Every so often, someone somewhere suggests I write a book. Unfortunately, they rarely suggest what kind of book I should write. When prompted, several suggest I write a novel; others recommend I focus on educational materials; some advocate for a photo book; while another contingent requests “an assemblage” of existing articles.
So here’s the deal. Actually, here are several deals.
First, I actually have written books. Several hundred of them, in fact — and all in that “educational” category so many desire. I’ve been writing electronic music product owner’s manuals since the late 1980’s — some of which have even been employed as classroom texts in a few institutes of higher learning. But I agree with the thought gestating in your mind: these aren’t “real” books. After all, it’s not like someone’s going to curl up in front of the fire with a 1,000 page manual on music notion and a nice glass of brandy. Besides, anyone who did suggest I pen an “educational book” was surely imagining something photography related, what with the purported purpose of this site.
Second, I did indeed publish a book of photos about 15 years ago. No, it wasn’t a “real” book — it was a Blurb book. Which meant the crisply photographed black-and-white images were rendered in either a murky shade of purple or a nauseatingly hued cyan. In spite of this, I’ll admit it sold better than expected — in the high single digits, last I checked. Also, I’ve been publishing a photo magazine the past couple years, which does sell substantially better. So you could always buy a couple of those, staple them together and boom! — instant book. Would I ever publish a real, offset-printed photo book using a real printer/publisher like Steidl? In a heartbeat. Would Steidl publish me? There aren’t enough hearts beating in the world.
The third (and most popular) suggestion, is that I release “an assemblage” of existing articles in book form. I’ve never been able to wrap my head around this one. The articles are already on the internet. For free. Yet my readership has declined so precipitously in the past several years that my web host has started emailing condolence messages to my friends and family. Why would anyone pay for what they can get for free? What publisher on this side of a padded accommodation in Bellevue would invest in publishing something that’s already offered without charge? Even if they performed a marketing miracle and convinced everyone to buy the first edition, word would quickly spread that it’s all on the web, thus killing any plans to publish a second edition, and therefore eliminating any possibility to recoup marketing expenses. Plus, since it’s Google’s stated goal to electronically publish every book in the world, it seems kind of silly to transfer all my articles to print, just so Google can transfer them back into digital form.
Fourth on the list of considerations is “the novel.” I’m not sure exactly what I’ve ever written that would make someone think I’m capable of writing a novel? I can barely stay engaged long enough to finish a 1000 word essay. How would I ever complete a 70,000 word novel? But if I ever did write a novel, I can assure you it would be so thoroughly unlike anything I’ve written for ULTRAsomething — both in language and in style — that it would utterly confound and disappoint anyone who ever asked me to write it.
Which brings me to the one book idea that no one seems to suggest: A collection of unpublished essays. This is something I think I could be good at, since writing essays is exactly what I’ve been doing these past 15 years. But to do this means I stop publishing them on the web and start publishing them in print. Given my current writing rate, it would take me 6 years to assemble a 70,000 word collection — more than enough time to guarantee no one would remember ULTRAsomething ever existed, or that they’d ever even suggested I write a book.
So, all roads lead to the same destination: me asking “why would I ever write a book?” Sure, I’d love to go on the talk show circuit, gorging myself on free snacks in the green room and engaging in witty banter with the host. Who wouldn’t? But is that going to happen? And aren’t there at least 100 things I’d rather do with my remaining time?
If this essay sounds like I’m sitting atop the tip of some existential iceberg, you’re absolutely right. I am. But in order to explore it more thoroughly, I’d have to write a book.
To subtly illustrate my point that, perhaps, I’m not particularly equipped for long-form writing, I’ve captioned each accompanying photo with only a single word.
Baubles was shot on a Leica M6 TTL with a Minolta 28mm f/2.8 Rocker lens using HP5+ pushed to ISO 800 and developed in Microphen stock.
Rink was also shot on a Leica M6 TTL, but with a TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95 lens using Delta 3200 developed in Microphen stock.
Chrysler was photographed with a Fuji Natura Black 1.9 on HP5+ pushed to ISO 3200 in Microphen stock.
Pedant popped out of a Canon Demi EE-17 half-frame camera, loaded with HP5+ at ISO 400, which was developed with Blazinal (Rodinal) 1:50.
Skynyrd was shot from my sofa, just before taking a nap, on the OM Digital OM-1 on which was mounted an OM Digital 40-150 F/4 lens.
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Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase
Don’t let that flow of crystal wisdom streaking through my wavy mane fool you. It might not look it, but I’ve a finger pressed firmly to the pulse of today’s hip kid culture — not that it requires a degree in quantum gravity physics or anything. Today’s hip kids aren’t doing anything different than what yesterday’s hip kids did — they just shuffle the pieces on the game board and give it a new name. It’s not like anyone ever invents anything new.
That said, the whole cycle of ‘what’s old is new again’ seems to be tightening. It used to take a couple generations for trends to repeat themselves, but today’s hip kids are circling back to things I did as a hip adult — never mind the things I did as a hip kid. If the hip cycles get any tighter, whatever I did last Tuesday will be “in” again come Friday.
An example of this is the current trend of buying and using old point-and-shoot digital cameras.
As a young adult, I was always hip to emerging technology and impatient for it to get hip enough to give me what I wanted —a decent, yet affordable digital camera. But in those nascent days of 1991, a 1.3 megapixel Kodak DCS 100 cost as much as a pickup truck, which you would also need to purchase in order to lug the thing around. So, instead, I bought the first-ever Nikon film scanner and something called Photoshop 1.0 as “bridge products” to the hipness I ultimately sought. Come the mid-90’s, a barrage of thoroughly crappy, but semi-affordable digital cameras began to trickle onto the market, and I imbibed like a land shark at an all you can eat sushi bar. At the time, I was simply too hip for film — the bleeding edge of digital was surely where I belonged.
So when I heard that today’s kids were all abuzz over shooting vintage point & shoot digital cameras, I went rummaging through my bin of antiquity to see what, if anything, might have sudden pecuniary value. Unfortunately, since each new generation of 90’s digital camera tech would leapfrog the previous generation, I didn’t bother to retain most of my “obsolete and valueless” models.
I did, however, unearth a 1998 Kodak DC260. Though this was my fourth (or fifth) digital camera, it was the first one capable of taking a photo in which less than 20% of the pixels were just spurious digital noise. I popped in a fresh bundle of AA batteries along with one of my “massive” old 10MB Compact Flash cards. After a quick Google check to confirm that Photoshop could still crack open Kodak’s old proprietary file format, I anxiously fired off my first shot — hoping to see exactly what it was that so excites today’s hip kids. Instead, I was greeted by a screen of pure, unadulterated bokeh. So I snapped another… and another… until I eventually realized the camera wasn’t even attempting to move the lens into position and focus. Switching to manual focus had no effect. Time had turned the DC260 into a dedicated blur machine. For a brief moment, I attempted to mentally reframe this as a “feature” for creating a series of Rothko-like photographs… but, really, it was just hopelessly broken.
So I dove back into the antiquity tub in search of more ‘gems,’ eventually extracting my only other archaic digital artifact — a 2003 Canon Powershot S400. Unlike the DC260, the Canon uses proprietary batteries, of which I still had two. Although it took 24 hours to charge the first battery, I was delighted to see it could still power the camera. The first thing I did was reset the date and configure a couple menu options, after which the camera shut itself down and told me to “recharge the battery.” I then charged the second battery (another 24 hours) and snapped a photo from my window — an act that also completely drained the battery. 48 hours later, after recharging both batteries, I was ready for a photo walk — albeit a rather short one, what with only two shots available before the batteries would be spent.
Back in the comfort of home, I perused the day’s 2-photo bonanza of shots. What surprised me was that, in spite of the reduced resolution and ancient tech, the images were far more satisfying than the overly processed, plasticine crap the spews forth from my iPhone. The photos looked, for lack of a better word, ‘real’. That said, I doubt the image quality has anything to do with why hip kids are flocking to early digital point & shoots. It’s fashion driving their choices, not results… but still, it’s amazing how far we’ve fallen from the glory days when CCDs ruled the roost.
Although the old digital images were subjectively superior to photos from a modern smart phone, these hip retinas of mine still found them far less appealing than those produced by last year’s hip kid retro toy — the film camera. To this day, there remains nothing that satisfies my visual desires quite like a random dusting of silver halide crystals. Fortunately, cycles being as tight as they are, I suspect it’ll only be another few months until film cameras are again hipper than digital — albeit with some ‘twist’, like maybe it’ll be medium format that’s hip this time, rather than point & shoots.
Admittedly, while I do like to know what’s going on, I gave up chasing “hip” several decades ago. I don’t really care what’s in and what’s out (other than knowing what’s what lets me buy low and sell high). When it comes to photography, I’m rather certain I’ll be shooting b&w film for at least a dozen more hip cycles. So, while I began this article with the intent of showcasing some antiquated digital photos, the paucity of results necessitated that I do what I always do — populate it with analog photos that are even more antiquated. Who knows? If I keep doing this long enough, maybe this website will even be “hip” again. Stranger things have happened — like, say, this whole digital point & shoot trend.
