream crashing among rocks.  Without these imperfections this image could have been made on a computer, which would have had no interest for me.  So I welcome the random effects of matter and materials, but one has to know whether to accept or reject them.

Cordier, Photo-Chemigram 4/4/79 "Hexagram", detail

At the same time, I now accept that certain shapes be blurrier or more hazy than in my previous work.  That suggests depth.

And if even squares can fall in love, why not imitate them during the new year?  So I make a further wish: that all of you create new images with every alternative technique, both possible and imaginable.

Cordierly yours,

Pierre

www.pierrecordier.com

Joys of the darkroom: Martha Casanave

(We asked the California photographer and consummate artist Martha Casanave for a few words on her practice.  Here is what she sent us. - DC)

Casanave, silver photogram, 2007

I'll never forget that magic moment the first time I visited a darkroom - I must have been 14 or 15 - and I saw an image appear on a blank piece of paper in the developer tray.  From that moment on I was hooked.  I had to have a darkroom wherever I was living - first in the family bathroom, later in the bedrooms of a succession of rental apartments.  For the rest of my life, I've had recurrent dreams about frustrated efforts to lightproof a room, or moving to a new home and wondering where the darkroom would be.

For me, working in the darkroom makes photographic activity whole, it rounds out the experience.  The camera work is like the shining part of the moon; developing and printing is the dark side.  There you have it - the whole moon. 

One pleasure of the darkroom is that I can shut out the world, and enter another one.  I can slam that door, check it with my hip, and be entirely alone.  No telephone allowed!  I develop roll film in plexiglass tanks, and sheet film in trays, in total darkness.  All I can see are the glowing hands of the timer and a few glow-in-the-dark stars placed here and there on countertops and walls.

When printing, I enjoy the glow of the yellow safelights, the sound of running water, the music.  The magic of an image appearing on paper has never gone away.  I enjoy the moving around, from paper box to enlarger, enlarger to trays, down the tray line.  Depending on my musical choices, I might even dance (James Brown's "Payback") or sing along at the top of my voice (Otis Redding's "I Been Lovin' You Too Long").  I even enjoy the physical tiredness after a day's work, when the damp prints are finally laid out on the screens.

Casanave, self portrait with Ansel Adams,1981

The pleasure of the darkroom has been such an important part of my process that it makes me wonder about the alacrity with which my colleagues have sold off their darkrooms on eBay and switched to the more cerebral and sedentary digital imaging medium.  Did they never enjoy the darkroom activity in the first place?  Did the magic fade for them?  When I remember what Diane Arbus said, in an interview with Studs Terkel - "Art seems to me something you do because it makes you feel good to do it" - it's as if she were standing with me at my trays, feeding off the same thrill. 

Casanave, Balkan breakfast from Kitchen Kama Sutra,1998

Martha's site is www.marthacasanave.com

Nolan Preece talks about his work - part I

(We invited the Nevada-based photographer to discuss his artistic odyssey.  This is the first of several parts.  His website is www.nolanpreece.com. - DC)

Preece, Nolangram #017 (choir), 2001

Let's start off by talking about the cliché-verre pieces from the late 1970s.  It seems I've always had two sides to my art.  I was trained in the Ansel Adams tradition of the fine print and the zone system at Utah State University.  I took a hard core, boot camp zone system class from my favorite photo professor, A.J. Meek.  Ansel Adams, Ruth Bernard, Al Weber, Imogen Cunningham, Jerry Uelsmann and other west coast photographers would frequent our campus giving workshops, lectures, exhibitions and critiques (late 1960s to early 1980s).  I didn't realize what a wonderful experience this was at the time.

Winters were so cold in Cache Valley, where Utah State is situated, with subzero temps for weeks at a time, that my camera gear wouldn't even function outdoors where I wanted to work.  I began to play with chemistry in the darkroom during those cold winter months.  When I went to work on my MFA, I broke with tradition and decided to do my thesis on the "Sabattier Effect."  My second emphasis was printmaking so I have a variety of solvents around the house.  I had researched what Henry Holmes Smith, Frederick Sommer, Francis Bruguiere, Man Ray and Laszlo Moholy-Nagy had done.  I became interested in the effects of soot on glass simply because it could be put in an enlarger and printed as a negative.  I accidentally dribbled some of the kerosene from the lamp I was using to soot the glass and WOW the most beautiful aray of patterns and 3D-looking landscapes unfold before my eyes.  I immediately started trying every solvent I had, finally settling on mineral spirits as the best and cleanest to the image.  I solarized some of the best "glassprints" and published them in my thesis in 1980.  There are two drawbacks to these clichés-verre: 1) When the solvent is applied, it breaks off bits and pieces of soot, sometimes leaving a matrix that has spots that are difficult to remove from the print.  These days, the matrix can be scanned and cleaned up with the healing brush and clone stamp tools in Photoshop.  2) Many attempts need to be made before coming up with a stunner - you generate a lot of rejects.

I've had a few arguments with photographers about the merits of such work along the lines of: is it really photography without a camera involved?  Douglas Kent Hall, the well known New Mexico photographer (who hailed from my hometown of Vernal, Utah), told me to "become the maestro, name it, teach it and present it to the world."  So I jokingly started calling them "Nolangrams."  We traded prints in 2000, not long before he passed away.

Working in isolation has, in some ways, been a benefit.  Not that I haven't been influenced by others but you get so you draw on something deep inside that starts to surface as your own self expression when you're just working by yourself.

So here I give you a sampling of Nolangrams - or clichés-verre if you prefer, or glassprints.  All are selenium-toned gelatin silver prints from a cliché-verre matrix of sooted glass, printed on Forte Warm Tone paper.

Next time we'll talk about my chemigrams, which have had a different history.

Preece, Nolangram #000(legs), 1979

Preece, Nolangram #026(rolling), 2001