I'm generally neurotic about being prepared for shoots, so when the technology is completely new and untested, I'm doubly so. I schlepped the rig with the 210 Schneider lens, the Majestic tripod head, and the rig that trains the digital camera on the focusing screen of a 1950's Crown Graphic to Fitler Square, a nearby park. Being that there were no volunteers swarming to be photographed, I used auto-time.
There is still some flaring at the center of the image, but with the 210, it's greatly reduced. I used what I called "split development" in what is a knock-off of Lightroom that came with my camera. I underexposed at capture and then created two .tif files: one dark (to reign in the flare) and one normal for the rest of the image. I then layered and masked them in Photoshop and pretty much just freely hit the image mask with various grays in that I let blend. I think the overall effect was pretty decent. It kind of looks like a cross between Autochrome and old Kodachrome. I think it will work.
Figurative artist RA Friedman is once again bringing his unique craft directly to his audience with a series of old school 35mm slide shows planned for 2011 to be presented in Philadelphia and New York City.Friedman, who is often seen behind a lumbering, antique reflex camera, has been shooting vintage-style portraits at various events since 2005. The project became Tsirkus Fotografika in 2008 and currently shuttles between Philadelphia and New York city shooting at everything from animal shelter fundraisers to jazz-age events, to all-night warehouse parties.
The half-hour presentation, containing some of Tsirkus’s most memorable and intriguing images from an archive of nearly five-hundred portraits, will trace the evolution of the project and its vision from humble and accidental beginnings to its current position: that of maintaining a very busy shooting schedule, an archive website, plus planning a launch of a new public arts project in 2011RA will also discuss his highly unorthodox photo methodology informed by his fine arts background, which involves creating mysterious, and often haunting images from the usually thrown-away instant film negatives.
RA Friedman's work was recently featured in New York Magazine. He is currently working on an artist's fellowship with The City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Project. He lives and works in his studio in the South Square neighborhood of Philadelphia.
Whether it's creativity or not, something happens when I start making images that feels like I'm tuning into something. Unfortunately, I'm my own worst enemy when it comes down to focusing in (no pun intended) and proposing projects to be funded. My imagination packs its trunk and takes a holiday in Diluth. Luckily, I have a lot of great people around me who can see things a bit more from the outside.
I met with Amie Potsic yesterday. She's the director of The Center for Emerging Visual Artists here in Philadelphia. We talked about grants, looked at work and discussed what I really wanted to do. I went in feeling rather diffuse, but left with the germ of an idea that I just have to follow: a real, live 1920's style photo studio, albeit a temporary one. Most likely the portraits would be free.
The notion dovetails perfectly with the type of photography I've been doing. It too fits perfectly the idea of making a real community connection. I'll actually be IN the neighborhood and become a working part of it. The prospect of having a creative space with props, accessories, costumes and backdrops at my disposal, rather than having to shlep eighty pounds of gear and be limited by what I can physically carry, is vastly appealing; but moreover it should allow a very different, more meaningful and sophisticated body of work to emerge.
The idea of a pop-up storefront studio has been done before by others, but never as a long-term project. I'm hoping to be in-residence for four to six months. It really all depends on economics. 7th Street in deep South Philadelphia, where I hope to continue my community-based art, had once been a nexus of Jewish immigrants and Jewish-owned stores. None remain today. So, there is an added poignancy in my doing this, an additional eccentric circle drawn in the sands of history.
Forget that point-n-shoot and cookbook methods for making sepia images in Photoshop, and definitely DO try this at home!
Join alchemical photographic wizard RA Friedman, founder of Tsirkus Fotografika, for a rollicking old-school visual presentation as he discusses his unique DIY analog/digital methodology; one that has defined the forefront of Steampunk Photography. Highlights from the large archive of retro-futurists Friedman and crew have photographed will be shown, as well as studio images. Caution: contains artistic, but sometimes graphic nudity. A brief no-holds-barred Q&A will follow.
I wrote this possibly for use in a book about Steampunk that Evelyn Kriete is working on and/or as the preface for a book I'd like to put together with the shots from the public shoots.
