Words and Pictures

Words and pictures. Images both literary and visual. These have been considered so similar that the verbiage used to describe them seem to be synonymous. Word pictures. A picture is worth a thousand words. Terms almost interchangeable. It should come as no surprise then that the devices we've made to construct words and images together seem to operate so similarly. Today, digital images and text files seem virtually the same, mere data, slung around networks of optic fibers and copper wires.

Looking backwards is often required to see forward. So it is when combining gelatin silver paper prints and typewriters; or, gelatin silver prints of typewriters, two technologies that seem so like-minded.

A few years ago, when I was delving deep into the world of paper negative photography - employing silver paper as a form of in-camera, black & white "film" - I began looking for alternative methods of displaying these as positive images. Two obvious ways were contact printing them, in the darkroom, onto other sheets of silver paper; or scanning the negatives to produce digital files, to be inverted later via software into positive images. Both methods have their benefits. The first produces a physical print, while the second is intrinsically software-based.

But then I came up with a third method, similar to digital scanning, but employing a handheld digital camera; placing the paper negative into some setting or scene, perhaps related to the original image, and often outdoors; photographing the paper negative within the larger scenic context; then inverting the tones of the image afterwards, to produce a positive monochrome image set inside an otherworldly appearing scene, a shifted color palette of negative tones, a reversed world where the real is imaginary and the imaginary real.

Since that time, I've been working more regularly with Harman Direct Positive paper, that produces a positive image requiring no tonal reversal afterward. But the idea of digitizing these prints, by photographing them in some larger context using a handheld digital camera, persists to this day. So it was that, after making this small study of my Hermes 3000 "Nekkid-Riter" chopped typewriter, using small squares of the Harman paper in my film canister pinhole cameras, it seemed obvious that sharing these prints online might be more interesting done this way than by merely scanning.



The process I use to make these prints, now that I've worked toward refining it, is so simple as to almost be silly. Give the paper a brief pre-flash of even light in the darkroom, then load into the film canisters. Rate the paper at an exposure index of 10, and the pinhole cameras at F/128. Meter the scene, make the exposure based on the metered reading. Load paper into a steel film developing tank, minus the reels, using loops of drafting tape on the backsides. Three such prints can easily be processed simultaneously. Mix Ilford MG paper developer, diluted at 1 + 15, to a volume of 100mL. Use continuous rotary processing, using the film tank on its side, for 3 minutes. Stop, fix and rinse as normal. Dry for an hour or two on a sheet of glass, taped down on the edges with more drafting tape. Done. Beautiful, individually unique gelatin silver positive prints.



I might say that the typewriters themselves, though each are as unique as the Harman positive prints, are a bit more complex. They aren't being manufactured, and spare parts are only to be found from other, donor, machines. Platen rollers can be resurfaced, and new ribbons are easily available, however. But the machines themselves are to be found online, at local thrift stores, Craigslist ads or estate sales. They almost always need some kind of service in order to be functional; at the very least, a thorough cleaning, degreasing and relubrication, then often some adjustments have to be made. Lots of hands-on fiddling, but also very satisfying when the typewriter collector/user also becomes a typewriter technician.

Typewriters also have a functional use, which is to mechanically print letters neatly onto paper. They're like film cameras in this regard, made to do but one thing, to lay down images of the literary kind. Which brings us back to where we started, with words and pictures.

Film Canister Pinhole Camera Project

An exquisite little jewel of a print that fits in the palm of your hand

Last week, after a long, long hiatus from much of any pinhole or gelatin silver photographic work, I embarked, in a sudden fit of inspiration, on a mad rush to build a set of nine pinhole cameras from black 35mm film canisters. Why the sudden inspiration, after all this time of little creative photographic output? Hmm. Best not to question the Muse, but rather to strike while the iron's hot; there'll be plenty of time, down the road, to ponder the whys.

My intention was for this set of small cameras to use Harman's Direct Positive paper, cut down to 1.75" square, which after a standard processing in black & white chemistry produces one-of-a-kind, fiber paper prints. Think "wet Polaroids" and you get the general idea.


Camera number one, with black tape shutter removed. The red dot on the cap indicates the direction of the pinhole.

