Traditional B&W film photography is a pretty flexible art. The film's speed has often been treated as a suggestion rather than a rule, especially in the heyday of film photojournalism when Kodak Tri-X ruled the roost and ISO 400 was fast. Officially maybe, but in the real world, the foot soldiers of the fourth estate were rating the film up to 1600 to get the job done and relying on mad darkroom science to make it happen.

Recently, I took it three steps further and attempted to push Tri-X five stops, to ISO 12,500, one of the survivors of which is shown here. I think it works.

If these numbers and terms are meaningless to you, consider it this way: my experiment resulted in only five usable shots out of a potential fifteen. Four of them were almost just clear film.

The edge of mad science has its perils.

Today I ended up at the birthday party of an 8-year-old girl whose mother is a friend.

Curiously, the little girls appeared much more intimidated by me and my little Olympus XA than I was of them. One appeared to have difficulty with the idea that hiding her face in her hands did not in any way prevent me from taking a picture of her.

If you own more than one camera, I think you're required to at least make a token effort to take pictures of autumn color or enforcers come and break your thumbs.

My first solo photo exhibit went off predictably quietly. Here's a couple snaps of the actual displays.





While I was taking down, one gentleman (long time local I'm vaguely acquainted with) brought his wife over to point out the pic in the first shot above. It still went home with me instead of him, but it was a nice feeling at the end of an annoying work day.

They're bluffing. The bookstore has no dinosaur.

I was a bit speechless when I saw these two signs together.

Our local summer Saturday market doesn't really have a ton of visual personality, but persistence did pay off for me during closing time.

In a few days, my first solo photography show will go up in one of the local banks.

After weeks of wrestling with exactly what the theme would be, I settled on the conveniently vague "Moods," which allowed me to select from a variety of images that I wouldn't get bored of. Even if I am surprised by making some sales, I'll likely not be selling the actual print on display and end up keeping it.

The essence of my lineup can be seen in this Flickr set. Some have been reworked for print, but the most major change was a crop to portrait. For the most part, I have preserved them as completely as possible.

Don't have many ambitions for this show, as it's mostly so I can have done it. Long as it's not met with a majority of indifference, I think I'll be happy.

In about ten days, I need to have enough matted and framed photos to keep my solo exhibition appointment at the local Washington Federal S&L. I am still in the selection process.

Being responsible for a photo exhibit raises questions you'd never imagine you'd have to take seriously.

"Is there a way wasps can go with bunnies?"

Jury's still out on that one, and no amount of humor is going to settle it.

The opening reception for the camera club's abstract show went well. Some of the food was at least as abstract as the exhibits.

So here I am again, at Cascade Mall in Mt. Vernon/Burlington at the unmall-ly hour of 9:30 AM. This is what comes from dropping my dad off at the airport at 6:30. Costco doesn't open until 10 though, I need to get into there before heading to the ferry landing and this was the only place nearby that had both public toilets and free wifi.

I am here somewhat later than the first time, so there is actually some shops open and elderly walkers appear to have dispersed. Still, I walking down the mostly empty halls made me appreciate why Dawn of the Dead was set in a mall.

'At least,' I thought, 'I'm here late enough the circle of old fellows having coffee in the dead food court will have left.'

Then I arrived at the food court and found an even larger group of elderly gentlemen at coffee than last time. Even more have shown up since I sat down.

Makes me wonder if Mt. Vernon/Burlington has an American Legion Hall.

Last week, I decided I'd gift my little Casio digital camera (the one that survived being run over by a truck in the snow) to my nephew for his ninth birthday. I debated giving him a waterproof film camera, but ultimately decided the boy is just a little too scattered to reliably remember to take the lens cap off.

This shot of a rather interesting car hood stencil of the late Mr. Hendrix will be the last from the Casio's time with me.

Photos of mine are now on physical public display for the first time.

