Joy Ride
I was recently urged to search my way-way-back B&W archive for an image of a long ago departed local Newburyport character, Duncan Chase. He was the local drunk who had an acute fondness for loudly proclaiming to all passerby that he was "a cool, cool cat from New York City" and that he "walked the line...yeoahhhh". Many afternoons he could be found slumbering in sunlight-warm doorways and sharing that warmth with an empty whiskey pint right next to him.
But that's not what I want to talk about here. While searching the way-way back archive, I stumbled across a couple of B&W negatives that are of major significance for me. The one below, Joy Ride, is on my top ten, all time life time list. I have a silver gelatin, split toned, selenium print of it on my wall as I post this. I fondly remember making the print back in Newburport, and I recall how amazed I was that I finally learned the nuance of split toning. The print has been on my wall almost everywhere I've lived since I made it.
So what's so cool about it? To start with, it's a seriously gorgeous print. But the image itself is one that can walk and chew gum at the same time. Back when I exposed the film for this image, a friend lent me a real short focal length Nikon lens. I was using a Nikkormat then, and I was enamored by images from short focal length lenses. In previous posts, I've talked about the importance of Salisbury Beach for me. Joy Ride was taken at Salisbury Beach at the end of the summer season, a day or two before workers folded everything up for the winter. Even at the time of exposure, I knew I had a winner. It wasn't until later, much later (like years later) that I fully grasped the graphic impact of the designs on the cars, the punctuation of the light bulbs, and how the white lazy clouds are layered onto the sky, yet behind the ride itself.
Mine is a small print, nine inches wide. After twenty-five years, a print may be labeled as a vintage silver gelatin print (VSGP in galleryspeak). Joy Ride is now in that club; after nearly forty years, time's patina has washed over my Portriga Rapid Afga paper print with a gloved hand, gently burnishing it with a soft blush of autumnal mellowness. (Do I sound like I miss wet process printing and the darkroom? Yar, you betcha!) Sure, I know how to replicate split toning in Photoshop, and sure I wanted you to see what my little print looks like; but trust me on this one, digital can't come close to what time has meticulously rendered without bytes, without digital tools, brushes or filters. Without asking it, time has done its job on my print of Joy Ride like it has etched the lines and wrinkles on my face. Ever since Nicéphore Niépce, everyone has agreed that, if nothing else, photography is about time.
Salisbury Beach
I've been thinking about E publishing a couple of my photography books. There are a bunch of options available: i'm undecided which format etc. to use. But while I ponder that issue, I've been revisiting the books and the work in them. One is tentatively called Off Season. It is a body of photographs taken over twenty years documenting Salisbury Beach, Massachusetts during the winter months. Salisbury Beach is a small ocean town who's heyday has long passed. Left are a collection of small cottages and two story houses which rent during the summer for very reasonable rates; and during the winter, some of them house a colorful collection of temporary tenants.
During the late seventies and early eighties, I lived south of Salisbury Beach, across the Merrimac River, in Newburyport. Though it might be argued by some that knew me then, that I, how shall I put this, misappropriated my time during those years, I, in fact, spent hours and hours photographing in and around that part of New England, and then after exposing negatives, I'd spend hours and hours making prints in the darkroom. It was during that time I became a real photographer and started to become a master printer. Early on I was influenced by Minor White who started the Visual Language Workshop at M.I.T., and later, by Harry Callahan who taught at R.I.S.D. Clearly, it was Callahan who set me off on my way to making photographs in Salisbury Beach.
On winter afternoons, I'd bundle up and drive over to Salisbury Beach. I walk around for a couple of hours taking pictures until it started to get dark. Then I hop back into the car, drive across the river, and go into the darkroom to process film. The next morning I'd make contacts and work prints. I repeated this process several times a week during January and February. I looked forward to winter storms which would lash the New England coast, and would sometimes almost bury some of the small cottages at Salisbury Beach. Every afternoon would be different there.
The other subject I worked with at Salisbury were the cars. What an incredible collection of old cars were parked there, abandoned or simply left to hibernate during the winter. I look at them now in the photographs and I still smile and shake my head.
I left Massachusetts in the late eighties. But I continued to return to Salisbury Beach periodically to check in and to photograph. In the nineties I started making colored images as well as black and white. By then, I had a state of the art color lab. Just like in the old days, I couldn't wait to return from Salisbury Beach, process film and print. It's been awhile since I've stopped at Salisbury Beach: it feels like I'm overdue.
Immediately below is the dust jacket layout for Off Season.
Below that, I've included a small slideshow of images from Off Season. Simply click on the "FS" button for full screen, and then the "SL" to start the slide show. When you're finished click on the ESC key to return to my home page.
Salisbury Beach