My previous experience with this paper in pinhole cameras has shown that it doesn't tolerate lengthy exposures in cameras sporting hefty focal-ratios, since I rate its "exposure index" (the fancy term for the paper's "film ISO") at a value of 8 - much, much slower than what one might expect in a modern digital camera, for example. Given the paper's slow "speed" and the minute apertures found in bigger pinhole cameras (whose focal ratios often extend in the 100s), a smaller-sized camera, with a shorter focal length, would have a more reasonable f-number, yielding exposures short enough to be practical. In the case of these cameras, their f-numbers come in at around f/120 or so. I say "or so" because all nine of the pinholes were made by hand, and thus might not be exactly identical; but they're close enough.

I made the pinhole into 2-mil (i.e. 0.002" thick; NOT 2 millimeters) sheet brass, using a sewing needle and 600-grit emery paper. I've made a video to demonstrate my pinhole making technique, linked below.


Making Pinhole Camera Apertures

After doing a fairly good job at making the cameras themselves, and their little storage box, I had to decide how to use them with a tripod. After over-thinking it with ideas of pipe clamps and whatnot, I finally hit on the simply elegant idea of using the power of magnets, like Jessie Pinkman in the AMC series "Breaking Bad." Yea! Magnets, b*tch! (If you don't understand the reference, Google is your friend.) I installed magnets on the caps of each camera, which mate with a metal plate, screwed to a wooden base with tripod fitting underneath. I can place multiple cameras atop the metal plate, and the attractive force is strong enough to keep the cameras secure in almost any position.


Camera number one atop the magnetic tripod head

This morning, I took these little cameras out into my front and back yards, to make a series of test images. My standard metering and exposure technique is to use a Gossen Luna Pro F meter, set to the paper's exposure index of 8, using either reflective or incident metering (I used both during today's tests); reference the exposure time recommended for f/128, then apply the correction factor for the cameras' focal ratio. Since these cameras were about f/120, and the correction factor was about 0.9, I ended up just using the f/128 reading itself for about half of these shots; close enough for the tolerances of the process. This also represents a convenience factor, since I can use the meter reading directly without having to pull out a calculator to do the conversion.

All the cameras worked as expected, no light leaks noted, and the exposures were all pretty good; there was one image, of irises whose leaves were in bright sun but background was heavily shaded, where I metered the leaves themselves, and ended up with them being around medium-gray in tone, with the background almost completely black. Again, as one would expect; for a better image I should have added a +1 compensation to the exposure to brighten those leaves. I also did not do any pre-flashing of these prints, as I normally do with Harman Direct Positive paper (and also paper negatives), as I wanted to see the images straight away as the cameras record them, without any additional compensation.

Another image was taken in shade, with an exposure time of 55 seconds, the longest of the session, and it came out fine, with a good tonal range (as one would expect of this paper in shaded light), further proof as to the accuracy of my pinhole measuring technique.

In actual use, I keep the cameras in the box with their lids facing downward, the bottoms of each canister having a clearly visible number label affixed via double-sided tape. I start with camera #9. After its exposure, it goes back in the box cap-side up, so its number is no longer visible; so then, the highest numbered camera is 8, telling me that I have 8 exposures left. Simple but effective, and keeping me from getting confused, while out in the field.


The set of nine pinhole cameras in their carrying box

For shutters on the cameras, I've gone with the simple but elegant method of using black electrical tape. Best not to over-engineer what should be a very simple camera.

I've made another video documenting this project.


Film Canister Pinhole Camera Project

As I indicate at the end of that video, my desire is for this to be the start of some "serious" pinhole work, and not merely another camera-building project. I've built countless pinhole cameras over the last few decades, but much less have I seriously employed them in the service of some long-term documentary project. I hope this marks the start of a long stretch of productive pinhole creativity.

For those of you technically-minded, the pinholes were about 0.2mm in diameter, with the nominal focal length about 27mm (the curved film plane in the canisters ranges from 25mm at the center to 30mm near the edges). I expose the Harman paper using an exposure index of 8, then process them in a makeshift rotary drum (a standard metal 35mm tank laid on its side) for 3 minutes in a 100mL volume of Ilford Multigrade paper developer at a concentration of 1 + 15, followed by standard stop bath, fixing and rinsing.

Photo Storage Box Pinhole Cameras

I've covered in past articles a number of different box camera designs, and today I'd like to discuss making pinhole cameras from photo storage boxes. As background, there are times when I've built pinhole cameras entirely from scratch, while other times I will notice a box or container in a store with some feature that presents itself as being a likely candidate for conversion into a pinhole camera.

