Printing the Image: 24 Hours
I remember the old days of photography, as I’m sure many of you do, where you’d have your camera out to take a few snaps and then have to wait to see what you actually had. If you were fortunate enough to have completed the 24- or 36-exposure roll (or even a 12-exposure roll), you’d be able to take it to a 24-hour photo lab on Monday (because nothing was open on Sundays back then), and you might have small 3-1/2” x 5” prints (later growing to 4”x6”) on Tuesday, and then you could send a few of those negatives away to get larger prints if you wanted them. That would add at least another week to the process. Or, you didn’t finish the roll, you’d have to wait until you went out again and finished the roll . . . then see above. Or you wanted them to go to a “professional” lab, in which you’d mail the roll and wait a week for the initial results. If it were black and white, you might be able to develop the film on your own, do a contact print, and then select images to print. But the developing and printing couldn’t really happen in the same darkroom session (at least for me, I never had a negative dryer) and, of course, you had to find the time to do all of it yourself. As I’ve said before, we live in a golden age for photography. Pretty much everything about the photographic process now is so much easier (note, I didn’t say photography was easy, just that the process is easier - it’s just as hard to make a good photograph now as back then, but now you can find out sooner rather than later whether your efforts were successful or not successful). A couple of weekends ago, Ann took advantage of our golden age.
On a recent Saturday afternoon Ann and I took our usual long-loop walk. We’ve lived here a few years now, and even though it’s the same loop, we’ve seen changes. Changes through the seasons, and changes in each season from one year to the next. Given we’re surrounded by farmland, one of the more common changes is what crop is being planted in each field (unfortunately, the field next to our house was planted with tulips the first year - the year we took a US trip - and tulips haven’t been planted since). For example, the field that is the farthest from our house (where we make the turn to start heading back home) was planted with corn last year, but with barley this year.
It was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon as we were walking past that field. Ann stopped a couple of times and pulled out her cellphone to make a few shots. Me, I just enjoyed the breeze, the sound of the birds and the beauty of the grasses while Ann made her pictures. We eventually finished our loop.
Later that afternoon, Ann said, “I’ve been thinking about those pictures I took on our walk today and I think I want to go out tomorrow morning and make a photograph.” My immediate reply was, “Sure!” Far be it from me to discourage going out to make a photograph, particularly given how I get when I have the same sort of niggling in the back of my brain. So Ann showed me the cell phone images (above) that led her to think she wanted to bring out the real camera, and we discussed the image and what gear to bring. We got all the gear ready, figured out what time the sun was going to break over the tree line and were all set to go for the next morning.
Except for the fact that, the next morning, it was overcast. A pretty heavy overcast I might add. Ann was pretty discouraged and suggested we might just want to leave the camera gear at home, but I said no, better to have it than not . . . just in case. Yeah, I actually learned my lesson from having said and done the same in the past. My role in this whole process was as the tripod carrier (Ann drew a line and would not let me carry her backpack for her) and as an advisor. Still, I had hopes she’d make a good image because every photographic outing deserves a good image.
Well, the conditions didn’t really get any better. As we finally made it to the field (about 2.5 km away) the skies were still overcast. There wasn’t that lovely, sunny glow from the barley that existed the day before. Still, the texture of the barley was interesting, so I encouraged Ann to work with what was there because, hey, you never know what you’ll find. With landscape photography, you have to work with what you have.
Ann quickly realized that a similar composition - bright sunlit barley in the lower portion of the image with dark tree trunks in the background - wasn’t going to work under the lighting conditions that were present. So she decided to try and focus on a nice composition with a few barley heads and stalks. It was a definite departure from the original concept, but I agreed, appropriate for the lighting conditions.
Then the quest started. It’s funny how an area can, at first appearances, look as if it is rife with potential. But as you try and actually frame a photograph, you discover a fatal flaw that truly disrupts the image. That happened time and time again with Ann. At one point I walked around to another side of the field to see if there were possibilities from that end, but no, there was too much of a mix of transition grasses and barley at that end (and we weren’t going to walk into the farmer’s field without permission). We were limited to what we could access from the perimeter.
Not long after I made my way back to Ann she said, “I think I’ve found something.” She had.
So she finally set up her tripod and made the minute adjustments that are so critical for these types of images and made an exposure. We discussed the composition and depth of field, and Ann decided to make a series of exposures with different depths of field because you can’t really tell what an image will be like (especially the effect of out-of-focus areas on an image) from the LCD screen on the back of the camera.
On the walk back, Ann wasn’t very optimistic about the results. To be honest, I wasn’t either, the light was pretty darned gloomy, not like it had been the previous afternoon. But I said, “Well, wait till you get home and look at them. Sometimes an image will surprise you.” I’m such the optimist. Either that, or I’ve had too many pleasant surprises (and disappointments) to assume I know what I have until I actually look at it.
As I made lunch that afternoon, Ann came downstairs and said, “You know, the photographs didn’t turn out as bad as I was afraid of.” “Show me.” So we went upstairs to her computer and we talked about them. “How about we print it after lunch and see how it turns out?” “Ok” Ann replied.
So we started with her standard paper, Hahnemühle Fine Art Pearl, with a print image size about 9-1/2” x 12” (yes, the image is cropped a bit).
The print is truly lovely, showing the details of the grains, stalks and fibers in the front grouping and fading off into lovely background shapes and tones. Ann had selected the middle of the depth-of-field images, which retained enough of the background shapes to be identifiable as to what they are, but not detailed enough to be distracting.
Ann wondered if the pearl surface was the right surface for this subject so I said, “Well, let’s find out.” I suggested we use the Red River Paolo Duro Smooth stock (a matte paper) we have in hand. When we opened the box, we saw that the paper has a soft ivory/yellowish cast that might add to the subject. But when she added the proof profile for the paper in Lightroom it didn’t look quite right. We discussed how to adjust the development of the image so that it suited the paper better, Ann decided it wasn’t enough to just try to recreate the original image. Instead, Ann decided that lightening it overall a bit might give a better feel for the subject given the smooth, soft texture of the paper. That’s how it came out.
Surprisingly, these two images roughly correspond to how the prints look. The differences are subtle, but distinct.
Over the next few days we’d go into our print room, look at the two prints, and discuss them. Every few days, we’d change our minds as to which was the better image (and sometimes not agreeing). It was impressive how often we changed our minds. Ultimately, I think both images are successful. Instead of “better” it’s probably more productive to frame the thought as “which one do I prefer today?” They both have their qualities.
Perhaps the best thing about this weekend is that, from initial conception to final prints, the whole process took less than 24 hours.
Quite the feat Ann!