And now for something completely different....

Captured with a 4x5 Speed Graphic fitted with a 178mm Aero Ektar Lens 1/60th at f2.5

I have been struggling with the notion of why I still bother to take pictures. Photographs seem to be more disposable than ever and even I hardly make prints anymore. Photographers that cut their teeth in the darkroom lament the loss of their craft in our digital age. But, I have come to see this differently now. Some photographers will gravitate toward whatever makes their lives easier, and can't wait to upgrade their camera so they are a better photographer. While others will scour flea markets for the perfect brass lens to fit on their handmade camera or beloved Kodak 2D. Ultimately it is our personal choice as an artist and nothing more, neither approach is more true or superior to the other. Only by being true to our personal vision and using whatever tools necessary can we become better artists.

Why do I choose antique cameras fitted with giant pieces of rare glass, when I could just use instagram and photoshop? Because, I'm still in love with the tactile portion of photography. The way a brass lens gleams in the sunlight or turning out a custom lensboard in my wood shop. Watching the image come to life in the darkroom still raises my pulse. For me the dedication to building and maintaining my camera equipment and shooting on film is an essential part of the photographic process.

My images are no better or worse because of the tools I use to make them. Some may gravitate toward this process while others will shrug and walk away. I've come to realize photography is not about making money for me, I'm no good at the business of photography, but will forever love the medium.

So if you would love to sit very still in front of outdated equipment and will settle for 10 black and white frames instead of 200 RAW files, then I am your photographer.

Good Health and Travels,
David Hayes

Captured with a 4x5 Speed Graphic fitted with a 6" Petzval 1 sec at f3.5

A different ending

I came across a Korean film trilogy by Park Chan-wook that is some of the most challenging films I've ever watched. You want to look away, but stay to the bitter end. The themes are revenge and ultimately what level of atrocity will we stomach if it is under the guise of retribution. While my photography has nothing to do with these themes, it is easy to be inspired by them. You can't predict the endings (at least I couldn't) and prove the one truth in life is unpredictability. No cliches or rides into the sunset with the hero and heroine hand in hand for this film maker. While the subject matter is enough to send people to the shrink, it is his bold originality and challenges that are laudable accomplishments. So many movies get made with huge budgets but have little to say beyond the veneer of product placements and generic story lines. What does this have to do with photography? Very little, other than like movie makers most photographers just reproduce the same tired disposable images that may sell up front but really make no difference. Does it matter that I shoot with an Iphone or an 8x10? Or if I spend all day producing a silver halide print or just apply some pre bought actions in Photoshop.

If it doesn't matter then I'm not trying hard enough or following Park's example of not letting the audience dictate your vision, but your vision leading the audience. Just like his movies I don't know how this will end, but I'll stay until the credits role and they usher me out of the theater. 

Shot with 4x5 Speed Graphic equipped with 172mm Kodak Aero Ektar f2.5 lens.

And then it was over

and what was done?

I watched the ground glass of my 4x5 for long minutes as this image unfolded. The wind would blow the grass and change the focus while clouds moved to cover and uncover the sun. I lost myself in the scene and how it was continuously evolving visually, but remaining constant in emotion. As the light came back, I made mental notes about my focus plane and slid the film cartridge in, rendering my view black. It was a feeling of when to trigger the shutter and only allow myself this one image of the view before me. Watching it come back to life in the darkroom was to relive the moment and also create it again. One, image, one piece of film, one fluid moment locked in time.

Alaska Diving and big film

Whittier, Alaska is connected to the road system via the longest vehicle tunnel in North America.

Tunnel to Whittier, trains take the same tunnel as scheduled

Whittier, Alaska is an interesting little hamlet at the edge of the civilized world. I know there are more far flung places but few are as unique as this location. There are no standalone private homes, only condos and apartments. The sun doesn't even shine here a couple months each winter due to the location and the high mountains that surround it. What makes Whittier especially unique is the diving community that abounds here. In the dark of the arctic winter, the normally turbid waters of Prince William  sound become clear as everything above the waterline freezes solid.

Record snowfall has arrived across South Central Alaska

Yes, it is cold but the water is four times warmer than the air temperature most days. This day it was almost 38 degrees Fahrenheit, I'll let you do the math on the air temperature. Anchorage (Alaska's metropolis) is only an hour away so this is where you go to dive all winter and train. Yes, Hawaii is only 6 hours away via Boeing 727, but not exactly a Saturday morning destination.

Smitty's cove

Whittier communication systems

Every weekend divers congregate here and don layers of polypro, heated undies, and enough wool to make a highlander jealous. This is drysuit country and those hardy souls splash down in Prince William sound via Smitty's cove are all going in drysuits. I dive here, it is cold, that is all there is to it. Numb hands, face, head, all part of the game. Why would people choose to do this and spend a small fortune in the process? Why climb a mountain, why run a marathon? Because it is suffering, and dedication above all else. Diving the arctic is like running marathons in the desert, if you have to explain it to someone don't bother, they won't get it anyway.