As mentioned, in spite of the article being all about vintage digital cameras, the photos are all from film cameras — I guess I’m just not hip enough to cruise around town with a 20 year-old digital Elph and a bucket full of batteries.
Speed Dating was shot with a Fuji Natura Black 1.9 using HP5+ pushed to ISO 1600 in Microphen stock. I’d like to claim credit for the title, but when I stopped to compliment the kids on their creative act of hooliganism, they were the ones who told me they had dubbed this particular piece, “Speed Dating.”
Cthulhu View is from a cropped Widelux F7 negative, shot on Rollei RPX 100 @ ISO 100 and developed in Rodinal 1:50
Bad Bad Plant was photographed with a Leica M6TTL and a Minolta 28mm f/2.8 Rokkor lens, using HP5+ pushed to ISO 800 in Microphen stock. I claim no understanding of this scene. I just shoot ’em.
Duality was shot with a Fuji Natura Black 1.9 on HP5+, and pushed to ISO 1600 in Microphen stock.
Cannibal Holocaust is, perhaps, the most perfectly titled photo I’ve ever shot. However, if you haven’t seen Ruggero Deodato’s 1980 film, “Cannibal Holocaust,” then you’ll have no idea why. Word of warning: anyone not fully vaccinated against repugnantly graphic imagery is encouraged to remain cheerfully in the dark. Shot on a Leica M2 with a 35mm Summicron v4 using HP5+ @ ISO 400 and developed in Rodinal 1:50.
Sun Tau in Modern Times was photographed with an Olympus XA, on HP5+ @ ISO 400 and developed in Rodinal 1:50
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Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
For several years, I tracked the total number of steps taken on each and every photo walk. And I did this because… well… I don’t actually know why. Maybe I needed to confirm my compliance with that whole 10,000 step ‘health’ thing, even though I knew every walk would easily exceed that amount. Also, I was tracking only the photo-related steps, as if any other type of step was somehow void of benefit. So this year, bored with counting steps (but still monitoring only photo walks), I decided to instead track miles, which seemed a more relatable metric (imperial?) in real-world terms. I surpassed 1,000 miles well over a month ago, and should easily exceed 1,250 miles in 2023. That’s 2,000 km of aimless meandering, expressly for the purpose of taking photos.
That’s like walking from San Diego to Seattle — the entire length of the west coast of the USA; or from Stockholm Sweden to Milan Italy for my European friends; or from Brisbane to Adelaide for the down-under crew.
This probably has a lot to do with why shoes are my #3 photography related expense. These are no grassy meadows I’m traversing — just cold, hard, unforgiving cement. The shoes I bought just 3 months ago are now tenuous at best, while those I bought 5 months ago are ready for the trash. I wonder how many other people are on a first name basis with the staff in their neighbourhood specialty shoe store?
Unlike cameras — where a cheap and dodgy no-name special is just as likely to produce a good photograph as a premium model — shoe quality is essential. Skimping with cheap shoes is false economy, since any perceived savings correlate directly with a significant increase in bandage costs.
By the way, for those wondering what my top-two photography-related expenses are, the answer is 1) insurance and 2) web/domain hosting. Magazine publishing costs are also way up there. Film, chemistry and cameras are actually the cheapest part of this whole endeavour — which would be a great way to rationalize their purchase to a spouse, should you be one of those people who has one.
I wasn’t always such a walk-a-holic. In my early 20’s, I prided myself on driving a half-mile to the grocery store, under some mistaken assumption that I was doing myself good by saving 5 minutes of precious time.
My walking didn’t see a tremendous uptick during the 13 years I lived in downtown San Francisco — where I simply replaced the car with a monthly bus pass. Also, my penchant for wearing leather-soled Beatle boots and black, skin tight Levi 501 jeans was a bit hostile to walks in excess of a mile or two.
Things changed somewhat when I moved to Vancouver. I traded the tight, heavy denim (which was made far tighter and heavier by the rain) for loose, quick drying nylon. And to gain more traction on wet, slippery surfaces, I traded my beloved Beatle boots for rubber soles (not to be confused with the Beatle’s Rubber Soul).
But even then, I didn’t walk a tremendous amount — just enough to shoot the photos I needed to populate the next article. Granted, I walked far more than most people, but nothing like the Bangkok-to-Hong Kong treks I do now. All additional exercise was relegated to the gym, which burned far more calories in far less time than walking (mirroring the same primitive logic I employed in my early 20’s).
COVID changed that tactic entirely. The gyms closed. I tried working out in my condo, but didn’t wish to pollute my clean minimalist environment with some bulky, ugly exercise gear. So I tried going with a floor mat and a bunch of iPad exercises, but that simply wasn’t any fun — not that exercising ever was. Instead, I just started walking more. A lot more. Unfortunately, no amount of walking will ever get my heart pumping away at 160 bpm, but at least it gets me out of the condo and into the fresh air, where I’m free to engage with the world (even if that world extends only in a 5km radius from my home). But most importantly, all that extra walking lets me take substantially more photos.
By the time all the gyms finally re-opened, I was well and truly hooked on walking — and well and truly out of the gym habit. Unlike bad habits, which are notoriously easy to adopt and wickedly difficult to kick, good habits (like going to the gym) are the opposite: wickedly difficult to adopt and notoriously easy to kick. Intellectually, I know I should probably add some cardio back into my daily routine, but for now I’ve simply convinced myself that every time I see a good photo opportunity, my heart rate accelerates. Granted, I haven’t actually confirmed this with a heart rate monitor because, frankly, I don’t want to disprove it.
So I guess I won’t be ponying up any dough for a 500 series Hasselblad system, or that 3-lens Mamiya 6 system, or even a 30mm lens for my Xpan. Instead, I need to once again traipse over to the damn shoe store, and tap the credit card for a pair of winter-ready waterproof Hokas. At least it’s cheaper and more exciting than buying insurance.
I considered populating this article with various footwear photos, but a quick scan of my Lightroom catalog revealed that I apparently don’t possess even the slightest tendency toward foot fetishism. So I had to pivot, and instead populated the article with several disturbing visions of a dystopian future. Given the state of the world, it seemed rather appropriate — even if the photos have nothing at all to do with the text.
For the nerds out there:
Dystopia 1: World without Netflix was photographed with a Leica M6TTL and a Voigtlander 50mm f/1.5 Nokton lens, using FP4+ pushed to ISO 400 and developed in Blazinal 1:24.
Dystopia 2: World Without Mobiles utilized a Leitz/Minolta CL with an M-Rokkor 40mm f/2 lens and FP4+, which was shot at ISO 200 and developed in Blazinal 1:50.
Dystopia 3: Deep Fried Oreos was shot with an Olympus OM-2n and a G. Zuiko 28mm f/3.5 lens, rendered on Fomapan 100 and developed in Black, White & Green at 1+49.
Dystopia 4: Orthodoxy used a Konica Recorder half-frame camera, a roll of Fomapan 100 and a tank of Blazinal 1:50.
Dystopia 5: Generative A.I. was photographed with an Olympus OM-3Ti and an F. Zuiko 50mm f/1.8 lens, loaded with HP5+, shot at ISO 400 and developed in Blazinal 1:50. It was then made thoroughly moronic with a bit of assistance from Adobe’s generative fill tool.
Dystopia 6: Aliens – This, like Dystopia 3, was shot with an Olympus OM-2n and a G. Zuiko 28mm f/3.5 lens, rendered on Fomapan 100 and developed in Black, White & Green at 1+49.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is neither an aggregator site nor is it AI-generated. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
I’ve heard there are people in the world who actually enjoy sales and marketing. Yeah, I know — I can’t wrap my head around it either! Though I will admit possessing such a personality disorder could prove quite useful, now that I’m self-publishing ULTRAsomething Magazine. Alas, I basically consider my job “done” the second I ship the master file off to the printer. Once I’ve created a product, my attention immediately shifts to developing the next one; not to selling the one that’s finished. I’m starting to think maybe, just maybe, this could be partially responsible for my negative cash flow.
Speaking of negative cash flow, Exorcism 04 is now available, and arrives accompanied by three flavours of news: one bad; one good; one great. The bad news is that I can no longer offer free shipping within North America. The good news is that, even with steadily increasing production costs, the magazine itself will remain the same price. The great news is that, to help offset any hard feelings that might come from the shipping charges, I’ve decided to increase the magazine’s page count from 60 to 72. Fortunately, I’ve been conjuring more than enough photographic demons to easily accommodate the 20% increase in volume.
