I’ve often wondered: When it’s August, and I see a house bedecked with Christmas decorations, are the residents imbibing in the seasonal spirit far too early? Or far too late? Or are they simply insane?
I’ll admit, pessimist that I am, I tend to assume the latter, and steer clear of such abodes and the neighbourhoods in which they sit — one can’t be too careful.
But is that really fair? Could I simply be leaping to conclusions?
Maybe Christmas has no association with a sizeable collection of plastic reindeer mounted atop a roof in mid-summer. Perhaps the home is occupied by a family of aging Norwegian reindeer herders, who’ve retired to a more hospitable climate, and wish to celebrate their heritage.
That inflatable snowman in the shrubberies? Who’s to say the residents aren’t just really into winter? Maybe they recently immigrated from the mountains outside Queenstown NZ, and simply find themselves homesick for the melancholic beauty of an August snow.
Just because someone’s home has every inch of architectural detail lined with a strand of multicoloured lights, doesn’t mean they’re into Christmas. They could just as easily be into ostentatious tackiness. Or engaged in a shrewd attempt to reduce their tax burden by lowering the neighbourhood’s property values.
And it’s always possible that the circular brown fire hazard nailed to the front door is merely there to hide a blemish. Or that a man-sized candy cane on someone’s porch is only an Amazon delivery destined for the inhabitant’s new confection shop. How am I to know? Who am I to judge?
I would hope my own generous attempts to consider such alternate motivations are reciprocated by those who bear witness to my eccentricity — film photography. I’ve seen the sideways glances; the nudge-and-nods extended in my direction; the eye rolls. And I get it. Much like Christmas decorations in August, film cameras can seem potently anachronistic in the year 2021.
Who wouldn’t be wary of a man that’s blatantly disconnected with the ways of modern society? For many, my film cameras imply someone so behind the times, he doesn’t realize the 20th century ended two decades ago. For all one knows, I could have a closet full of bell-bottoms, a Cheryl Tiegs poster on the wall, and a collection of movies on VHS.
To others, the film cameras might imply I’m a prepper — a survivalist working with the mechanical tools of yore, and training for the day when a giant solar flare wipes out the world’s power grid, and all its electronic devices. For all one knows, I could have a bunker full of canned goods, a mini arsenal, and a collection of movies on VHS.
(Editorial Aside: Although doomsday preparations are not my motivation for shooting film, I do recognize — should a giant solar flare arrive — that I’ll be the richest man in town. Once people lose the ability to photograph themselves with narcissistic abandon, I’ll be the only person capable of feeding their need to be photographed looking pensive in front of a hip mural; doing yoga on a rocky bluff; or enjoying a glass of wine at sunset.)
Fortunately, my own Christmas decoration perturbations allow me some empathy toward those who eye me cautiously. And just like the retired Norwegian reindeer herder or the immigrant from the mountains of New Zealand; my film cameras have nothing to do with being either too early or too late. Instead, much like the confectioner’s man-sized candy cane, they simply indicate that I have a passion for my craft and the product that results — an analog photograph. And because of this, I’m neither ahead of my time nor behind it — but smack in the middle of where I like to be.
That said, if I’m out strolling with a film camera and I stumble upon a mid-summer nativity diorama, I’m still hightailing it out of there. Empathy only goes so far.
©2021 grEGORy simpson
ABOUT THE PHOTOS: My anticipation, when I plunge my hands into the dark bag and spool a roll of film onto the reel, is much like that of a child’s on Christmas morning. What wonders lie within? What joy is yet to manifest? If one really wants to experience Christmas all year long, I’d suggest they give film a try. Accompanying this article are just a few of the presents I’ve opened these past several weeks. “Stairway to Heaven” was shot with a Ricoh Auto-Half on Tri-X @ ISO 200; “Dubious Transport” was shot with a Leica IIIc on Tri-X @ ISO 400, and fronted with a Letiz 35mm f/3.5 Elmar LTM lens. “In Peace Rest,” “Solar Flare: Moment of Impact” and “Tunnel Vision” were all shot with a Minolta TC-1 on Tri-X @ ISO 400. All film from all cameras was, as usual, developed in Rodinal 1:50.
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