One Woodward Ave., Minolta SRT-102, Kodak Ektar 100
Oh, Detroit.
You’re not what you were. You won’t be the same tomorrow, either. You had a heyday, you declined, then a recession. Today, a resurgence. You are loved and loathed, fought over, talked about, dismissed, underestimated, maligned, deified, abandoned, thriving. Through it all, you stand tall. You’ve got chops. You are what we make of you, but you have your own heart and our stories don’t define you.
I didn’t appreciate you when I grew up in your suburbs. I left; you called me back. Today I honor you–your shape-shifting, your grit, your perseverance.
So nice, I like you twice.
I took these double exposures on a sunny and not-so-cold New Year’s Day. Seemed a perfect way to honor the old and ring in the new.
I just turned 50, and after a week of surprises and a big gift from my brother and brother-in-law and all the stars essentially aligning to create some kind of crazy halo–I swear it–right above my silver-tressed head, my husband threw me one bang-up of a party.
The people I love came, one all the way from Chicago. My best friend cleaned bathrooms (that’s love, cleaning someone’s bathroom). My dad came. My two dearest friends helped me clean and put cheese out and and helped bake and laid everything out on the table just perfectly and were both like tornadoes (and I mean this in the best way ever). We had the best food. If we do anything right around here, it’s the food. We made some of it (cakes, cupcakes, orzo salad and quinoa salad, a Swiss chard erbazzone) and had some amazing stuff we didn’t make (samosas, savory and sweet pies, expensive cheeses) and oh I can’t even remember what else. Booze. Plenty of booze, and no scrimping there.
I will say in all honesty that my 50th birthday party knocked every other birthday celebration out of the park, although the birthdays my parents threw me in our basement when I was a kid, with balloons, friends around a picnic table, my mom’s cakes and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey are a distant second (and a distant memory). You know what I wore? Bare feet, that’s what I wore. And no one even batted an eye. And a comfortable dress. I was totally myself. The invite said no gifts, but the gifts came anyway. Who deserves that? I didn’t think I did. But oh man, the love I felt has me fuller than a huge pasta dinner. It’s going to last all year, I know it.
50 is the new 30. 50 is the bomb. 50 kicks ass. I think this is going to be one hell of a decade.
I had trouble loading a roll of Ilford HP5 into my Pentax K1000 just about this time last year. I loaded and reloaded and remember reloading it again. I wasn’t sure the film was advancing correctly while I was shooting, and eventually I just stopped shooting, rewound the film and took it out.
And then I forgot about it for months, until I handed it to my son to develop at school. I was right… it hadn’t advanced correctly at all. I forgot about the negatives until I was clearing out a bit of junk in my office a few days ago and almost threw out the film canister that contained the negatives.
I’m still working on figuring out the best settings for my scanner, but I think the resulting accidental double, triple, and maybe more exposures are at least interesting.
blinds, light and shadow, old theaterunderbelly of a bridge, river, treestrees, light and shadow on wood stairslift +
Last month, I felt like I was on a mission to capture the last bits of color before the bleak winter set in. It’s not like there are never any blue skies in the midwest in the winter–of course there are lovely sunny days. And there is color. There are warm sandy-colored grasses like phragmites and bullrush and other marsh-dwelling plants that dry into warm shades. There is still green grass here and moss, too. But the colors are much less riotous. Everything seems subdued. And when blanketed in snow, all is white and shades of gray. Still beautiful, but it tends to wear on a girl who craves color and contrast and is stuck in cement-bound suburbs for the winter. But maybe I need to look at winter as a creative lesson? I guess we’ll see in the coming months.
Anyway.
I shot some film in November. Color (Kodak GC 400 and my current favorite, Ektar 100), black and white (Kodak Tri-X, which I am finding I really like a lot), and my last roll of Lomography lomochrome purple (which I still think is some kind of ridiculous, happiness-inducing, magical magic trick). I managed not to buy any new cameras although I’ll admit to scouring eBay listings and dreaming of my next purchase (I may have bought a couple of old lenses but they were super cheap). I used the two Minolta’s (SRT 102 and X-700), the Pentax K1000, and the Olympus EE3 in November. I’m not bored with any of these yet and still learning some of their differences and quirks. It’s too difficult and probably unnecessary to zero in on just one, so I’m not going to.
Stay tuned to one of my other favorite places right now, EMULSIVE, which in January April will feature an interview with… me. Yes, me! A relative newbie to film! I love the community that EMULSIVE has built, with an exchange of creativity and a wealth of information for people like me who have fallen head over heels and all punch-drunk in love with this craft. And, maybe most importantly, offers up for your viewing pleasure a ton of gorgeous (film) photos from some incredibly talented photographers.
So, while I got this film processed weeks ago, I wanted to take my time so that I could choose a few images that wouldn’t be anywhere else (as in here) before they show up on EMULSIVE. My two very favorites from November will be featured there first.
I’m also still trying to figure out how I want to display photos here. I’ve used headers and grouped images by camera (I think I did this for October’s shots). Do I caption each with the camera and type of film? I know when I look at other people’s photos, this is something I like to know. So I’ll try that this time. Do you like to know what kind of film and camera, or is that info overkill or detracting?