Reversed scan from about 05/07/05. This is the shot that started it all. Pulling the old disc to unearth this, I noticed I had labeled them "Ghost Images."
"I am plagued by the thought that I am perhaps the last of my ilk; that I have jumped through a window in time and have a connection to a recent past that reaches still further back and, be it either real or imaginary, if I don't give it form, it will vanish."
I most often shoot with a ponderous Graflex Super D built in the 1940’s. This giant single lens reflex camera features a leather covered mahogany box that I peer down into via a chimney-like hood and a shutter mechanism that works much like a window shade. The instrument moves at the speed of a turtle and requires everything to be manually set. I don't use strobes, but instead, plain 200 watt house lamps in old style reflectors. My exposures are relatively slow and can be disturbed by bouncy floors or subjects that move. The digital manipulation of my negatives requires careful handwork to reconstruct the images and the time from capture to final print can be days or longer. Why, in an age where cameras can handle all photographic functions quickly and automatically, go to all that bother?
There is something very reassuring in knowing that as long as there is light, I can make a photograph, but there is much more to it. What a digital camera can do is no less than amazing, but the seamless and relatively foolproof technology comes at a price. Digital photography is largely an out-of-the-box affair and a non-physical, non-tactile medium. The pristine, impersonal way a photographer is led to interface with the digital image-making chain, can create a void, a distinct lack of connection to the creative process. Using a large format camera that requires a methodology that is slow, physical, calculated and relatively difficult; it transforms the photographic act, giving it a sense of direction and ceremony. I see the image as it takes shape on the big ground glass screen, feel the mass and solidity of the instrument, smell the ancient mustiness of the focusing hood, and hear the “plunk” of the shutter mechanism, intuitively sensing whether it is working properly; the link is almost visceral. The whole picture taking process requires not only mindful concentration, but also cooperation and interchange between subject, assistant, and camera operator. What it is usually a very one-sided operation, wherein the photographer simply grabs a likeness is transformed into a collaborative dialogue.
As an undergraduate, one of my painting professors, Angelo Ippolito said of a piece, perhaps one of mine: “It’s too clean, you need to mess it up a bit.” Paradoxical, but what I believe he was getting at was that the visual structure and execution was too pat. The artist hadn’t really set a challenge, something “messy” with which to work so as to find an interesting and vibrant solution. Perhaps the most valuable thing I learned as an undergrad was that the “interesting stuff” is a subconscious process; that creativity happens when you set to work on problems, by indirection, not by trying to create “art;” frequently the end product takes even the creator by surprise.
Though I have been taking pictures since I was five, it’s only recently that I found a way to work with photography that would lead to interesting solutions. The images I previously made were largely about being at the right place at the right time, framing the shot with skill and making good, technically solid prints. I would often set out, camera in hand, with all kinds of romantic notions in my head only to come back sorely disappointed. I largely moved away from photography in favor of painting and drawing, since these media raised issues I could dig into. In graduate school, in conjunction with small paintings I was making, I started using antique roll-film cameras perhaps thinking that doing this would visually inform the work in some significant way. The commitment though, was more to the act of painting on top of and collaging these images than the photography itself, which was still too abstract for me; I could only carry around a shadowy vision of what my photography might be.
In May 2005, a chain of odd circumstances led to the photographic "mess" I had long needed. I was visiting my parents, who live in the heart of the Catskill Park in upstate New York, when a large storage freezer failed and needed to be emptied. Buried beneath the crystallized tubs of ice cream, desiccated London broils, and chickens frozen since 1987 were approximately 38 rolls of old-style Polaroid film that my dad had squirreled away in the late 1970’s when Polaroid stopped its manufacture and the local department store had dumped the remaining stock for $1 a roll. My dad gave me not only the film, but also the swanky Polaroid 110B camera that went with it. Before I left to go back to Philly, he insisted I take one shot of my friend Dana who had driven me there. My dad kept the positive, but I plunked the paper negative inside the camera case, I guess as a kind odd memento since the film was over thirty years old. When I got home, I scanned the negative in color and reversed it to see what it the image would look like. It was fascinating! The image was eerie and painterly at the same time. I had gone from using photography to inform painting, to painting informing photography. I was hooked.