Some months ago, I blundered into the information that there was a local camera club that met once a month. I started going to the meetings, became a regular and thus it was natural for me to pitch in when the club's big exhibition was put on in September. I threw in what volume I had to influence the choice of theme, which turned out to be "abstract." I was pleased, even though time would show that abstract photography is not very natural to my way of seeing things. Eventually I did settle on a pair of contributions.

Two days ago was the take-in and hanging up the show, a task for which I had volunteered to help. It took longer than expected, but I was glad to have been there for it.

Tonight was the official opening, with reception and refreshments. Refreshments were potluck by the exhibitors. At my dad's suggestion and with my mom's aid, I brought soy sauce eggs. They were a hit. I only got to eat half of one myself, which was the last on the plate at the end of the evening.

By now knowing something of the club's personalities, I predicted, accurately as it turns out, that I'd be the only one with sufficient photojournalistic instincts bring a camera to shoot pictures of the event. It is mostly a group that heavily favors landscape and still life. A few folks expressed support for the fact I did bring a camera, and while there was the usual quotient of people shrinking away from the glass eye, they could not remain vigilant all the time. The turnout was good, so there were plenty of subjects around.

All in all, a nice party.

I am rather critical of the so-called "lo-fi" movement in film photography, which in its attachment to the Holga and cross processing seems more connected to gimmicks than art, but I decided to give one of technique a try.

"Redscaling" is the name for reversing color negative film. The film is designed to be exposed with a specific side out, as it has three different layers for red, green and blue respectively, and each is sensitized with the order the light travels through them in mind. By flipping the film over, the color layers are exposed in the wrong order, causing a severe shift to red.

I prepared two rolls and shot them. The effect is frequently described as horror movie-esk, but it also reminds me if the post-atomic look of 80's apocalyptic films. Sometimes, it can take on a russet tone that's almost sentimental.

This is probably my favorite shot of my experiment.

In a continuing, if stunted, effort to get myself to catch up on image processing, I present the coolest ashtray ever. Part of my high contrast, pushed Tri-X experiments.

In theory, I was trying to photograph a pattern of behavior.

A couple days ago, an email from a local farmer, DB, was passed on to the local camera's club mailing list. The fellow was inquiring about buying or borrowing a digital camera so he could do some photos of his crop.

DB's experience at Best Buy was, unsurprisingly, less than helpful. Interestingly though, DB's complaint was that no camera appeared able to give him enough depth of field. I seized on this detail as it was both very technically specific, yet not in keeping with my own knowledge of how much depth of field a compact digital is able to give.

While a camera recommendation was made, not a lot of detailed help seemed forthcoming from the others so I dug in and went so far as to whip up a sample photo using my 2002 vintage Coolpix to show that even an old digital compact is more than capable of delivering enough depth of field for the proposed task and that the problem was one of technique, not technology. DB was heartened by the demonstration. Never have I received such a positive response from a picture of a AA battery, which happened to be the most handy object that was a bit over 1/2" thick, the same width that DB described certain heads of wheat. After a couple more email exchanges and a phone call, we arranged to meet in person so I could offer him whatever technical advice I could on the topic.

We had a very productive get together at the library, but it turned out that the help I had to offer was a completely different nature than I'd anticipated.

I went thinking about the various techniques I know relating to product photography, but I quickly learned that DB knew everything he needed to know on this topic, having done extensive amounts of jewelry photography (on film no less) for his former wife of sufficient quality to get her work admitted to shows. Objectively, he likely has much more knowledge and experience about the practical side of this sort of work than I do.

It turns out that the problem going digital for DB was a matter of translation. While an experienced film photographer in a practical way, his knowledge was largely intuitive and he was thusly unable to navigate the digital photography product matrix without help. Quite by happenstance, I brought exactly the right things to help him: three of my digital cameras to handle.

My Nikon Coolpix 995 he found virtually impossible. The screen was too small and the text virtually unreadable to him.

My Casio EX-V7 was an improvement. The larger screen and text was considerably more friendly to his eyes.

My Nikon D40 was the sweet spot. DB was accustomed to the whole SLR handling paradigm, and found the bright green data readouts in the finder very legible.