And speaking of demons and increasing volume, no less than 22 cameras were used to produce this issue. That’s three more than were used to photograph Exorcism 03, eight more than Exorcism 02; and 10 more than Exorcism 01. One of these days I’m going to try something radical — like producing a single issue with a single camera. But for now, I’ll set my sights on a goal I might possibly reach — like using fewer cameras for Exorcism 05, rather than more. We’ll see how that goes.
Employed in Exorcism 04 were the following: Canon AE-1; Contax IIa; Contax G1; Fuji Natura Black 1.9; Konica Autoreflex TC; Konica C35; Konica Hexar AF; Konica Recorder; Leica M3; Leica M6 TTL; Leica M10 Monochrom; Leitz Minolta CL; Lomography Spinner 360; Lomography Sprocket Rocket; Minolta TC-1; Nikon 28Ti; Olympus OM-2n; Olympus Pen FT; Olympus XA; OM Systems OM-1; Pentax MX; Pentax MZ-S.
As always, click on the site’s STORE link to purchase a copy of ULTRAsomething | Exorcism 04. And if you haven’t yet done so, feel free to complete your collection by purchasing any missing back issues — it’s not like the photos are, in any way, time sensitive.
The following text is the Apologia, as it appears in ULTRASOMETHNG | EXORCISM 04:
Between November 1968 and August 1969, an assemblage of photographers and writers — comprising Koji Taki, Takuma Nakahira, Yutaka Takanashi, Takahiko Okada and (later) Daido Moriyama — self-published a photography magazine called Provoke.
In my eyes, it was the single most important photography periodical ever published — a feat it achieved in a run of only three issues. Provoke encapsulated and articulated a uniquely Japanese aesthetic, and was a direct predecessor to three of my all time favourite photography books: Nakahira’s Kitarubeki kotoba no tame ni (For a Language to Come) in 1970; Moriyama’s Shashin yo sayonara (Bye Bye Photography) in 1972; and Takanashi’s Toshi-e (Toward the City) in 1974. Its impact is still felt in Japanese photography to this day.
Between October 2022 and May 2023, an assemblage of me and me alone self-published three issues of ULTRAsomething magazine. Having utterly failed to achieve even one-millionth the impact of Provoke, I’ve opted to best it in the only way I know how — with quantity. By publishing this, the magazine’s fourth exorcism, I have now exceeded Provoke’s run by a whopping 33%. In a long career void of victories, fabricating wins is a necessity. Exorcism 04 was shot mostly on film, mostly in the summer of 2023, and mostly in or around Vancouver, Canada.
ULTRASOMETHING | EXORCISM 04 is now available for purchase at the ULTRAsomething STORE.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is neither an aggregator site nor is it AI-generated. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
Curiosity can be a dangerous thing. After all, it killed the cat! But even armed with this knowledge, I still can’t prevent my mind from frequent forays into thoughts that begin with, “Hmm, I wonder if…”
Recently, I completed that question with the words “… anyone ever made a 24×24 square frame 35mm camera?” A quick search of Google (also a dangerous thing) revealed the ancient Zeiss Ikon Taxona and the somewhat less ancient Robot Royal 24. On the cheesier end sat a smattering of mid-60’s Rapid format compact cameras, and the Lomography LC-Wide.
The LC-Wide was the first option I investigated. It’s still in production, and thus easily obtained should I decide to add another goofy 35mm format camera to the collection. But a rather extreme disconnect between its price and its value, coupled with the fact it achieved the square format by simply masking the edges of a standard 3×2 frame (meaning you still get 36 frames on a 36-exposure roll) resulted in its immediate dismissal from any and all consideration.
The Zeiss Ikon Taxona was a bit too doddering to crank my enthusiasm dial. However, I found the Robot Royal 24 wickedly intriguing — and not just because it was designed from the ground up to cram 50+ images on a 36-shot roll of film, but because it had several unique features, including a nice assortment of interchangeable lenses; a rotary shutter; and a wind-up film advance — exactly like my beloved but dearly-departed Ricoh Auto-Half. I’m a real sucker for wind-up cameras.
The Rapid format cameras were also intriguing, but for an entirely different reason: they’re dirt cheap! I knew the Rapid system quickly came-and-went in the mid-1960s as a failed competitor to the popular Kodak 126 format, but had always assumed it (like the Kodak system) used some sort of proprietary film type that would prove hostile to a 35mm photographer. Turns out the Rapid system actually does use 35mm film — it just gets loaded (quite easily) into an entirely different type of cassette.
At this point, research completed, my curiosity was sated. Or rather I thought it was sated until, two days later, I walked into my local camera shop to buy some bulk film, and spotted not one but two Rocket Royal 24’s in a cabinet. Uh oh. 30 seconds later, I was fiddling with both.
One was totally non functioning, but the other had potential. The spring advance was working; the shutter was a bit sticky but was opening; the rangefinder patch was clear and clean; and the horribly complicated 3-piece take-up cassette, into which one must laboriously insert their film leader, seemed to be working in all its sadistic glory. Sure, the camera weighs slightly more than a Honda Civic and yes, it definitely needed a skilled jeweller to gingerly clean and lube its clockwork mechanics, but I could feel it tugging at my heart strings.
Fortunately, my brain also comes with attached strings, and I was able to tug those with enough force to counter the heart’s. “I’ll think about it,” I said, as I slid the Robot Royal 24 back across the counter, adding “Maybe I’ll see if I can find an old Rapid format camera first.”
“We have one” replied the salesperson, pointing in the direction of a shelf loaded with ridiculously cheap consumer point-and-shoots from around the dawn of Beatlemania. And there, indeed, sat a Fujica Rapid S — wedged in amongst its full-frame riffraff. $50 Canadian, with new seals and a pair of Rapid cassettes already inside. “I’ll take it” said my heart and brain in unison.
Perhaps this would be a good time to discuss why I even wanted a square-frame 35mm camera. And if I knew the answer, I’d tell you. But I don’t, so what follows is merely conjecture.
33 years ago (as discussed in Origin Story), after spending the previous decade as a mere photography connoisseur, I bought my first camera. Since I had plans to focus mostly on studio photography, the camera I initially desired was a Hasselblad 500 series. I wanted one badly. But not only was the price of the camera well beyond my means, so was the price of medium format film and a medium format darkroom enlarger. So I surrendered to my budget and bought a 35mm Canon camera and a 35mm B&W darkroom enlarger instead.
Unfortunately, the call of the Hasselblad never quieted. To this day, I still want a 500 series Hasselblad, even though it makes absolutely no sense. I don’t know if it’s simply a siren call from my youth, or if it’s those big square negatives. I suspect both. As I matured my way out of any desire to do studio work, the object of my affection shifted to the collapsible 6×6 Mamiya 6 rangefinder camera — itself, an unconsummated lust, much like the Hasselblad.
Though neither dream camera has ever graced my shelves, I have dabbled a bit with square format over the years — a pinhole camera; a couple of TLRs; a Dianna — all medium format, and all shot before my workflow could adequately support it. Today, however, medium format fits effortlessly into my workflow, but only the Fuji GS645S Wide 60 is in my shooting ‘rotation.’ So the Hasselblad 500 series and Mamiya 6 cameras continue to taunt me — along with my desire to explore the square in greater depth. But now, just as then, those cameras are beyond my budget — which may be what prompted me to ask, “I wonder if anyone ever made a 24×24 square frame 35mm camera?” Because, if the answer was “yes,” that would allow me to explore the aspect ratio at minimum expense.
The other possible motivation is that I might be infatuated with any non-standard aspect ratio that can fit on a strip of 35mm film. Framing a square onto a strip of 35mm yields a 24mm x 24mm negative, which would make it a 2/3 frame camera — something absent from my shelves.
Prior to purchasing the Rapid S, my cameras supported ‘only’ the following oddball 35mm aspect ratios:
1/3 frame (8×24 LomoKino)
1/2 frame (several, like the Pen FT and Konica Recorder, either 24×17, 24×18, or even the 13×36 masked panoramics)
7/12 frame (Kodak Stereo camera, which could also be considered a 7/6 frame camera since it requires two 7/12 frames to make a single stereo image)
1 2/3 frame (Widelux F7)
1 4/5 frame (Hasselblad Xpan)
2 frame (Sprocket Rocket)
3 1/3 frame (Spinner 360)
So, looking at this list, how could I NOT want to add a 2/3 frame square format camera to my collection? The same compulsive impulse is probably what continues to drive my desire to own a Fuji BYU-N 16 Rensha Cardia golf camera, which manages to cram 16 exposures into a 2-frame width — half the images being 9×9 and the other half being 7×9, making it both a 3/32 and a 7/96 frame camera. Just writing that sentence fills me with desire…
Once I arrived back home with the new camera, I did some internet digging — eventually unearthing snapshots that someone took of the original Fujica Rapid S Japanese language manual. Happily, in spite of the fact I don’t read Japanese, numbers are still numbers. So I was quickly able to figure out that the lens is fixed at f/11 and that the two available shutter speeds are 1/30s and 1/125s. Minimum focus distance is 1.5 meters (5 feet for my American readers). This is rather typical for a 60 year-old, fixed-focus, consumer point-and-shoot camera. However, since the shutter release is a rather inelegant lever on the lens (as opposed to a button on the body), it’s nigh impossible to take a photo at the 1/30s setting without inducing a bit of camera shake. Fortunately, the lens is soft enough that it helps mask any such movement.
