It’s been a year of ULTRAexperimentation. In addition to my recent Folly Trilogy discussing three different “inappropriate” film cameras, I also wrote about another half-frame camera, and penned a couple of lens-based essays — one digging into fisheyes, and the other exploring the benefits of a particularly decrepit 90mm lens from the 1930s. For a site that purports to be more interested in the psychological aspects of photography than hardware, that’s a whole lotta gear talk.
But with the year rapidly drawing to a close, I can now reveal that those weird gear articles were, in fact, just a carefully considered diversion — meant to buy myself time to engage in this year’s real experiment: to fundamentally alter my very approach to photography.
For the past couple of decades, I would prowl the streets looking for the perfect photograph. Step-by-step, mile-by-mile, I’d scour every inch of this town hoping to bag the big one. My ratio of “shots taken” to “worn out shoes” was spectacularly low. And yet, in spite of all that walking and all that looking, I’ve yet to take a single photo I’d be proud to represent me on my non-existent Wikipedia page. Which, come to think of it, is probably the reason no one’s bothered to make me a Wikipedia page.
Facing each new publishing deadline with an empty cache of perfect photos, I’ve been forced to fill these pages with a hodgepodge of miscellany — snapshots I would shoot mostly as “justification” for having bothered to leave the condo. On their own, none seem worthy of anything beyond a participation ribbon. But, as an assemblage, they would often say “something” — even if I was never able to fully comprehend exactly what it was.
I’ve long believed my own photography’s grandest purpose isn’t to create an image that hangs on the wall, but to create a collection of images that, when bound together, communicate an entire universe of thought and emotion through metaphor and implication. When I do hang an individual photo or two, I suspect it’s due more to convention than consideration. To me, framing a single photograph is like framing a single word from a favourite novel or screenplay — its context is removed or, at best, merely implied through familiarity.
For example, if I hung the word “Rosebud” over the sofa, it would indeed conjure a world of meaning every time I gazed upon it — but that meaning would come, not from the word, but from the context in which it was used within Citizen Kane. The word, itself, is not “perfect.” It’s the concept that’s perfect, and the single word is merely the proxy for an entire collection of other words and scenes. The same thing happens when I engage with some of my favourite photographs from some of my favourite photographers — an individual image becomes more potent, because I know the context from which it came. Seeing one is a gateway toward remembering them all.
Does it strike you as “a little crazy” that someone who views photography this way, would then put so much effort into hunting for that one perfect photo? If so, then congratulations — you’ve reached the same conclusion I have, and you didn’t spend 20 years getting there.
Perusing my oeuvre to date, it’s clear my personal favourites are often the most flawed, least perfect photos imaginable. They came from the monthly “hodgepodge of miscellany,” and not from any grand design. Which lead me to wonder why I’ve been so sparing with my exposures all these years. Since my “best” photos are the ones that best represent a collection, wouldn’t such representational photos become magically “better” if the collection itself became better? And wouldn’t the collection become better if I actually allowed myself the freedom to photograph anything that interested me, rather than self-limiting my exposures so as not to ‘waste time or money’ on shots I knew weren’t “perfect?”
So my fundamental change is to do exactly what I’ve always done, except to disable my brain’s self-censoring circuit while doing so. Granted, on the surface it doesn’t really seem like change at all. But anyone who’s ever tried to rewire their brain knows how difficult that can be. It’s taken me the better part of a year, but after a lifetime of being the stingiest photographer in recorded history, I’m gradually moving into the vicinity of semi-prolific. Not “guy on vacation with a digital camera” prolific; not “mom instagramming the crap out of her baby” prolific; but “guy who spools a roll of film through a camera every five or six days” prolific.
The question, now, is “what should I do with all these photos?” Just because I’m transforming into the photographer I want to be, doesn’t mean I’m transforming into one with a place in the modern world.
One part of me thinks I should just leave them unpublished, languishing on a hard drive until it’s destroyed by solar flares or mechanical failure. There’s something poetically punk rock about that direction. After all, it’s exactly what would happen to these moments had I not photographed them — making my passion a rather apt metaphor for life itself. Another part of me thinks such conceit smacks of bad performance art, and that the photos should absolutely be published — somewhere. Somehow.
But that’s a struggle for another essay. For now, all I really needed was to just take more photos. And on that front, the year has been a resounding success.
© 2022 grEGORy simpson
ABOUT THE PHOTOS: “Lobby 1” was shot on Fomapan 100 at ISO 100 and developed in HC-110 (Dilution H), using a Pentax MZ-S and a Pentax-M 50mm f/1.4 lens. “Lobby 2” was photographed on Fomapan 400 (pushed to ISO 800) and developed in Rodinal 1:50, using a Fuji GS645S Wide 60 camera. “Fetch” was shot with an OM Digital Solutions 40-150 f/4 Pro lens mounted on an Olympus OM-1 digital camera. “Criminal Intent” was another digital shot — this time using the Ricoh GRIII. “Empress Metaverse” and “Loo View” were shot on Delta 3200 (pulled to ISO 1600), inside a Contax G1 fronted with a Zeiss Planar 45mm f/2 lens, and developed in Rodinal 1:50.
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