Craft stores are a likely place to find such boxes, and one of the most common and least expensive are these cardboard storage boxes for photos and videos. These come in a variety of colors and surface finishes, but the ones that initially piqued my interest were finished in black felt, including along the inside edge of the lid, implying that they came already light-tight.

Some years ago, out of curiosity, I purchased one of these boxes in order to experiment with it, with the thinking that if it didn't work out as a camera then I could always use it for its original intended purpose, as storage. The first thing I noticed was that, although on its long side it could fit an 8" x 10" sheet of photo paper, it was too narrow on its short side; unless the paper were curved to fit, or trimmed to size.

Once converted to a camera, I initially made some test shots with the paper mounted curved inside the box, but movement of the paper while the camera was pointed downward caused some of the corners to be blurry, and so I subsequently converted it to hold the sheet of paper, trimmed to fit, instead flat against the inside of the box, using a cardboard holder piece, with gaffer tape handles for easy removal.

While deciding how to convert the box to a camera, I had to decide how best to orient the paper relative to the lid. While it might be easier to insert and remove photo paper into the shallow lid of the box, having the film located there would mean a higher chance of it being fogged by light-leaks from the nearby lid opening. Therefore I instead located the film into the bottom of the box; light leaking inward from around the lid would have to reflect off the inside surface of the lid and then into the box, before it could fog the paper; spray painting the inside surfaces flat black considerably reduced the possibility of such reflections.

So the pinhole and shutter are located in the lid of the box. A square hole is cut in the lid, lined with gaffer tape and the brass pinhole plate mounted over the hole, from the inside, with more tape. The shutter is a thin piece of masonite board that pivots on a screw - easy enough that anyone can make one.

Mounting the box to a tripod required a bit of thought. Since these boxes are essentially thin cardboard, they're too flimsy to directly install a 1/4-20 tripod bushing. Instead, I made a heavy plywood mounting plate with tripod bushing, to be mounted atop a tripod, big enough for the box to easily sit upon, and equipped with screw eyes for the attachment of bungee cords, that serve to hold the box securely upon the platform while allowing easy removal when needed.

This first photo storage box camera ended up being enough of a success that I went and bought a second identical box and made another camera, this one having a focal ratio of F/300, a bit sharper than the F/275 of the first.

In practice, I trim, pre-flash and load the paper negatives into both cameras while in the darkroom, then carry them around in one of those reusable shopping bags, along with a tripod, mounting plate and light meter. But that only gives me the possibility of two images, unless I also bring a changing bag and box of additional sheets of photo paper.

Because of this limitation, I later began thinking of ways to provide for more images while out and about with such a camera. One idea is to simply carry more one-shot boxes; but this can be ungainly and impractical. Another idea is to have a shallow compartment behind the film plane where several additional sheets of paper can be stored, to be swapped out within a changing bag. Though this would work, it also makes the focal length of the box even shorter, the angle of view even more severely wide. Although I could have then extended the focal length by moving the pinhole/shutter further from the paper, with the addition of an extension box atop the lid, in the end I decided on a different configuration entirely.

Instead of the near 8" x 10" image size, I decided that 5" x 7" would be a sufficiently large format while permitting the installation of a two-slot paper storage compartment inside the box. So I went back to the craft store and bought another photo storage box. Although I couldn't find the felt-covered boxes (they seemed to have been in stock for only a few seasons), I did find a box already colored flat black inside and out.

This new camera ended up being oriented vertically, with the storage compartment in the bottom half, the camera chamber in the top and the lid along the front side. A heavy plywood mounting plate, with tripod bushing, is permanently bolted to the bottom side of the box, providing for a stable support and low center of gravity.

The internal paper storage box is made from foam core board, cardboard and gaffer tape, and is installed in the camera such that its open end is oriented opposite the camera chamber, pointing down, to prevent stray pinhole light from fogging the paper stored within.

In use, the camera is removed from the tripod and zipped up inside a changing bag, then the elastic bands securing the lid are removed, along with the lid itself. The storage compartment is then flipped around so its slots are pointing up, and the paper changed out; there's enough capacity in the storage container for several hundred sheets of paper. A piece of cardboard is used as a bracket upon which the negative is mounted via a loop of drafting tape, providing for easy removal and installation.