Every camera has its specialty. Because of this, I like to let the camera tell me what to shoot. It became immediately evident that the Rapid S, like the Ford MVP or my old Olympus PEN EE-2 (RIP) is an anti-fidelity camera — its softness working well for a hint of pictorialsm, while its lens distortion generates the more off-kilter feeling of early 20th century German expressionism. In reality, the camera yields a 24 x 26 negative — awkwardly sitting halfway between a Mamiya 6’s 1:1 aspect ratio; and the Mamiya 7’s 6:7 aspect ratio. For this article, I simply cropped each 12:13 negative into a square, losing only a tiny bit of visual mush on either side of the frame.
Loading the camera and its Rapid format cassette is extremely simple, though it does require either a darkroom or a changing bag. Snip a little concave shape into the film leader then, in a dark bag, yank a 60 cm (2 ft) strip out of your bulk loader (or commercial 35 mm film cartridge, if you’re not a nerd), and cut it. Stuff the concave end of your film strip into the teardrop shaped Rapid cassette. There is no spool inside — the cassette merely coils the film as you feed it in. Leave a few centimetres sticking out of the cassette, then pull it out of the changing bag.
Fashion the exposed end with the same little concave cut and drop the full cassette into the right side of the camera. Drop the empty take-up cassette into the left side of the camera, and insert the recently cut leader into it — making sure the sprockets engage the holes on the film. Close the back; advance the film; and marvel at what may be the most austere camera you’ve ever seen. 16 shots later, drop the take-up spool in your changing bag, pull out the film strip (the leader will never disappear into the cassette), roll it onto your reel and develop as you normally would.
As you would rightly conclude, this article is sprinkled with shots taken from those first few strips from the Fujica Rapid S. Though my penchant for non-standard formats is somewhat at odds with my need to routinely publish new ULTRAsomething magazines (which I designed to support either 3×2 or 5×7 photos), no such limitations exist for the website, which may be why I still bother publishing it after 15 years.
The Fujica Rapid S is a camera that will definitely enter the ever-growing collection of cameras in my shooting rotation. But, happy as I am with this little camera, there’s one thing it didn’t do: quiet my lust for both a Mamiya 6 (with all three lenses) and a Hasselblad… “Hmm, I wonder if there are any decent but affordable Hasselblad 500 series cameras for sale on eBay?”
While walking around shooting that first roll in the Rapid S, I found myself singing a bastardized version of The Waitresses Square Pegs, which was written for the 1982 American TV sitcom of the same name. “Bastardized” because, rather than singing “square pegs”, I was singing “square negs, square negs, square, square negs.” In my defence,I’ll note that I never once claimed to be an intellectual. So naturally, when it came time to develop the first two rolls, I did so to the Waitresses “Wasn’t Tomorrow Wonderful” album, which — come to think of it — isn’t all that natural, since “Square Pegs” isn’t even on that album. The third roll was inexplicably developed to Tori Amos’ “Little Earthquakes,” which became explicable when I remembered the cover was mostly blank, save for a small photo of Tori stuffed into a little square box. The mind’s ability to free-associate is a curious thing.
However, I had no such epiphany around my decision to name each photo after a movie. It’s simply that a few of them reminded me of films, so I went with it. There were several other photos I could have included with this article, but they didn’t immediately conjure up any recollections of motion pictures, so they didn’t make the cut. All photos, no matter their birth music or their movie title suitability, were shot on FP4+ and developed in Rodinal 1:50.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is neither an aggregator site nor is it AI-generated. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
For decades, I’ve used a custom form to log ‘important’ characteristics for each roll of film I develop. Recorded on this form are attributes such as: the dates between which the roll was shot, and where it was shot; what camera and lens(es) were used; what film was employed, and at what ISO; the type, temperature and ratio of the chemistry; and the methodology used in the film’s development.
After scanning the negatives, I then copy this information into my Lightroom catalog, where it becomes part of each image’s metadata. Having access to so much history has proven invaluable over the years — particularly when it comes time to develop some type of film I haven’t shot in awhile. For example, I recently purchased a 100′ bulk roll of FP4+, and a quick glance through my previous FP4+ negatives revealed that my historically “mixed” opinion of the film had everything to do with whether I developed it in HC-110 (insipid) or Rodinal (tasty).
But lately, I feel as if my development skills have plateaued (though I’ll admit, given my penchant for low fidelity images, this can be a rather tricky thing to discern). Is there anything else I can learn from all these negatives? Am I tracking all the data I should be tracking? Is there any additional information I could record, which might aid my quest for constant improvement? Thinking through the development process step-by-step, I realized the very first thing I do when I process a roll of film is to choose a musical album to accompany the development. And yet, not once, had I ever bothered to document this obviously essential step in the process.
Granted, logic suggests one’s musical selection should have no affect on the negatives… but until I actually start to track it, can I make this claim with absolute certainty? Perhaps negatives subjected to sleazy lounge music during the development process will have subtly different characteristics than those birthed to some avant-garde classical tracks? Might there be a difference between those punk rock negatives and those souped under the aural blanket of a Gregorian chant? Does listening to hard bop give me negatives like Gene Smith’s? Will classic rock nudge my negatives in the direction of Jim Marshall’s?
And so — partly because it’s utterly ridiculous and partly because “why not?” — I’m now documenting the music that accompanies each roll of film I develop. In the last several weeks, I’ve souped negatives to:
Open by Brian Auger & Trinity w/Julie Driscoll
The Madcap Laughs by Syd Barrett
Bálvvoslatjna by Mari Boine
Ege Bamyasi by Can
Cowboy in Sweden by Lee Hazlewood
Oxygène by Jean-Michel Jarre
In the Court of the Crimson King by King Crimson
A Cappella Choral Works (featuring the London Sinfonietta Voices) by György Ligeti
Roots by Curtis Mayfield
Einfluss by Roedelius & Arnold Kasar
2112 by Rush
Obviously, it’s too soon to learn anything from this experiment… but give me another 5 or 6 years, and I might have pooled enough data to form a cohesive theory. In the meantime, I think I’ll forget about applying for photography grants — the real money is in research, and this might just be my ticket. Silly? Maybe. But I’ve seen grant money thrown at far more ludicrous projects that this…
“Multiplex” was shot with a Fuji Natura Black 1.9, using HP5+ pushed to ISO 1600 and developed in Rodinal 1:50. It was birthed to Jean-Michel Jarre’s Oxygène — still the best album ever recorded in one’s kitchen.
“Scythe” is from a Lomography Sprocket Rocket, using FP4+ pushed to ISO 200, and developed in Rodinal 1:50. Its development music came courtesy of 1967’s Open album from Brian Auger & Trinity w/Julie Driscoll.
“The Wall” was snapped with an Olympus Xa on HP5+ at ISO 400, and developed in Rodinal 1:50. And while it might have seemed obvious to have done so, it was not developed to Pink Floyd’s The Wall but, instead, to Can’s experimentally funky Ege Bamyasi album from 1972.
“Playline” was shot with a Contax G1 and a Zeiss Planar 45mm f/2 lens, using FP4+ pushed to ISO 200 and developed in Rodinal 1:50. Roedelius & Kasar’s Einfluss album, from 2017, provided the accompaniment.
“WRDSMTH Was Here” used a Fuji GS645S Wide 60 and some TMAX100 that expired over a decade ago, and which I exposed at ISO 80. Sound waves from the psychedelic cowboy lounge music of Lee Hazlewood’s Cowboy in Sweden helped agitate the Rodinal.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is neither an aggregator site nor is it AI-generated. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
One needs only spend a few minutes perusing the photos of Josef Koudelka to find 100 reasons why I’m no Josef Koudelka — none of which weigh in my favour. His panoramic work inspired my own forays into the format, while simultaneously leaving me rather dispirited by the wideframe oeuvre I’ve produced. Two of his standard format books — “Gypsies” and “Exiles” — both contain more perfect photos than I could create in a dozen lifetimes.
As apparent as these 100 differences are to the naked eye, there’s a 101st that isn’t as overtly obvious — philosophy. Koudelka once said, “I never stay in one country more than three months. Why? Because I was interested in seeing, and if I stay longer I become blind.” I’ll admit to having always envied his nomadic lifestyle, but it was never going to mesh with the drudgery of my day job. And since there were 100 readily apparent reasons why I’m no Josef Koudelka, there were also 100 reasons why my photography earnings would never supplant that day job. But here’s the thing: Being forced to photograph the same environment — day after day, month after month, year after year, decade after decade — is exactly what taught me TO see.
