I was determined yesterday. Tired of being a febe, I grabbed my camera when I got out of the car and headed toward the cafe, Goddamnit, I was going to take a photo of that wall!
Brave, huh. He-he. That's just a sample of what a weirdo I've become. I mean, I've become a man who has to screw up his courage to take a photograph of a wall. No humans involved. Just a fucking wall.
But oh brothers and sisters, I was like a man on a mission, a pioneer crossing the Great Plains, an explorer entering uncharted jungle. Nobody had ever attempted such a feat.
I trembled with embarrassment as I walked out of the miserable cold through the door of the cafe. I didn't even pause at the counter. I had an errand.
There were people in that smaller room, but one table against the wall was free. Perfect. I pulled the camera from my shoulder and put it to my eye. Focussing on the wall was difficult, though, in that dim light. It seemed impossible. I could feel people looking at me wondering what the fucking idiot was doing. I didn't look, but I imagined them glancing at the wall wondering what the fuck? I don't know if I had hit focus or not, but I couldn't stand there holding a camera to my eye staring at a blank wall any longer, so I pressed the shutter.
The battery was dead. Golly.
I almost chuckled at the cosmic irony of it. I sat my bag and camera on the table and went to order a tea.
When I came back, the big guy at the next table said, "I don't mean to be intrusive, but what kind of camera is that?"
This started a long conversation. I told him about the camera, my M9 Monochrom, and that I always thought the wall would be a perfect backdrop for portraits .
"I can attest to that," he said.
"Are you a photographer?"
"Reformed. I have a BFA in photography and sculpture. I am doing sculptures now."
He started digging into files in his phone to pull up a photo he had taken, a portrait against the wall. He had lots of folders, and he scrolled for a long time.
"It's in here somewhere. I took it about nine or ten years ago."
He told me he shot with a Leica M6 and didn't have a digital camera. He shot mostly street, he said.
"It's getting harder to do," I said. "It used to be easy. Now people want to hit me."
"Well. . . " he gestured to his size, "I don't have that problem, but. . . . "
He found the photo. Black and white. It was OK.
I sat down to drink my tea and write in my notebook. In a minute he stood up and put on his wool overcoat. He was wearing those lace up mid-calf Nazi boots that punkers like to wear. I looked over at his table. I took out my phone and got up to frame the shot. By gosh, I would get a photo of that wall. I looked at it on my phone screen. I was tempted to move his bag from the chair so the thing would be more aesthetically pleasing, but I thought better of it. But you can see now what I mean. Cool wall, right? I would like to set up a large format camera and get everyone who comes into the cafe to stand in front of that wall for a portrait. I would be the Disfarmer of the Cafe Strange. It is silly, but it would be wonderful, too.
Yea, yea. . . I am full of strange desires. It would difficult for most people to understand, I know. But Disfarmer's photographs are so weird and wonderful, I can't figure them out or look away. One just looks on wordlessly and ponders.
It would have to be done with a large format camera. The complicated process and the mandatory holding of poses for long periods add to the photographic strangeness. It is what I tried to copy in the studio "Lonesomeville" portraits. I wanted to work slowly and have people hold their poses for five or six seconds. I tried to emulate the weirdness of the large format portrait. But nothing compares, really, to what you get with those big assed cameras.
I was looking for a photo on my laptop at my mother's house last night and ran across this one. I was in my second photo class at the university. I loved the work of Edward Weston, so I checked out the department's 4x5 camera. Now, thinking back, that was a really weird move. I had the camera and a tripod and some film holders and no instructions. I knew how a camera worked, I guess, but I had no light meter. I used my 35mm film camera for that. I can't believe I did it. Those old negatives are all in focus, something I struggle with on those big cameras even now. I knew something then that I don't know now, I guess, or I just had better eyes. But yea, all those big format photos from that camera have a bit of weirdness about them.
I don't even remember how I met her. She was an art major, so I may have met her in the library. I truly have no idea. I just told her the same thing I told everyone.
"Hello, I'm in the photo class and I would like to take your picture."
Surely I must have mentioned the part where they were naked. I asked a lot of people and never, not once, did anyone say no. I had more people than I could possibly photograph--but I gave it the good college try.
I don't remember ever hanging out with this girl after this night. We went to her place. She lived in a quonset hut. For real. Hippie times. At least for a mile or two. Out in the county, it looked like this.
Somehow, I got invited to a party in the country. The place was owned by a couple of lesbians. I was to bring the big camera and a potluck dish. I was scared for a couple of reasons. One. . . I wasn't sure I knew how to work the camera, especially with a crowd of people around. Two, everybody was dropping acid and getting naked. I was not in Kansas anymore.
The lesbians took me to the hay bails in the barn, and I made a classic rookie mistake and shot the in the worst lighting one might find. And yet. . . somehow. . . the image turned out. Not a good image, but. . . .
I guess there was just something in the air. Those were magical times.
But getting people in front of a camera isn't as easy as it used to be. Everyone is skeptical. And, of course, kids do great work with their phones. I've seen them. They are all great photographers now.
But they don't create the weirdness of a Disfarmer.
The weather here is pure misery. Everyone says. It is not like a cold day where people are wearing sweaters and coats and enjoying the reprieve. Nope. You can't get warm. It is nasty. A damp wind chills the bones. The gloominess sets into your soul. I can't imagine living in a land where this is a constant for months of the year. I would take heroin, too.
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