Wolverine Mohawk, Keweenaw County MI, 2014
You can still find people who argue that the imposition of censorship during the early 1930's made Hollywood filmmakers more creative than they'd otherwise have been simply because they had to devise ways to tell a richly informed story within the narrow confines of prior constraint.
Except all you need do is to stream a choice handful of long suppressed
pre-code Hollywood films to recognise that argument for the stuff and nonsense
it is. Instead, what's true that those same prior constraints forced what'd become
the art form of the 20th Century into decades of self-imposed adolescence,
right at the hub of its global influence.
If you're interested, start with the uncensored version of Baby Face, then come back and tell me why six years later it was such a
big honkin' deal for Clark Gable to inform Vivian Leigh he didn't give a damn.
Or why three years after that even sophisticated adults couldn't be sure that Rick and Ilsa had
sex during their penultimate night in steamy Casablanca.
Yeah, on the one hand maybe the work of Busby Berkeley wouldn't have
been so gloriously mad if not for those same prior constraints. On the other
hand, for decades thereafter American popular culture was force fed straight
from the corporate trough of a relentless Fantasy Factory and You are what you eat, as they say.
On the other other hand, those technological constraints inherent to fieldwork with large format transparency
film dictated the hard limits of its creative use. I can't tell you how many
times I walked out into the light from the baroque interior of some splendid ruin
creatively bereft because my choice
of medium prevented its capture. Which would be why my architectural portfolio leans
so heavily to exteriors and why the most evocative scenic work was invariably
captured on overcast days.
Here's a fine example of both, on one sheet of film:
Houghton County MI, 2010
Real life enjoys its share of sunny days too, even around the Superior
Basin. And generally, when I was mucking around deep inside the guts of someone's
ruined dream I could see things just fine thanks, even when my film couldn't.
Thus did the prior constraints inherent in the medium restrain not only the body
of my work, but my creative vision for it as well.
Over time, those constraints went on to alter my fundamental approach
to my subject matter. The very thing I labored to convey as authentic.
And besides, who thinks perfect light never occurs on days so brilliant
it hurts your eyes just to see?
Existing light...
The last of film's halcyon days were spent largely in the technological
pursuit of ever finer light. Then film died before it ever quite reached the
point when early one morning you could lazily come out of a shaded bay, think "Geez,
would you look at that", lift
the camera, click the shutter and sit back to let the moment breath, reasonably
assured you'd captured the essence of it:
Ottawa National Forest, 2014
In years past, if I hit the Superior Basin for a week's worth of work
and that week turned out to be resolutely sunny, I'd have shaken my fist at the
too bright light with too deep shadows and cursed the photo gods right to their
washed out sky. Mostly, only the Magic Hour at either far end of the
day would've been salvaged for serious work, though after a while you realise
that having captured more than a few gorgeous sunrises and/or sunsets in your
time means you've pretty much got that covered.
Not to mention that the twice daily hour or so of magic light is also
magic for big fish. These days, I tend to side with the fish.
Before taking the Nikon out for extended fieldwork this last September, I'd
set distinct goals. I'd visit those select places
where I was already on intimate terms with the quality of light, sites I'd worked repeatedly through the years. That way I could
later compare the digital capture with film of the same image, which would allow me to better understand the differences between the two. By pushing hard at its creative controls, I'd find out what the Nikon was
capable of.
And I was determined to once again shoot at night, having had such a good time with that in June.
As it turned out, that fieldwork had to be done during the most unusual of September weeks in the
Northwoods, with unrelentingly sunny days and bright bluebird skies and the
whole world bathed in contrast sufficient to make a strong shooter weep. Just the same, I
stuck with the plan.
Which decision proved liberating.
Union River, Porcupine Mountains Wilderness, 2014
Had I come to the turnoff from the South Boundary Road to the Union
River during light like that in years past, I'd not have bothered to go in. That's
basically in camera, with only the slightest, most routine Photoshop teaks.
As is this:
Gogebic County MI, 2014
And this...
Gogebic County MI, 2014
For a while I went sun crazy and was nearly blinded, by the light. Then
I remembered the dark.
Gogebic County MI, 2014
For all the images of this forlorn old Ford that I've captured on film and in a healthy variety of light, I'd
captured nothing the like of that.
All of which made me very excited to go traipsing off into the God's honest dark,
which we'll revisit together long about this time next month...