The shutter and pinhole assembly are very similar to that of the other one-shot box design, mounted in the box lid but instead mounted off-center, so as to be located directly over the camera-chamber-half of the box.

I've made a video about these two kinds of photo storage box cameras; the embedded You Tube link is at the top of this article.

This is not the first storage-slot type of pinhole camera I've built; I believe the last four or five have employed this design, all requiring the use of a changing bag within which to swap out the paper between shots. While this method does indeed provide for a practically unlimited number of exposures, that practicality is offset by the inconvenience of having to, after every exposure, remove camera from tripod, zip up into changing bag, swap out paper, unzip from changing bag and remount to tripod. It also implies that some sort of makeshift seating area needs to be found every time.

One possible alternative that I keep kicking around is to build a light-tight arm sleeve into the back of a box camera, permitting the paper to be changed out while it remains mounted upon the tripod, needing only one hand to operate; but that's a project for another day.

Post-script: A sampling of images created with both the F/275 and F/300 one-shot photo storage box pinhole cameras, using pre-flashed grade 2 RC paper negatives.

Box Camera Afield at Fiery Furnace

It was almost five years ago when we made this visit to Arches National Park in eastern Utah. It was early April, a time when we typically go on some short, regional vacation in celebration of our anniversary, but that can often present unpredictable weather, especially in the higher regions of the American west.

The drive from Albuquerque brings us through the desolate northwest quadrant of the state along highway 550 to Bloomfield, then through Farmington and over to Shiprock, then up the highway to Cortez, where we pass through the very southwest corner of Colorado, through Dove Creek and on into Utah, making a turn northward at Monticello and up to Moab.



I had been experimenting with a newly built pinhole camera, made from black foamcore board and gaffer's tape, and mounted to a thick slab of wood, providing for a sturdy base, tripod socket and low center of gravity. The principal feature of this camera was once again, like the falling plate cameras of before, an attempt to answer the question of how to make multiple exposures while out in the field, far from home and the convenience of one's darkroom. In the case of this new camera, it employs a side-opening lid gaining access to the camera chamber proper, with a storage compartment behind for exposed and unexposed paper negatives.

Like the falling plate cameras I'd previously built, one has to pause between exposures to change negatives. But whereas before it was a simple matter of tilting the camera forward and releasing the front-most film plate, this camera requires one to find a place to sit down, so as to form a lap upon which to set out one's changing bag, into which the camera is zipped up; then the side door is removed, the exposed paper removed from the film plane and stored in its compartment, after which a fresh sheet is loaded up and the door reinstalled.

There are downsides to this new camera's film changing process. It's slower to recycle between exposures, especially out in the boonies where there might not be a convenient place to sit down. I've been known to crouch down with my back against a boulder, tree or fence post, so as to form that needed table-like lap surface upon which to deploy the changing bag. There's the time required to take off backpack, remove changing bag, sit down, place camera into bag, zip up both closures, insert arms, fiddle with the camera, remove arms, unzip camera, restow changing bag and don backpack once again; then it's off to another spot with tripod over one shoulder and box camera under the other.

The advantages of this new camera, that in many ways outweigh the disadvantages, are several-fold. First, the storage slots in the back of the camera are each wide enough to hold upwards of 100 sheets of paper. That's enough paper for several weeks'-worth of shooting, without ever having to reload film holders in one's car or hotel room; perfect for extended vacations. Second, the camera doesn't have to be lugged around with sheet film holders; four such 8-by-10 holders (permitting only 8 images) are as heavy as the entire camera. Third, unlike the alternatives of a falling plate camera or sheet film holders, virtually unlimited numbers of images can be made out afield in remote areas without running out of film. Fourth, this camera is much less sensitive to be jostled and handled afield, unlike the more delicate falling plate camera designs.

The introductory article to this blog included an image made using this camera atop Delicate Arch. As I recall, I employed the services of my wife to carry the tripod, as we hiked up the long slick-rock mountain slope to the arch. While I carried the backpack on my shoulders and box camera under one arm, this gave us each a free hand in case we slipped or stumbled during out trek upward. I stopped repeatedly to load the camera, make an exposure and reload, all the while fellow hikers would either pass us in silence or pause briefly to inquire if that's a homemade pinhole box camera (I've always been amused by such questions, considering how crude the construction can appear). I found the sloping rock cliffs along the trail a convenient place to sit against to reload the camera, and again did so repeatedly during our time atop the mountain.