Smitty's Cove in Whittier. Diver's debrief and warm up between dives in this palace with snow as high as the roof.

If you have never contemplated using crampons to reach a dive site, then maybe a trip to Whittier should be in your cards. Take a leap away from comfort and find out what dedication is. If nothing else you can have that badge of a winter dive in the Last Frontier. Just remember night dives end at 10am and begin at 5pm this time of year.

Diver's going out for their second dive on a Saturday, they will do 45 minute diver even this time of year. 

The begining of the story

We live in a golden age of creativity the world has never before experienced and may never again. My creativity ebbs and flows like all artists, it is not a steady stream but a river that will burst dams and dry up within the same season. Lately I've been drawn to far more physical creative projects that require skill and care to avoid injury while bringing ideas to fruition. Then it dawned on me, I miss the physicality of analog photography far beyond any quality argument that can be made. Photography was until recently a hands on experience that resulted in physical objects. Rolls of fim, a sheet of negatives, a contact print, then finally a print that you could hold. I miss that, ones and zeros are fine, but having tangible results that aren't just flickers on a screen are far more satisfying. Then I came across of box of history lodged in the back of my safe. Family photos, momentos, heirlooms (valuable only to me) and holding those prints brought back a flood of memories, ones that can be viewed without power, no upgrades or plugins needed.

Les and Walt Hayes on the homestead circa 1925

I've shared stories of my grandfather Les, and thought it time to share another to mark this occasion of finding an old picture. The image above is of my grandfather Les (on the pony) and his older brother Walt on our homestead near Renner, South Dakota. While undated the image has to be from the late 1920's based on their age. These young boys would see a Hell that couldn't be imagined when the photograph was taken. Even for young men of hard upbringing things would forever change them before we would meet. I knew Les as kindly but stern grandfather that spoiled us grand kids more with every passing year. Walt was different, he was mean and scared me as a young boy. I found out later that while they had both served in Europe during WWII, Walt didn't make it through intact like Les did. He had seen to much horror and his mind had broke. He was forever bitter at the world and all who inhabited it, I cannot fault him, I would have to walk in his shoes to do that.

Almost a hundred years later I hold the image of these two brothers long before all this would happen. Simply two young men awaiting all the promises life has to offer. I fear we will loose this physical connection to the past with the absence of analog photography that seems so prevalent today. Holding the past in our hands is something we should be careful to not give up so easily. I curse a world that makes memories disposable.

Being from the Midwest I cannot help but tell a story about these brothers

Near the end of Walt's life he was confined to the VA and asked Les (his brother) to get him a pack of smokes. Les wasn't about to pay for them and Walt didn't have any cash, but he had some hid at the house. He told Les that there was a gas can out in the shed with some money, he could use that and get the smokes. Mind you Les wasn't hurting for money but wasn't about to part with his funds on this venture. Les went to the house and found the can, but couldn't get the roll of money out so he cut the can open and retrieved nearly $10,000 in cash. He took the money (less a pack of smokes) back to Walt with a receipt and relayed the story about the gas can. Walt demanded Les repay him for the value of the now ruined can.

Knowing how a story ends doesn't matter as much as how it started, I'll continue to hold my memories.  But like I said, we live in a golden age.

Communication Breakdown

4"x5" Dry tintype

Loosing one’s voice temporarily is a traumatic experience, our connection to the outside becomes severed. Even simple tasks become complex and frustrating. But what about loosing one's creative voice? It is infinitely more difficult to define and far more destructive than simply not being able to speak. The worst part about it is you may not recognize its absence. We keep speaking visually but our message is silent, if art doesn’t come from your creative center it is equivalent to showing unexposed film. Everyone looks right through it as there is no image present.

I lost my voice, lost it for years and only recently realized how truly mute I became. I grasped at every new thing that came along: HDR, three point light, actions, small strobes, giant strobes, they all made their way into my work and replaced my voice with trends. It became about sales averages, print prices, and looking like the popular “successful” photographers. In all reality it was just tamping down my creative voice until it became a squeak and then silent altogether. My work became nothing more than retread ground, an indistinguishable noise in the crowd. I’m not a great photographer, but became infinitely worse when I stopped being true to my creative voice. I will always be a photographer, regardless of technique, equipment, lighting, or sales numbers. It is not something I choose to do, it is something I have to do. Being an artist is about possessing a desire to create and give intangible ideas a place in the physical world, nothing more.

This is not some new years resolution or overnight epiphany, it developed over time like all ideas and finally demanded to be put in writing. My internal focus has been readjusted, now it is time to create and find the strength to follow my ideas.

"Nothing is worse than a sharp picture of a fuzzy concept."--Ansel Adams.

Good Health and Travels
David Hayes
Owner Resolute Visuals