Photo Safari

Stop me if you have seen this one before.  

I haven't had the gumption to drive to the coast to make photos with my big-assed Liberator camera and drive back, so yesterday I decided I would travel up to Grit City and shoot some film.  I keep telling myself I will take sixteen 4x5 photos and stand develop them in my new half gallon developing tank.  I ordered some Rodinal developer which arrived at my house yesterday, so there are no excuses.  If it doesn't work out, if it doesn't make me happy, I am going to sell the camera, for it has sat around as a paperweight for far too long.  There is no way to find out, though, but to do it.  So after breakfast, and after cleaning up, I said so long to my mother and without going home turned the car north.  

As I drove up the highway, I saw things I wanted to photograph, but I decided I'd put them in my pocket for the next day.  Don't change horses in mid-stream, right?  Whatever that means.  I listened to the university jazz station and felt the rhythm of the road, driving slowly, looking all about, thinking photographically.  

Is that a thing?

When I got to Grit City, though, most of the downtown streets were closed for some sort of street festival.  It wasn't the simple Saturday Farmer's Market that occurs every week, but something with booths stretching street after street after street.  I spied a group of Merry Medieval Minstrels in costume.  I wondered for a moment if I should park and walk through the crowd with my big-assed camera, but once again I felt too shy, so I kept driving until I found a place to park in front of a building I had photographed before.  I got out of the car, opened the passenger door, and grabbed the camera, a film holder, and my phone.  I walked to a good spot on the sidewalk across the street, metered for the exposure, put the film holder in the back of the camera, and. . . damnit--I had not remembered to buy a very strong pair of glasses to help me focus.  Flummoxed, I did the best I could.  Framed it up, pulled the dark slide, and hit the shutter.  

The day was hot.  I was already sweating.  But one down, fifteen to go.  As I drove away, though, something occurred to me.  I hadn't set the shutter speed.  I have to focus with the camera wide open, but then I have to close down the shutter to meet the meter reading.  Shit piss fuck goddamn.  

O.K.  I turned around and went back.  Out on the sidewalk, repeat.  Back to the car.  I got another film holder and took another photo from a different angle.  Cool.  Three exposures down, two of them good.  

In a bit, I spied another building that would be good.  I parked, got the camera out, metered, etc.  I pulled the dark slide and took the picture.  Back at the car, I wondered--had I turned the film holder around or had I just made a double exposure?  I didn't know.  I threw the film holder in the bag with the other exposed film.  Four shots.  Maybe one good exposure.  

Whatever.  I decided not to get excited, not to despair.  I was getting the mechanics down once again.  It was alright.  It was a hard camera to use.  

I stopped and took two more exposures.  Back in the car, I thought that maybe I had made the same mistake once again of not shutting down the shutter.  Six exposures.  Maybe two shot correctly.  What was wrong with me?  

I was sweating like a horse.  

I decided to leave town, to drive to the Great Lake that is really just a huge widening of the Great River that runs north rather than south, one of three or four in the country.  At 310 miles long, though, it is a significant river about which many books were written by early explorers.  The water runs slowly as the drop in elevation is slight,  widening and narrowing as it twists and turns toward the ocean.  

Just before leaving town, I saw a giant Dollar Store.  Glasses.  I went in.  It was a wonderland of things I wanted for an imagined photo shoot I keep planning.  I've mentioned it already, the kiddie pool, the lawn chair, the grill. . . everything else was here--bright plastic drink cups, plastic leighs and pink flamingoes, American flags. . . all $1.50 each!  Should I, I wondered?  I wasn't ready to pull the trigger yet, but hey. . . now I knew.  

I found a pair of 3x plastic glasses.  $.150, of course.  

Back in the car, I drove along the water's edge until I saw a rotten pier with only posts and no planking.  Two more exposures.  This time, I was certain I got them right.  Back in the car and onward.  And onward, indeed, further than I had ever gone on this road before.  And loe and behold. . . I came to a park I'd never known of set along the banks of the river under the interstate bridge I had driven all my life looking down and thinking one day I would go there just to see.  But until now, I never had.  