I walk over 1000 miles/year taking photographs — the vast majority of which are snapped within a 4 mile radius of my condo. I have photographed every inch of that radius hundreds, if not thousands, of times. And yet each photograph is different than the ones that came before it. A change in my mood; a change in the light; a change in season; a change in context; a change in camera, lens, or film; a change in the subject itself. Each results in an entirely different photograph — none of which could ever be the “definitive” photograph of the subject, because no such thing can possibly exist.
Being confined to a single environment forces you to see past a subject’s surface and deep into its entanglement with the universe. Photography may indeed be easier when everything in front of your camera is new — but it’s more spiritually rewarding when you’re forced to face the familiar, and work to see it in a different light.
That’s not to say I wouldn’t love the opportunity to travel to new places and photograph new things. I absolutely would. It’s exhilarating when you can stand in one spot and a hundred photographic possibilities flood your eye. When you photograph a single environment for decades, that flood turns to drought. 99% of everything I pass triggers the same thought — “I’ve already taken that photo.” But that 1% — where something reveals itself in such a way that it never revealed itself before — that’s the ultimate reward.
So I must humbly disagree with Koudelka. Being in one place for too long doesn’t make you go blind. Rather — it simply unlocks a different way of seeing. So, even though there are still 100 reasons why I wish I could take photos like Koudelka, there’s one that makes me very glad to be me.
ABOUT THE PHOTOS: All these photos were shot in spots I’ve traversed nearly as frequently as the hallway in my condo, yet each reveals something not seen in all the previous shots taken in exactly these same locations.
‘Meta‘ was shot with a Konica Hexar AF on Fomapan 100, and developed in Rodinal 1:50. ‘Over the Under Overpass‘ was photographed with a Widelux F7 on Rollei RPX100, and developed in Rodinal 1:50. ‘Fetch‘ was snapped with a Nikon 28Ti on Ilford Ortho Plus 80, and developed in HC-110 Dilution H. ‘Andy‘ was shot with a Leica IIIc and a 35mm f/3.5 Elmar LTM lens, on Tri-X, and developed in HC-110 Dilution E. ‘Redundant 1‘ was photographed with a Konica Hexar AF on Rollei RPX100, and developed in Rodinal 1:50. ‘Redundant 2‘ was shot with a Contax G1, fronted with a Contax 45mm f/2 Planar lens, using Delta 3200, which was developed in Rodinal 1:25.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is neither an aggregator site nor is it AI-generated. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
IMPORTANT: Speaking of ULTRAsomething magazine, this will probably be the last month that I offer free shipping in the US and Canada… so if you’ve been holding off purchasing an issue or two (or three), now’s the time to grab it!
A tower of new ULTRAsomething magazines sits stacked in a corner of my tiny condo — a condo made all the tinier by its need to house both myself and the entire ULTRAsomething media empire. Tidy fellow that I am, I’m rather anxious to see it diminish in stature. Not only will I then recoup the space to store future issues, but I’ll recoup at least some of the expenses incurred in this issue’s publication.
Speaking of expenses, I’m just a few sales away from breaking even on EXORCISM 01, and only a handful of copies remain. EXORCISM 02, which cost significantly more to produce and has sold fewer copies to date, is still some distance from toggling Excel’s red pixels to black. And now, joining them on the spreadsheet, is EXORCISM 03 — currently so far in the red that it’s purple.
That’s because, like EXORCISM 02, I chose to print EXORCISM 03 using the rich-black CMYK process. Also, our old friend inflation has driven the production costs even higher. But for now, I’ve decided to eat these cost increases, and the magazine is priced the same as the previous two issues — even though it means the issue will never break even. That’s the funny thing about the art world — it’s the collectors who stand to make a profit — not the creators.
Which is why it’s time for me to once again adopt my persona as “world’s worst salesman,” and try to market the darn thing — not for myself, mind you, but to help drive up the value for you collectors. I’m quite selfless that way. So here’s what I’ve come up with: “ULTRASOMETHING | EXORCISM 03 is now available to buy in the ULTRAsomething STORE. Personally, I think it’s the best issue yet. Then again, I’ll probably think the same of every issue — at least I hope I will, if I’m doing this right.” Eat your heart out, Madison Avenue.
Below is the apologia, as it appears in EXORCISM 03:
For me, ULTRAsomething Magazine is many things — but one thing I don’t want is for it to become dogma.
On the surface, some elements of the magazine — like its B&W photos, or its full-page/full-bleed format — may appear dogmatic. But, in reality, they are not.
In the case of B&W, it’s simply the medium in which I work; is what I enjoy; and is what I do best. Since each exorcism is meant to be a “snapshot” of my circumstance and predilection at the time of publication, the monochromatic photos merely reflect that fact. Should I one day choose to produce colour work, the magazine will dutifully comply. B&W is not dogma — it’s preference.
Similarly, the magazine’s layout — while rigid — is not dogma. It exists because each exorcism, and the magazine as a whole, should feel like a cohesive unit. I created this particular structure because my work is shot mostly in a 3×2 aspect ratio, which a full 2-page spread is sized to showcase. And for decades, I’ve cropped all vertical shots into a less top-heavy 5×7 aspect ratio, which fits the dimensions of a single page. So it was the photos that dictated the layout, not vice-versa. But that layout (like the B&W photos it contains) is not immutable. Should I begin to work in other formats that produce square or panoramic images, the layout will shift as the photos dictate.
One thing that I neither intended nor designed, was for the magazine to be shot entirely on film. The fact neither of the first two exorcisms contained a single digital shot didn’t come down to dogma, but simply to my extensive use of film cameras during that period. What would be dogma, is if I began to reject digital shots simply because they aren’t film.
As I began to assemble Exorcism 3, I noticed the prospects pool contained a smattering of digital shots. Because of the precedent set by the first two exorcisms, my first impulse was to remove them from consideration — exactly the sort of creeping dogma I’m supposed to reject. The whole point of the magazine is to evince what I thought, what I saw, where I was, and what camera I happened to have. If the camera I happened to have was digital, there is no reason to eliminate the photo — unless I choose to live in an autocratic regime of my own design. And where’s the fun in that?
So here, in your hands, is ULTRAsomething’s latest exorcism — still B&W; still full-page/full-bleed; and still dogma-free, thanks to the smattering of digital photos mixed in with the film.
Thank you to everyone who has previously purchased a copy of ULTRASOMETHING magazine — and that goes double for all who have purchased both previous issues. Your support is seen and appreciated.
ABOUT THE PHOTOS: The photos, shown here, appear in ULTRASOMETHING | EXORCISM 03, but represent only a small subset of the images contained in the magazine. In the posts announcing each of the previous two issues, I listed all the cameras that contributed to their publication. EXORCISM 01 used twelve cameras, which I found somewhat embarrassing. EXORCISM 02 used fourteen, which was just utterly ridiculous. EXORCISM 03 continues the journey to madness by employing nineteen different cameras in its making. These are: Contax G1; Fuji GS645S Wide 60; Konica Autoreflex T3N; Konica Autoreflex TC; Konica Hexar AF; Konica Recorder; Leica M2; Leica M3; Leica M10 Monochrom; Leidolf Unimark II; Leitz/Minolta CL; Minolta TC-1; Olympus OM-2n; Olympus Pen FT; Olympus XA; OM Systems OM-1; Pentax MX; Pentax MZ-S; and Ricoh GR III. In case it’s not obvious, I really like cameras.
ULTRASOMETHING | EXORCISM 03 is now available for purchase at the ULTRAsomething STORE.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is neither an aggregator site nor is it AI-generated. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
Every weekend I stand over my kitchen sink — music blaring, timer ticking — steadfastly inverting my stainless tanks as I develop, stop, fix and wash the previous week’s photographs. Inevitably, my mind drifts to how sweet life would be if only I owned a Jobo machine to do the agitation for me.
So every couple of months, I point my browser to the B&H website and ponder the purchase of a Jobo CPE-3 processor — with its big ol’ tilt mechanism, its big ol’ footprint, and its big ‘ol price tag. And every couple of months, I talk myself out of it. Not only does it cost about three times what I think it’s worth, but unless I want to make a Jobo film processor the centerpiece of my living room decor, it’s simply too massive for my tiny condo. Plus, the bulkiest bit of the processor’s overall bulk is the bulky tub — an utterly pointless component given that I shoot only B&W film, and thus don’t need to submerge all my developing chemicals into a temperature controlled multi-gallon bath of hot water.
If only someone made a device that featured the Jobo’s motorized rotator, but without its colossal plastic tub or its punitive price… and that’s when I remembered the existence of Google.