Soon after, along with two colleagues, the cache of Polaroid film was used up via free portrait shoots we did in front of The Book Trader in Philadelphia during the Philly Fringe. I bought a Speed Graphic so I could use the then available Polaroid sheet film and tried various emulsions both in-date and expired. The whole experimental process fueled itself bringing me to the point where I am now. Polaroid peel-apart film is now over a year out of production and I can only get instant film imported from Japan made by Fuji. The film's characteristics are nowhere near as interesting as some of the older stocks I used to employ. I cannot wax too nostalgic since this is the photographer's lot; we have to roll with the times, adapting to the available materials. Also, I discovered that what I considered to be the amazing properties of the film were not that critical. Sure, they created some serendipitous points of departure, but there are other ways to create happy accidents or find a direction based on where the image may be pointing. The vision has become internalized.
This more organic way of working that I evolved has often been referred to as “Steampunk Photography.” Ironically, I don’t consider myself part of that sub-culture and never set out to be; yet my background and creative motivations, led me in a similar direction. Like the Steampunks one of my goals is to bridge past to present-- to be romantically modern. A perhaps fictive past where things were less complex, tangibly inventive, and on more of a human scale, what I’d call a kind of “old energy,” has been with me since I was a kid. I grew up in an enormous converted circa 1889 mansion across the street from the Ansonia Hotel in New York City. The neighborhood, in my childhood years was full of estate shops and I had a field day browsing through them, amassing a fairly large collection of old cameras, 78rpm records, pocket watches and other interesting stuff, like the scrapbook of an Edison recording artist, Leola Lucy, who was on the “tone-test” circuit, a kind of “Is it live or is it an Edison Diamond Disc?” sales pitch from the 1920’s.
Though I started out in the sciences (art was not considered by my family to be a “real” profession), I ended up with a BA in theatre set design and eventually an MFA in painting. I have never taken a photography class. My dad bought me my first darkroom kit, a simple set-up for making contact prints and I learned mostly on my own. As a teenager I worked for Nathan Rabin, whose archive will soon be part of the National Gallery Library, a photographer who got fantastic results using simple tools.
While my art training was far from “classical,” I did countless figure studies. As an undergraduate at Harpur College in Binghamton, New York, I took classes with sculptor Charles Eldred. Eldred lived a time warp, which was his own world that hovered between past and present. Arguably his art was “Steampunk” long before the label existed. His pieces often centered on a romantic and re-invented vision of the past, particularly in the post-industrial Triple Cities, where he grew up. The work was not anachronistic; it was fresh and modern.
The creative bridge to the past Eldred was able to build and the feelings it embodied stayed with me though it took a long time to finally emerge full force. It took much experimentation and artistic stumbling around before things started to gel. I drew a lot and also made paintings. I might have made a career as a painter, but the pieces never seemed to be quite “there,” as if the medium were still fighting me. The work did not meet my standards.
My undergraduate teachers also instilled in their students a concept that is now largely out of sync with today’s visual world: that the “how” is more important than the “what.” That is, the way an image “speaks” with visceral immediacy via its visual construction far outweighs any grandiose conceptual conceit the artist may profess. Rare or shocking subject matter needs the backbone of an inter-linked formal invention, or it is just flash-in-the-pan sensationalism. I guess you could say I'm "old school," insisting on craftsmanship, thoughtfulness, and depth; yearning for the poetic. When much of what is being produced now is forgotten, I believe these values will prevail.
Who: Tsirkus, Liz from Design Glut, Gemini and Scorpio. What: Amazing late night Halloween Party--Masquerade Macabre Where: The far east end of Bergen Street, Brooklyn--Brooklyn Urban Sanctuary. Why: Because to have missed this adventure would have been a pity. How: You want us to give away all our secrets? Small Miracle: Every negative made it home safely and dried nicely. Trivia: All the equipment was wheeled over city streets from 66th and Broadway to 86 Allen Street in Manhattan on the return trip in order to avoid the NYC subway crush. Mapquest shows this as 4.91 miles. Time taken to scan all negatives: 5.5 hours Time to edit: ?? It's a work in progress. This is a first, having this many images to refine. Images will be added as they are edited. If you don't see your shot, stay tuned!