I pulled into the giant lot.  There was a huge boat ramp.  Boat trailers lined up in double rows.  I found a place to park and walked around.  Oh, I could use up the rest of my film here.  It had been raining ever since I got to town, just an off and on drizzle, but between the heat and the sprinkling, I was soaked.  I waited for the rain to let up and grabbed my camera and the remaining film.  And before I knew it, I was done.  

I am certain to come back.  

And so I took the highway home with exposed film and a happy heart.  I would develop the sixteen photos that afternoon.  

But I didn't.  I got everything ready, but I needed distilled water.  If I loaded the film. . . but then I decided to look a thing up.  Which developer did I really want to use.  Down the twin rabbit holes of the internet and my own head, I spent too much time.  I'd need to get back to my mother's soon.  I needed to shower.  So, I'd get everything ready for Sunday.  I filled up the developing tank to make sure I knew how much developer to use.  Half a gallon.  2000 ml.  I'd mix the Rodianl 100:1.  What is that?  Two ml?  No. . . four.  

I'll probably fuck that up.  

I just figured it out.  20 ml.  Phew!

I had a bit of time and two pieces of 4x5 film I had gotten back from the lab that I hadn't scanned yet.  So I did.  The first one is what you see at the top.  I think it is shot wide open at f2.8.  I've decided that it is almost impossible to focus that camera wide open. 

Here is the second.  

My heart fairly sunk.  The right side of the photo is in focus but the left is not.  That is a flat plane, so either I shot wide open but was standing at a slight angle or the focus board was tilted a bit.  It is a hard, hard camera to use.  But wait.  My house doesn't look like that anymore, not since I have had it painted.  This must be an old piece of film.  But I don't remember taking any already exposed film to the lab. 

Both relieved and confused.  It was time to pack up and head back to my mother's.  

I made a Hugo Spritz and sat with my mother in the open garage.  The lady from across the street saw us and came over.  I wasn't in the mood for yammering, but there was nothing to be done.  

"Listen, would you two come over for a Father's Day dinner tomorrow?"

"I'm fatherless and have no children," I said.  

"That doesn't matter.  How's four?"

"Oh. . . I don't think I'll be back by then."

"Why?"

"I'm going out to make pictures."

"How about six?"

I was trapped.  

"O.K.  I'll split the difference with you.  How's five."

Bingo.  What can I do?  This is my unchosen life.  

After a dinner of leftovers, I had a text.  It was my Miami friend.  

"Going to miss you at fidds tonight!"

She wanted me to meet her, but I told her I couldn't get out at night.  It came like a dagger in the heart.  

My mother and I watched t.v. until a bit before ten.  

"I'm going to bed," I said.  

"Me, too." 

It gets maddening, I'm afraid.  But I have begun to cut off the alcohol at eight and drink cans of flavored Pellegrino water instead, so I usually sleep a bit better than before.  

By and large.  

So my day is mapped.  I will fix breakfast for my mother now, then I will take off to make more photographs on a usually busy highway that should be quieter on a Sunday morning.  Then I will head home to develop those sixteen pieces of film waiting for me there.  Later, I will pick up another batch of 4x5 film from the lab.  I will probably get a French soda at the cafe, and maybe make more photos, then come home to do a whole lotta scanning.  And my heart will probably break at all the mostly failures and I will be in despair, but you know, I expect that.  Then I will go to dinner with my mother at the across the street neighbors and make chit-chat for a couple hours, probably drinking heavily.  And then, after all that, I will take my mother home and slit my throat.  

Or, more likely, watch t.v. with mother.  

But. . . you know. . . there is still a small ember of hope that some of the images will come out fine and I will want to live and do more.  I'll let you know.  Fingers crossed.