Truth be told, I half-expected my search to uncover more alternatives than it did… but seeing as how 99.999+% of the world’s photos are taken with a smart phone, I guess the dearth of options makes sense. Plus, if you are a B&W film photographer, the process of occasionally inverting a film tank isn’t exactly an insurmountable burden. If it were, I wouldn’t have done it for the past 33 years. But the older I get, the more time becomes my most precious commodity. And the 11 minutes I spend hand-inverting a roll of HP5+ in Rodinal, followed by the 5 minutes I spend hand-inverting that same roll in fixer, is 16 minutes that I could be doing something else — like cleaning up the mess; or preparing my negative sleeves; or readying new Lightroom folders for the upcoming scans. In the 1990’s, 16 minutes didn’t matter to me. Today, it does.
The first and most desirable alternative, is the glorious Filmomat processor.(note 1) Like the Jobo, it commands the room — but unlike the Jobo, it looks great while doing so. It also costs nearly twice as much as the Jobo, yet (because it fully automates the developing process) doesn’t seem at all overpriced — though it’s well beyond “affordable” to a guy who drives a 13 year-old Ford Fiesta.
The second alternative came from Jobo themselves, via a contraption they call a “manual processor roller base.” Essentially, it’s just four wheels turned upside down. You lay your tank across the wheels and proceed to hand rotate the tank for the duration of the developing/fixing time. This seemed more like an anti-solution than a solution. Using the hand-inversion method, I only have to attend to the tank for 10 seconds every minute. The manual processor roller base would require constant hands-on attention.
The third alternative was basically a category of similar products, which riffed on the idea of Jobo’s manual processor roller base, but used a motor (rather than your own hand) to keep the film tank in constant rotation. There were a few processors with this design — one of which seemed to have died in kickstarter; one of which appears frequently on eBay but seems rather poorly conceived; and something called a B’s processor.
Reading through the B’s literature and watching the videos, I became intrigued. It was small; reasonably priced; firmware updatable; and looked to address some of the fluid dynamics issues that also contributed to my Jobo hesitancy. So, not wishing to lose any more of life’s precious moments to the tedium of hand-inversion, I ordered one.
What I didn’t know to order, however, was the little accessory strap that allows you to mount shorter tanks on the device. My 2-reel stainless tanks aren’t big enough to span the gap between the wheels, so the B’s maiden voyage required that I dust off my 2-reel Paterson tank. Maybe you like Paterson tanks. I don’t. Frankly, I believe they should be classified by The Hague as a torture device and outlawed. But it was the only tank I had that would fit the machine, so I bitched and moaned my way through my first-ever rotational processing cycle. While the negatives came out absolutely perfect, my Paterson contempt remained an impediment.
To eliminate all need for the Paterson tank, I ordered the small tank adapter from B’s. Also, intuiting that a Jobo tank might be better suited to rotational development than my stainless tanks, I ordered a 2-reel Jobo 1520 tank from B&H whilst removing the CPE-3 from my wish list.
I endured one more Paterson tank experience — again with perfect negatives — before the Jobo tank and B’s accessory strap arrived.
I’ve now used the B’s Processor to develop 18 rolls of B&W film — all types, all developers, all sorts of ambient temperatures — and every one of them is perfectly developed. The Jobo tanks themselves work great — the reels load much faster than the Paterson reels, and chemistry enters/exits the tank instantly (unlike a stainless tank). Also, as an added bonus, not a single drop of liquid has yet to escape the tank — minimizing clean up.
My process is straight forward and stolen step-by-step from the method suggested by the B’s manual. Specifically:
Fill the tank with water, and prewash the film for 4 minutes, with the processor running in Mode 3 (fast) the entire time.
Dump the prewash, fill the tank with fresh water a second time, then run the processor for an additional 1 minute in Mode 3 (fast).
Dump the prewash, fill the tank with developer, then run the processor in Mode 1 (slow/pulse) for the full development time one would normally use for hand-inversion.
Dump the developer, fill the tank with a fresh water stop bath, and run the processor for 1 minute in Mode 3 (fast).
Dump the stop, fill the tank with fixer, and run the processor for 5 minutes in Mode 1 (slow/pulse).
Dump the fixer, and wash using a modified Ilford technique — employing a couple of hand-inversion cycles, and a couple of spin-cycles on Mode 3.
Given the price, impeccable results, and teensy amount of storage space it requires, there really isn’t any significant downside to the B’s Processor. The worst things I can say about it are…
It’s really designed to work best with tanks larger than 2-reel (Paterson excepted). Adding the strap to support a stainless or Jobo 2-reel tank seems a bit clunky, and the asymmetrical weight of a full tank sitting on the left half of the processor makes the unit a bit unstable… but it works… just not elegantly.
The rotation is controlled via magnets that must be attached to your developing tank. These can be attached via rubber bands or stuck on with some included stickers. Even if you decide to sticker the magnets to your tank, you’ll still need to slip on a rubber band to create a “track” for the wheels. Like the add-on strap to support 2-reel tanks, it all seems a bit clunky. But, again, it works… just not elegantly.
The B’s design does not allow the tank to be submerged in a water bath, which means (should you wish to use it for colour processing) your developer temperature will cool during rotation — requiring you to use the “average temperature over time” method. Fortunately, I don’t shoot colour film. But if absolute repeatability is essential, you’ll probably want a processor that allows the tank to be submerged… though you’ll spend a lot more in the process (no pun intended).
The B’s processor has quickly earned a spot in my film developing workflow. The fact its operation sometimes feels a bit clunky has not had any actual impact on its usability. When combined with the magnetic stirrer that I now use for chemicals, the whole film developing process makes me feel more like Walter White cooking up some blue meth than some old nerd developing film — albeit without the significant financial rewards, of course.
So, to B’s or not to to B’s? I weigh strongly in favour of the former. Every time I use it, I gain 16 minutes of precious free-time to engage in life’s other mundane tasks. And I get beautiful negatives with 100% repeatability. Hamlet never had it so good.
note 1 : At the time of my Google search, Filmomat had only a fully automated processing unit. Since that time, they’ve released the Filmomat Light — a smaller, cheaper, manual unit, which is conceptually similar to the motor-driven processors (like the B’s), but which allows for a water bath (for color). Since it’s not as large as a Jobo CPE-3, it could potentially fit on a shelf in my closet. It’s an intriguing option, partly because it supports installation of two motors, which enables one to simultaneously develop two tanks — ideal for someone like me, who is always shooting different films at different ISO’s and developing in different chemicals. Then again, I could accomplish the same thing (while occupying less space) if I simply purchased a second B’s Processor. Also, I know full well that if I did have a processing tub, I’d inevitably start shooting colour film just to make use of it — and I suck at colour photography.
ABOUT THESE PHOTOS: There’s really no grand underlying theme to the photos — save, I suppose, for the fact that all were shot in the last month, and all were processed using the B’s Processor… other than the digital shot of the machine in action, of course.
Rest Stop, Highway 99 was photographed with an Olympus XA, on Fomapan 100 at ISO 100, and developed in HC-110 Dilution H. Storm Front, Kitsilano was shot with a Contax G1 and a Planar 45mm f/2, on Ilford HP5+ at ISO 400, and developed in Rodinal (Blazinal) 1:50. B’s Processor Processing used the OM Systems OM-1 with the Olympus 17mm f/1.2 Pro lens. Lucid Dream came to fruition in a Minolta TC-1, on Ilford FP4+ at ISO 125, which was developed in Rodinal (Blazinal) 1:50. If You Drink, Don’t Spell was shot with a Contax G1 and a Biogon 28mm f2.8, on Fomapan 100 at ISO 100, and developed in HC-110 Dilution H.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is neither an aggregator site nor is it AI-generated. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
If what I read on the internet is true (and who knows if it is — it could have been written by ChatGPT), there’s considerable consternation within the photo community over the rapidly advancing presence of generative AI, and how it will ultimately lead to the death of photography. As a guy whose life is both consumed and enriched by photography, I figured I might as well weigh in on the topic. So here it is: Generative AI will have no effect on my photography whatsoever. I will continue to take photos exactly as I always have (albeit with the glacially slow stylistic shifts that occur over the course of one’s life) and I will remain just as unknown and insignificant 10 years from now as I am today. I don’t care one bit if AI robots scrape my website and use my photos to train their algorithms because, frankly, I think generative images could benefit from a touch of ULTRAsomething DNA.
Besides, I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but photography is already dead — at least as a culturally significant form of artistic expression. Obviously, it’s alive and well as an illustrative art form (where Photoshop reigns supreme in altering images into fantastical artifice), and as a marketing tool to help sell products, ideologies and agendas. It’s also thriving, more than ever, as a tool for cataloging cherished moments and events — even if those moments are instantly manipulated by in-camera AI algorithms to smooth skin, slim bodies, replace skies, and alter colours. Hell, memories are already sugar coated distortions of reality, so of course people want their photos to match the artifice.