The layout of Arches makes it convenient to drive the paved loop road from one hiking site to another. The top photo was created at the Fiery Furnace overlook. I remember it well, because the overlook was crowded with a group of photographers engaged in a workshop, each employing high-end medium-format digital cameras (I'm talking cameras each as expensive as the Subaru we were driving), all of whom were trying, I'm assuming, to find some unique photographic opportunity whilst standing virtually side-by-side, with the same cameras and lenses. Myself, I must admit that I took on an air of smugness, as I shouldered my way up to the railing, deployed Bogen tripod and proceeded to carefully aim the obviously crude camera by means of the viewing dots affixed to the sides and top of the box (and a surprisingly accurate method of framing one's image), me in my grungy work shirt and sweat-crusted boonie hat.

By the time this image was made, I'd been well practiced in the art of pre-flashing paper negatives, a technique that yields a better dynamic range, especially in the shadows, than otherwise. You might want to contrast the tonal rendition of this image with those of the previous several articles, which were made a decade prior and without the pre-flashing technique. I'll cover the details of pre-flashing in another article.

This camera represents a significant evolutionary step in my camera designs, that of large-format boxes simple in design and light in weight (by means of foam core and gaffer's tape construction) yet rigid and stable (due to the heavy wooden base), offering extended operation in remote areas by means of the storage compartment behind the film plane. It's main downside is the need to remove box from tripod between every shot, find a place to sit, and utilize a changing bag. A further evolution, which I've yet to employ, is a camera with its own light-tight, black fabric arm sleeve permanently attached, enabling camera to be reloaded whilst atop its own tripod. One of these days...

Sandia Foothills Boulders

Albuquerque is a city that abuts the Sandia Mountain range on its eastern edge, along whose foothills are numerous opportunities for hiking, supported by convenient parking areas maintained by the City. This destination represents an opportune subject matter, when the desire to go out-and-about with a pinhole camera suddenly hits, as it did on this day, back in November of 2004.

I grew up in the eastern part of the city, literally in the shadow of the Sandia Mountains. Like many of my peers, we were used to telling directions by the massive presence of the mountain to our east, a lodestone of sorts, directing our inner compasses. Put me in some other town or city absent such a striking landmark and I'd be lost to tell which direction is which. But not in Albuquerque.

Long before I was born, my dad as a young man would hike many miles, from what is now downtown, up through the east mesa to the mountains, often accompanied by his buddies - back when the Great Depression offered little else for young men to do. One story he told was when he and his buddies each brought with them a .22 rifle with which, inspired by the cowboy movies, they had a regular shoot-out, hiding behind these massive granite boulders, ricocheting bullets zinging past their heads. One can't imagine doing such a thing today, it would be considered sheer madness, or downright criminal activity. Back then, it was just clean fun for kids living in a tough world; which activities might also have prepared them to face the trials of the Second World War, just a few short years ahead.

I thought about this story as I hiked the trails meandering around these massive boulders, preparing to do a bit of shooting of a different kind. I had with me the F/300 aluminum 5"x8" falling plate pinhole box camera and tripod, while I was by now also experimenting with paper negatives instead of the orthographic litho film I had been using, and which I was finding difficult to control its contrast.

I had already noticed that conventional multi-grade photo paper could also too easily produce images of excessively high contrast, caused by the blue and UV-intensive daylight activating the paper's high-contrast emulsion. For this reason I had begun experimenting with using RC photo paper of a fixed contrast grade instead, whose contrast was insensitive to the color of light; along with adding a faint, even exposure to the paper in the darkroom ahead of time - what I call a "pre-flash" - which serves to increase the paper's shadow detail without significantly increasing the highlight exposure, thereby serving to limit the excessive image contrast. This particular image was created during that period of intense experimentation.

I can't recall now whether the camera was mounted atop my homemade tripod or the heavier but more flexible Bogen; but I do know that, by judging from the foliage along the left side, the wind must have been very calm that morning, since this was a 45 second exposure. This was but one of a series that I've shot since in this same general area, and no doubt you'll be seeing more of these foothills images herein.

Having such an easy to access locale (about two miles from my house) for experimental scenic photography has proven to be of immense help in ironing out the bugs in my process before embarking on lengthier excursions afield. But even so, I periodically return to the Sandia Foothills, that ever-present lodestone that grounds me to home.