Margi
Technically these are not November photos… but Margi came to visit in very late October and this roll got finished in November, so there you go. Not so much a film fan but a Margi (Chicago dancer, teacher, choreographer) fan? The digital images from her visit are here.
Margi on the bridge, Olympus Pen EE3, Lomography Lomochrome PurpleMargi in forest, Olympus Pen EE3, Lomography Lomochrome Purple
And, my maiden attempt at a double exposure. Which didn’t turn out exactly how I invisioned but that’s how things go. I attempted to keep the camera still (via tripod), so the trees and bird would remain still, but there would be two Margi’s. Instead it looks a little like a psychedelic trip. See? Learning process.
Margi with the forest bird, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak GC 400
Late fall
Mostly images from the west side of Michigan, although I finished two rolls in a local metro Detroit park. A few images here are the ends of those rolls.
Forest two ways, Olympus Pen EE3, Lomography Lomochrome Purple
Asparagus gone to seed, Olympus Pen EE3, Lomography Lomochrome Purple
Oak leaf in meadow grass, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak GC 400
Dew drops after frost, Pentax K1000, Ektar 100
Milkweed pods, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Milkweed pods, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Fall arrangement, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Branches and sky, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak GC 400
Where Halloween balloons and forgotten things end up, Olympus Pen EE3, Lomography Lomochrome Purple
Sunset, Pentax K1000, Ektar 100Dusk on Lake Michigan, two ways, Olympus Pen EE3, Lomography Lomochrome Purple
Thanksgiving
We were lucky enough to again spend our Thanksgiving at the cottage with the people we love best. Of course I ditched them all to be outside as much as possible, but otherwise we had plenty of togetherness and merry-making.
Farmhouse in ruin, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Lake and trees, double exposure, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak GC 400
my kid and Lost Lake, double exposure, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak GC 400
Goldenrod seed, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak GC 400
Windows, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Private property, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak GC 400
Lost Lake, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Windmill, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Beach closed, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
And…
Other stuff.
Window gazing, Minolta X-700, Kodak Tri-X 400
Outdoor seating, Minolta X-700, Tri-X 400
It’s a sign, Minolta X-700, Tri-X 400
Giant, Minolta X-700, Tri-X 400
I’d been a little hesitant to shoot black and white film, but I think I’m over that now. Out of November’s four rolls, I think I most love the images I took using Kodak Tri-X. I still have plenty of other films to try out, so I’m not calling any favorites just yet…
There is something I love about being in a huge space all by myself.
On Saturday I walked a short, wooded trail that opened up onto the Silver Lake dunes, not the spot where I usually go but an area closer to the lighthouse. The dune grass was prolific here and is a gorgeous warm, golden color right now–nothing like the vibrant green of midsummer. I thought it was a beautiful contrast to the sometimes stormy sky that was occasionally letting loose with lovely, light flakes of snow.
From the top of the first dune I climbed, I was treated to these amazing vistas, Lake Michigan in the distance and rolling, grassy dune criss-crossed with paths, either made by humans or by the many resident deer. The clouds sometimes opened and the sun peeked through, lighting up changing sections of the dune before me.
I didn’t see another soul as I hiked toward the area where the dune buggies race all summer long. This is among the things that I love most–being the sole inhabitant of this spacious land, now filled with the natural sounds of wind through the dried grasses, tugging on the remaining leaves that crinkle and tap against dry branches, roaring lake in the distance. It’s exhilarating. I can be alone here for hours and never feel lonely.
How can you be lonely with the wind whispering love poems in your ear?
Aside from the vistas that stretch out from atop a dune, there are low sections of trees and plants that love these sandy areas. And of course ghosts of the trees that once were. I’ll never get tired of seeing these, the trunks and former root structures of these formerly living trees. They’re majestic now, sun-bleached and wind-whipped and topsy-turvy. They tell stories. Tall tales.
I love the changes in color, too. This low, earthy growth turns shades of gray and warm gold where in the summer it’s a lush, deep green. During my hike it held oak and poplar leaves from the nearby trees in its grasp, and tiny pockets of snow.
Red stands out, and this red–some earthy growth both on the ground and on this stump–was easy to miss until I noticed it. And then it seemed to be everywhere.
And then camera batteries die and fingers and toes and noses get mighty cold, and it’s time to remember that you’re not part of the landscape here, and you must go back to a warm cottage and cement the sounds of the wind on the dune and the images of golden vistas and roots reaching skyward into your brain until the next venture.
Sometimes it just takes a walk outside in the sunshine to set you straight again.
phragmites, bullrushes, marsh, sky
Even if it’s the kind of cold out that takes you a little bit by surprise, because after all you were just walking downtown a week ago without a hat or gloves or anything.
The kind of cold that on three hours of sleep doesn’t feel all that great and takes a little too long to recover from. That kind of cold.
But who’s complaining? The sun made a grand appearance today after what seemed weeks of grey. A cold wind blew, but look how majestic the grasses on the marsh look as they’re blowing?