For anyone already engaged in the jiggery-pokery side of image creation, AI will absolutely lessen the need to begin with an actual photo. But I would argue, for such applications, that the final image has always been an illustration (not a photograph), and that the creator’s differentiating skills and creativity lie in their illustrative mastery. So AI isn’t ‘killing’ photography — it’s simply lessening its necessity as an original component in a digitally fabricated painting. AI frees modern illustrators (who may erroneously be identifying as ‘photographers’) from the shackles of reality. Even though AI trains on what already exists, and can thus only re-create what’s come before, the paradoxical result is that the granularity with which these trillions of images are remixed enables anyone to create an infinite number of results. AI gives free rein to one’s imagination, so the more creative the mind, the more fantastical the image. That’s exactly the way art should work. It’s the world gone full circle. In the mid-19th century, painters feared photography would render the paint brush obsolete, but it didn’t. Photography was a different medium — employed by different practitioners to different ends. So here we are again, but with our shoes on our other feet.
Like everyone, I dabbled a bit with generative AI. I asked it to create a black and white ‘photograph’ of a man walking down the street with a tuna slung over his back. The results were hilarious, and with a bit of fine tuning in Photoshop, I could easily have slipped one into my portfolio and few would have been the wiser. But it was no more a photograph than a painting is a photograph, and for this reason was totally unrelated to what I like about photography or the reasons I do it.
The problem with generative AI is not the technology, but the intent. In 2018, a team from MIT published the results of their research on the propagation of information, and discovered that a lie would spread up to twenty times faster than a truth. So if your intent is the dissemination of disinformation, you’re going to be twenty times more successful than the guy with benign intent.
Technologies are often developed to achieve utopian goals, but one man’s utopia is another man’s hell. And therein lies the issue — technology is morally, politically, and culturally agnostic. A car can transport someone to the home of a sick friend in need of assistance, or it can be used as a weapon of mass murder to mow down those you seek to destroy. The car is still a car — it’s one’s intent that matters.
Mankind has always sought to control and manipulate others — whether through the religious doctrines of the past, or the rampant consumerism of the present. And the tools for manipulation have always been amply employed.
Generative AI is simply the newest, shiniest tool in the toolbox. But where it departs from photography, videography, writing, painting and other art forms is through the democratization of the technology — putting it into the hands of everyone, and not just the gifted wordsmiths, visual effects specialists, or those with exquisite Photoshop skills. Everyone can now access a tool that allows them to freely create any artificial image or video they can dream up. This will undoubtedly result in some of the most fantastically compelling art ever created. But it will also result in some of the most fantastically dangerous disinformation ever conceived. And the only thing separating these two outcomes is intent.
AI, itself, is not dangerous. Its harm will come from both its ubiquity and its symbiotic relationship with social media — a democratizing distribution medium with much greater cultural reach than the books, galleries, newspapers, cinema, television or websites that came before it. Social media removed the barrier to information dissemination. AI removes the barrier to the creation of that information. It’s an unstoppable and potentially combustible combo.
Which is exactly why any suggestion that society pause AI development is absurd. Does anyone really believe this is possible? When was the last time you saw society agree on anything? When was the last time you saw technology regress? The idea you can pause technology is just another utopian daydream from those unwilling or unable to recognize that different people have different intents. Once a technology exists, you cannot legislate it out of existence. It’s here. It’s available to everyone, and we’re all going to bear the consequence. AI, itself, isn’t the fundamental problem — it’s humanity. And if we haven’t fixed that in the last couple hundred thousand years, do we really think an extra six months will do the trick?
So perhaps I need to reassess my earlier statement that generative AI will have no effect on my photography. I suspect it will have an indirect and accidental effect, because it will impact all of our lives, and thus society as a whole.
It will affect my photography in exactly the same way the smart phone affected it — not because I started using the phone to take photos (the way the rest of the world did), but because it changed the very nature of how people interact with one another. The streets were once awash in curious, wondrous, compelling, humorous and thoughtful human relationships just begging me to photograph them. Now they’re awash in people consumed entirely by solitary interaction with their smart phones. The fact there is now more humour and metaphor in shrubberies, wildlife and inanimate objects than in humans has, indeed, had a profound effect on my photography. No doubt, AI will have a similarly transcendent impact on the world around us, and will thus reverberate though my photos of that world.
But beyond this, I’ll continue to walk around the same as I always do. I’ll look for things that interest me, amuse me, or that I just think would look good as a photograph. And I’ll do this because that is and always will be my photography’s intent. Anachronistic? Yeah, probably. But then I’ve been known to stand in my kitchen and develop film to the blaring opulence of a Vincenzo Bellini opera; the pulsing coolness of some Art Blakey hard bop; or the relentless drive of some old 1970’s German motorik beat. The electric scooter didn’t kill my walking; digital didn’t kill my film; and Techno didn’t kill my love of a tasty medieval hurdy-gurdy groove. So AI ain’t gonna kill my photography… but it might very well kill us.
ABOUT THIS ARTICLE: Ten years ago, I wrote and article called Reject Intent, which is one of my personal favourite (and thus, least popular) articles. In spite of what seems to be a related title, it has absolutely nothing to do with this one… and yet, in some ways that article actually explains some of the fundamental concepts implied within this one.
Three years ago I wrote an article called Ai, which its title suggests might be fundamentally more akin to this one — except that it deals mostly with using AI tools to improve one’s photographs, rather than using AI to actually generate them. Back then I hadn’t even conceived of using AI to create, and not just enhance, an image. Still, the concepts within remain fairly sound, so it might be worth a read. Though I now wonder if the technology isn’t changing so fast that even this article will be out of date by the time I publish it.
ABOUT THE PHOTOS: Quite clearly, several of these photos were selected for the express purpose of screwing up AI training algorithms. In the case of A man sits on a rocky outcropping, if even one person’s attempt to generate a beautifully rendered AI scene of a man watching a sunset includes a section of a construction crane, I’ll be happy. Sure it doesn’t have the “clever” titles normally associated with my photos, but I thought a dose of literalism would really help screw with the AI training. DALL-Egor is obviously a play on the DALL-E generative AI engine, and given how few photos of me there are on the internet, this should help quite a bit to ensure any generative portraits of me are rendered useless. Gilligan’s A.I. and CityGPT are more a warning of what awaits us than an act of AI training terrorism, while A Spanner in the Works is just a blatant attempt for me to crash the AI training algorithms. Lamborghini, like A man sits… and DALL-Egor, is merely another drop of poison in the training well. It’s also the only digital photo in this post — its gnarliness defying the pristine intent of the technology.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is not an aggregator site. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects, including ULTRAsomething Magazine, are available for purchase.
If I ever felt compelled to publish a daily blog, it would likely be nothing more than endless bellyaching about whatever annoys me. The fact I constantly suffer thousands of such vexations means I’d always have a fresh and reliable well of inspiration from which to draw.
Since my current ambition (or lack thereof) results in a slovenly monthly publication schedule, I rarely resort to excessive grousing. But this month, sensing I might have exhausted my readers with a surplus of magazine related articles, I decided I could use a new topic. So I plunged my net into the well of negative inspiration to scoop out some random annoyance du jour. A single dip was all I required to extract a lumpy and pungent peeve lying heavy at the bottom of the net. I recognized it instantly as society’s current and increasingly irritating obsession with declaring someone a G.O.A.T. — Greatest Of All Time. Never mind that the very acronym annoys me, but 9 times out of 10, the so-called GOAT is either still active or recently retired — indicative that we humans believe “all time” = “the time during which we, ourselves, have lived.”
But as I bellied up to the laptop to begin airing my grievances over the current GOAT craze, I realized it was really nothing more than an extension of another, broader, more established quirk of human behaviour — the notion of favourites, and society’s belief that anyone can and should have a favourite this, that, or another thing.
The whole favourite this and favourite that concept has always had a whiff of Shrödinger’s Cat to me — probably because, much like measuring particle states in quantum physics, it’s an answer that’s applicable only to the moment at which one’s forced to declare it.
Personally, I don’t really have a favourite anything. Yet when pressed to declare one, I almost always have a ready answer. The problem is that my answer — perhaps accurate in the moment — will be entirely erroneous 10 minutes from now.