This was a real adrenaline rush requiring no caffeine to keep awake. Forty three frames were shot over the course of four hours at a high-energy, music filled bash in the wilds of Brooklyn. (By way of accounting, 3 were misfires, 3 were gratis. for a total of 37 paid shots.)
Photo to the right: G.D. Falksen, writer and arbiter of all things Steampunk.
An absolutely amazing day of shooting, as anticipated, at Brooklyn Indie Market. Like last year we had rain, but no wind, but what rain! I mean it was like the monsoon season on a tropical isle. I was not able to leave until about 8:30 a full hour and half after the event let out. I'm willing to get wet, but not soaked and I had to make my way down to Fourth Avenue and Union St. to the N train, which is about six long blocks.
Liz from designglut.com helped with the shoot and was a fabulous right-hand, setting up shots, engaging the crowd, and helping me field-prep the nasty goopy "Fujiroid" remains for their return trip to Philadelphia. The humid weather worked to advantage with the negatives since they ended up drying very slowly at first and then once in the lower humidity of my cousin's place, they dessicated with very little chemical "noise," thus requiring little retouching. The drying process is, I'm starting to believe, the deactivation of the chemical reagent. Once dry, the surface is inert and can be washed under running water. You can't do that when wet; it will remove the image.
I'm getting good at getting the gear up and down the subway stairs too. I was pleasantly surprised, that a number of people offered to help me even though I really was not having much trouble--mostly just making a din as the cart hit the stair risers. It left me neither sore nor out of breath. Primarily it was the long day on Saturday, getting up at around 3AM after going to sleep at 11 and then the long day that tested my mettle. Rather than shlep all the gear back to Philly only to have to do it all again in a week, I left most of it in a safe spot in NYC after carefully pulling it all apart, cleaning everything (especially the power cords that were wet and caked with mud--Liz gets bonus points for getting them into plastic bags without so much as a sigh.) and taking a mental inventory of supplies. I really need a closet somewhere near downtown Brooklyn where I can leave a second tripod, set of lights and backdrop holder; a package about the size of a regular college dorm trunk. Any takers?
Baby Boris is now fully functional and we gave him the first test run shake down. The radiant energy of the hugely powerful light source quickly heated up the test slide made on thin polyester film stock taped to a piece of window glass and started to buckle it! This was something I had not considered.
We then tried sandwiching an Estar based (Kodak trade name for the heavy polyester base they use for their sheet film) transparency between two pieces of glass with no mask. The combination of the thicker film along with the heavy glass on both sides allowed the slide to easily stay in the projector two minutes with no apparent damage and it was cool enough to handle as well. Boris stayed nice and cool at the slide stage; no problems there, although he does heat up the room.
So, the answer is the slides will need to be masked in-camera and then just trimmed into the mount which is a simple sandwich of two pieces of window glass cut to size and carefully taped on the edge. This is actually a more elegant solution and avoids a lot of gunky tape. Additionally, I may need to cycle between two projectors if I want to keep an image up a long length of time. The plot certainly thickens!
The photo is by Frank Siciliano of Steamed Punk and FPS Design. I was there while Frank was making this image. The working method was nothing less than impressive and the resulting image speaks for itself---amazing.
Slide #1, a true silver image on thin, archival polyester film stock, mounted with archival tape in glass. Good probably for 100+ years and Sunday 05/24 we'll plunk this into Baby Boris and see how it flies. Thanks to Elaine at Frugal Frames for the glass!
I'm generally neurotic about being prepared for shoots, so when the technology is completely new and untested, I'm doubly so. I schlepped the rig with the 210 Schneider lens, the Majestic tripod head, and the rig that trains the digital camera on the focusing screen of a 1950's Crown Graphic to Fitler Square, a nearby park. Being that there were no volunteers swarming to be photographed, I used auto-time.