In the end, the aid I had to offer was as an interpreter and product demonstrator. I could offer reassurance that photography is still essentially the same with digital gear, help explain the most awkward differences, and show DB a class of cameras that were much friendlier to his way of working. While his budget is very tight, DB is now thinking of raising enough to buy a DSLR since he found mine so comfortable.

DB was very appreciative, and I was happy that I could be quite that helpful by sharing information I mostly take for granted.

Back when I started down the photography thing about three years ago, it was a struggle to find worthwhile things to shoot. I'd go through long periods of waiting to just pop off one shot.

I now have rolls of film in the fridge I haven't developed, scans of film I haven't finished with and bundles of digital shots I haven't processed.

Next month is my local camera club's "abstract" exhibit. I haven't figured out what to contribute yet. I lobbied for the abstract theme, but it's not a natural fit for my way of seeing.

The month after, is my first personal exhibit. I haven't figured out exactly what I'm doing for that either. A part of me wants to make it "Mom's Cooking," but the clerks at the bank where the exhibition will take place might hate me then for filling their day with images of food they can't have.

It's not a problem having material anymore. It's having the material I want.

This is an authentic experience of mine from about a week ago.

I was called out of bed to go see these raccoon cubs, two of three that were down in the woods by one of our ponds. They were timid then, but an hour later, having made the several hundred foot journey to the back door, they were considerably more aggressive.



Raccoons obviously make lousy mothers, not only frequently bailing on their young, but raising them with no manners at all.

"If you wake up one morning and it's a particularly beautiful day, you'll know we made it."

Would you be satisfied if this might be the last message you would ever send home?

The sun is dying and Earth will freeze, dooming all of humanity unless the crew of the Icarus II can complete their mission and reignite the dying star with largest bomb ever created... again. Their predecessors in the Icarus I failed for reasons unknown. Earth has been stripped for the needed resources to make the second mission possible. There will be no other chance.

No pressure!

On the surface, this covers very familiar ground in science fiction. There is a ship with a small crew in the depths of space. The survival of humanity relies on their success. Peril will threaten them from within and without. Time will run short and desperate measures will be called for.

What sets Sunshine apart is a matter of emphasis. The movie does not cheat on the action or visuals. The exterior shots of the Icarus II and the sun are both lovely and menacing. Every space walk is in stone's throw of incendiary death from the rays of the ever-nearer sun. The interior of the ship is solidly believable in the semi-industrial Alien tradition, but also includes a surprisingly beautiful "oxygen garden." When the troubles come, there are the logical discussions of trajectories and oxygen supply. A surprise threat is very skillfully presented.

Excitement however, is not ultimately the main point. The eight members of the Icarus II crew are scientists and astronauts, not action heros. They face their situation pragmatically and grapple with balancing the desire to survive and the need to complete their mission, but their story is less about heroic sacrifice and noble causes in the traditional cinematic sense and more about how each of them must face mortality.

The flight of the Icarus II isn't planned as a one-way trip, but the levels of uncertainty so great that when things begin to go wrong, certain conversations are inevitable.

"We're going to die out here... ...are you scared?" says Cassie (Rose Byrne) to Capa (Cillian Murphy).

In Capa's answer is the soul of the story.

I've always found science fiction and metaphysics to be natural, but uneasy partners. Too often, well-meaning science fiction writers flail beyond their grasp and in attempting to find greater significance, grind their otherwise promising stories unintelligible slush.

Sunshine avoids this pitfall by not, as a story, trying to provide answers to the big questions. Instead it watches the characters, faced with the enormity of their task, each finding their own answers.

Most of us would like to believe that if we had certain knowledge the fate of the world rested on our success that we'd be strong enough to face death without flinching. Sunshine understands that this is a comforting lie. The ability to face death with grace and dignity can't be granted by outside circumstances. It must come from within.

Deer have a historically mystic reputation.

Truth is though, they're just regular folks.