There is this thing that happens to me and I bet to plenty of other people. Something that knocks you quite off your rhythm, freezes you, and you just stumble to get back into the flow. November 9 did that to me, and I’ve given myself the space and the time to have all the feelings and thoughts and fears and to decide on the actions I want to take to move forward.
In that time, which I’m a little shocked to realize is already coming up on a month, I’ve had to both soften and harden. I’m open to respectful conversations with those who disagree or don’t see my position. But I also have to keep living my life. I have people to be my strongest for, relationships to nurture, an old dog to spoil, a job I love and for which I must be fully present and alert.
I’m doing things to nurture myself, like uncluttering bathroom drawers and cupboards (who needs 10 bottles of 95% empty shampoo or conditioner? bottles of decade-old and rancid oils and creams? make-up from who knows when?), re-finding a (nearly) daily yoga practice, catching up with girlfriends I’ve not seen since spring.
I closed down creatively, too, and I’m working to get back to taking pictures and writing.
This week has me re-inspired, however–I went to a local college to see 17 of my prints framed and installed in common spaces there. Big and bold prints of nature and the city, and I’m just so incredibly honored to have them displayed. And another honor, an article and photos of mine published on a site I greatly admire, a site full of voices and dreamy film photography from both experienced and new photographers (if you have any interest in film photography, I encourage you to cozy up with your computer or tablet and get lost in this site).
It’s a process, this unsticking, thawing. I’m working on it.
There is still bright green, cheerful moss on the forest floor, surrounded by a carpet of now dry, pale fallen leaves and pine needles. The mushrooms have all dried and shriveled. I saw one tiny, purple thistle flower on the side of the road today; an accidental bloom.
Holidays are bittersweet. Even after 21 years, I miss my own mom as I navigate changing relationships with my young adult children. Moments of great laughter mixed with moments of strain, heavy dinner table conversations–I still have to tread carefully.
The woods makes me happy. This little lake makes me happy. Even with the absence of color, the gray skies, the bare branches.
Yesterday was hard. Today, I’ll admit, was even harder.
It’s not about my candidate not winning. I’ve voted for more than a few candidates that didn’t win. You buck up, you brush off, you settle in for a presidency you did not choose but that you think will at least not bring the country to civil war, and you wait for the next election. It’s politics.
But this election, this president elect… It’s very, very different. We have elected a man who behaves the way most of us tell our children never, ever to behave. A guy who makes fun of people, who divides us, who incites riots and fear and hate. A bully. A man who has no respect for women. And this is only the tip of the iceberg.
There were protests today. Today I saw friends post things their children overheard or endured at school. Today I saw photos of spray-painted swastikas in public places in our country, in the United States, in 2016. Photos of scrawled racial slurs on school lockers. Stories of kids crying as classmates chanted “build the wall.” When those who cast their votes for him were voting on Tuesday, is this what they wanted? I have to hope that most did not.
Yesterday and today I fielded texts from my college-student daughter who, like me, has spent the past 48 hours vacillating between sadness, fear, worry, anger, and an occasional glimmer of hope. I have run out of words to soothe the both of us. She lives in a liberal area and I can only hope for her safety. I tell her to hold her tongue, don’t argue with anyone right now. I want her to feel she can speak her mind, but it frightens me in this climate, and I’ve not done it myself for fear of backlash, of offending someone, of upsetting or wounding, of making someone mad. I don’t like conflict. I try to be nice, polite, easy-going, but I see that many times I’m not afforded the same courtesy.
When I was my daughter’s age I was an intern at a small magazine when the Persian Gulf war began. I remember vividly our minuscule staff crowded around a little television in the office the night war was declared as we tried to finish laying out the magazine. It was the first war I was experiencing and I couldn’t wrap my brain around what it meant. My dad talked me down from the ledge later that night by phone, with soothing words that reassured me my life wouldn’t change because these are the things a sensitive young person who has not seen war in her lifetime must hear. This is what I remember as I search for words to heal my daughter’s heart today. My dad has soothed me many times since then, and I still needed his soothing words yesterday, although they were less reassuring this time.
I don’t want things to change now, either. I don’t want my kids to be fearful, or attacked for their liberal views, or find themselves in harm’s way because they stand up for someone who is being wronged. I don’t want them to see their friends suffer injustices of the sort that I hoped were in this country’s past. I can hope for sensibility to take over, but I can’t promise it will. When we can’t tell our kids that everything will be alright, even when our kids are adults, well, it kind of sucks.
For me, for today and for moving forward, hope is the operative word. But I’m not leaving this transition and these next four years up to hope. I’m going to donate to the causes I know will need help under this administration. I’m going to offer my time to civil rights causes. I am going to get active and I’m going to get educated, because while the president elect is not my candidate, my muted voice helped to elect him. And I won’t be muted any longer.
Aside from the two rolls of purple film in October, I also ran a roll of Kodak Gold 400 and Agfa 200 through the Minolta SRT 102 and Pen EE3, respectively. Countryside, mid-October colors, the usual (for me) suspects. No edits, other than the addition of a watermark.
I’m still smitten with film. The planning, the composing an image, the waiting, the surprise. It just slows everything down in a super delicious way that I’m finding I’m really okay with.
I dream of sumac and milkweed (and other wild things) 