As a test, I decided to try something easy, like declaring my favourite photograph. The first image to pop into my head was a blurry, grainy 1966 photo of a stripper on stage in Shingawa-ku that appeared in Daido Moriyama’s Japan: A Photo Theatre book (offsite link). And for the next minute or so, I was quite comfortable with my choice — until my mind wandered to Shomei Tomatsu’s 1969 photo of a student protest in Shinjuku (offsite link), which never fails to capture my eye for a rather prolonged period each and every time I gaze upon it. But after thinking more about Tomatsu’s work, I shifted instead to that bizarre photo of a jet (or missile or whatever it is) emerging from a giant splotch of grain in his 1960 photo from Iwakuni (offsite link). How long I’ve wished to one day take a photo so compelling, yet so vague! That photo has been a carrot on a stick — taunting me for decades. Having concluded, through this exercise, that ambiguity must be the most compelling characteristic of my favourite photograph, I instead found myself considering Takuma Nakahira’s For a Language to Come and many of the truly inscrutable photos contained within — each of which make me feel totally inadequate behind a camera. But are any of these my favourite photo, or is it simply my favourite photo book? And is it really even my favourite photo book? Surely that would be Daido Moriyama’s Farewell Photography, except when it’s Masahisa Fukase’s Ravens or maybe Robert Frank’s The Americans, which contains the Elevator Girl shot (offsite link), which I’ve declared many times previously to be my favourite photograph — an honour I’ve also bestowed upon a couple of different Garry Winogrand snaps, plus several from Josef Koudelka. But then I remembered W. Eugene Smith’s Tomoko Uemura in her Bath (offsite link) which I’ve long considered to be the perfect photo — a seamless amalgamation of exquisite photographic technique and exploitative political activism. I’ve often stated that if I took a photo even one-tenth as good, I’d die a satisfied man. But does that make it my favourite? I’m sure I’ve claimed it as such. But I’ve also claimed the same from photos by Frantisek Drtikol, Bill Brandt, Lee Friedlander and Yutaka Takanashi. But if any of those answers are accurate, then why do I have all these Ed Van Der Elsken, Diane Arbus, Elliott Erwitt and Anders Petersen books? Trying to declare a ‘favourite photograph’ is a journey without end.
Care to know my favourite album? Be prepared for a romp through the annals of classical, jazz, rock, antiquity, pop, funk, the avant-garde, prog, noisescapes and drones. What about my favourite movie? Architect? Food?
The problem with declaring a favourite anything is that, by definition, it becomes a defining choice that excludes all others. How do you know something more preferable won’t exist tomorrow that doesn’t exist today? How do you know it doesn’t already exist, but you just haven’t experienced it yet? How do you know your own experiences and growth won’t alter your perspective? Or even just a shift in your mood?
I’d like to suggest we all start using the term ‘inclinations’ rather than ‘favourites’, but after 15 years of writing this blog, I’ve learned I have no sway whatsoever over popular culture. So I’ll continue to be annoyed when asked the “what’s your favourite” question, but will still pony up an answer because, at that precise moment, I will have a favourite. But ask me tomorrow, and I’ll surely give you an entirely different response.
Fortunately, while I’m never sure of my favourite anything, there is one thing I am sure of: the fact ULTRAsomething might very well be the G.O.A.T. of fatuous photography blogs.
ABOUT THESE PHOTOS:I’d apologize to all my younger readers for captioning a couple of photos with such ancient cultural references, but I don’t think I have any younger readers. So most of you will probably be aware of Gil Scott-Heron’s song “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” or Jane Curtin and Dan Ackroyd’s old Conehead characters from SNL. The Revolution Will Not Be Sanitized was shot on an iPhone 12 after the mirror locked up in my Olympus OM-2n, forcing the phone into emergency service. France was shot with a Ricoh GR III.
More related to weather terminology than anachronistic pop culture is Purple AQI, which was shot with an OM Digital OM-1, fronted with an OM Digital 40-150 f/4 lens.
Spring has sprung; at least according to that antiquated notion that the equinox brings about a change in the weather. So to remind my future summer-basking self what’s right around the corner in Vancouver, I present Winter 1, which came courtesy of an Olympus Pen FT with a Zuiko 38 mm f/2.8 pancake lens, shot on Tri-X at ISO 400, and stand developed. And yes, there was originally a “Winter 2,” but I decided it was too gloomy to sit amongst the lighter photos included with this month’s essay.
To v. Fro employed an Olympus OM-2n, Zuiko 28 mm f/3.5 lens, Kentmere 400, and a nice bath of HC-110 Dilution E.
This post also contains several links to offsite photos. Since I won’t publish images for which I don’t own the copyright, I must resort to offsite links when discussing other photographers. I suspect, this being the internet, that many of these links will eventually go dead — forcing any interested readers to go searching for the books and photos discussed in the article. However, I’m confident that disinterested readers will be in the vast majority, and will thus never notice the inevitable link erosion.
REMINDER: If you’ve managed to extract a modicum of enjoyment from the plethora of material contained on this site, please consider making a DONATION to its continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is not an aggregator site. Serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls — even the silly stuff.
Those who enjoy a tactile engagement with photographs are encouraged to visit the ULTRAsomething STORE, where actual objects are available for purchase.
How you felt about “ULTRAsomething | Exorcism 1” determines the appropriate adage for Exorcism 2. Either it’s “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” or it’s “If at first you don’t succeed try, try again.”
Much like the steps I take on my frequent photo walks, Exorcism 2 follows the same path as Exorcism 1. It binds together photos from recent excursions — all shot on film; and all shot without the intent or purpose necessary to receive any photography grants more lucrative than “my own savings.”
The vast majority of photos are from the fall of 2022, though a smattering of earlier shots — stuck in the processing queue when Exorcism 1 was assembled — found their way here. As before, they are an accident of where I happened to be, and not the result of any planning, whether elaborate or otherwise. As usual “where I happened to be” was Vancouver Canada — though a short trip to Whidbey Island in Washington State did afford me an opportunity to point my camera at subjects I, personally, haven’t photographed hundreds of times before. But even those oft-photographed Vancouver bits look new every time I shoot them. A change in the light; the camera; the lens; the angle; my mood; the film; the processing; the context. Every time, something new is revealed.
The above transcript is the apologia for ULTRAsomething Magazine’s second exorcism.
In the first apologia, I wrote “every issue will result more from purge than plan; more from exorcism than curation,” which is exactly why I refer to each release as an exorcism and not an issue. I also wrote that the magazine would be an exercise in “improvisational publishing.” Little did I know this meant I’d need chops like Lee Morgan at a smoking’ hot Blue Note recording session.
Long story short, after hundreds of hours spent nerding out over the myriad intricacies of commercial CMYK printing, I decided to change print methodology for Exorcism 02.
Long story long, I printed Exorcism 01 using a standard black CMYK technique, meaning it uses only the key (black) ink, and no cyan, magenta or yellow inks. This yields a colour neutral publication but produces blacks that are more of a muddy grey. I chose to print Exorcism 02 using rich black, which lays down all four inks to produce deeper blacks and more dynamic range — albeit with a slight mid-grey shift toward cyan (which yields more delineation through the grey scale).
To produce a truly neutral, rich black CMYK publication, one must find a local print shop willing to iteratively tweak the PDF’s embedded GCR CMYK profile to the printer-specific profile. Fortunately, I was able to find such a commercial printer. Unfortunately, they quoted a production price four times higher than my current online printing company. So I decided a tiny bit of cyan in the mid-greys ain’t so bad.
Changing printing methodologies means Exorcism 02 and Exorcism 01 look a little different from one another. Part of me thinks the deeper blacks and increased dynamic range justifies the change. But another part of me isn’t sure it’s worth losing the grey neutrality. I have a few months before I need to decide which technique I’ll employ for Exorcism 03 (and beyond). The only real consequence of this decision is that one of the first two Exorcisms — specifically, whichever does not become the standard — will become an extremely valuable collector’s items. Or rather, it would if ULTRAsomething had collectors… or value…
Hopefully — standard black vs rich black decision aside — the publication of Exorcism 03 will require less head spinning; minimal levitation; diminished projectile vomiting; and no need for Father Karras to hurl himself down another flight of stairs… but who really knows? This is improvisational publishing, after all.
FIRST AND FOREMOST: Thank you to everyone who purchased a copy of ULTRASOMETHING | EXORCISM 01. I hope the magazine rewarded your generosity with at least a smattering of enjoyment.
ABOUT THE PHOTOS: The photos, shown here, appear in ULTRASOMETHING | EXORCISM 02, but represent only a small subset of the images contained in the magazine — all of which were shot on film, with each of the following cameras contributing at least one photo to the publication: Black’s Sassy; Contax IIa; Contax G1; Fuji GS645S Wide 60; Konica Autoreflex TC; Konica Hexar AF; Leica M6 TTL; Minolta TC-1; Minolta XTsi; Nikon 28Ti; Olympus OM-2n; Olympus Pen FT; Olympus XA; Pentax MZ-S. For those keeping track, that’s two more cameras than were used to produce EXORCISM 01 — a sum I deemed to be “arguably excessive and marginally eccentric.” I suppose, with Exorcism 02, I can safely remove the word “marginally.”
Note that my intention is to publish three magazines/year, which works out to roughly one every four months (though I don’t plan to be religious about the timing). Those of you with a penchant for math may have noticed it’s been only three months since Exorcism 01. Fear not — I’m not moving to a quarterly schedule. It simply took so long to line up all the publishing ducks for Exorcism 01, that Exorcism 02 was already well into production by the time the premiere issue was finally released.
ULTRASOMETHING | EXORCISM 02 is now available on the ULTRAsomething STORE.
