#dry plate photography

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"TORONTO MAN APPEALS "PROHIBITIVE" TARIFF," Toronto Star. July 28, 1933. Page 1. ---- Manufacturer Tells Board Import on Collodion "Injustice" to Industry --- Special to The Star Ottawa, July 28. - Engravers Specialties of Toronto, manufacturers of collodion and engravers' supplies applied to the tariff board to-day for cancellation of tariff item "761-collodion."

W. E. Thorne, the applicant,through counsel, stated, "I am engaged in manufacturing collodion in bond, which carries the necessary bond fees, supervision fees and all the rest of the excise duties that go to make up a business of this nature. I am a one-man concern, returned soldier, who has tried to re-establish himself without asking any assistance from the government in any way whatever. It is this that prompts me to speak out for what I call an injustice to the government and to the manufacturers of collodion in Canada. I am prepared to list costs in Canada as compared with costs in the U.S.A. and you can judge for yourself the great Injustice being done to the government and the collodion manufacturers.

"Do you think it proper to charge a Canadian manufacturer a total of 68 cents in duties, excise and bond fees for each and every gallon of collodion sold in Canada, whereas an engraver can import collodion at a lower cost than the price of manufacture in Canada? When such collodions are imported, instead of the government getting 68 cents per gallon they get 24 cents, all included, so I leave it to you, sir, if you do not think that this item should be changed immediately.

"In an interview with the customs branch I was advised that the tariff item outlived itself when collodions first manufactured in this country, as a Canadian manufacturer should not be discriminated against, but protected. Immediately you will want to know what benefit I expect to receive if this revision was made. It is this. I only expect to be put on an equal basis with were other manufacturers. The corporation importing the majority of collodion into this country have a million-dollar plant, but it doesn't pay them to manufacture in this country, as it can be done so much cheaper in the U.S. If this material were imported under the proper tariff item which is item. No. 220 instead of No. 761, immediately you will see the benefits to the government in both excise and customs."

The board concluded the Bathurst Power and Paper Co. hearing, the case standing for further consideration. Suggest 35 P.C. M. J. Patton for engravers specialties said the present duties were 15 per cent. British preference, 17 1/2, intermediate and general. The applicant asked that the item be cancelled and a separate item be made carrying a higher rate of duty, and suggested 35 per cent.

It was pointed out that the duties on the raw material going into Canadian collodion were 35 per cent. of the cost while the protection given on the finished 'product was only 17 per cent. The profit was only 5 percent. Judge Sedgwick: "From these cost figures it looks as though you could make 25 cents a gallon more profit by charging $4." There was no opposition appearing to the application and the case closed, to be taken into consideration by the board. Bowron Bros. Ltd., Hamilton, applied for the re-classification of ripe figs in syrup. All other figs were imported under a special item using the word "figs" while these figs were"pushed" into "fruits preserved in syrup."This fruit was brought in from California in gallon cans and thenre-packed into small containers.

"These figs are not produced in Canada," said Arthur Bowron, "and the high commissioner in London, whom we wrote, has been unable to find any of these ripe figs within the empire." He suggested figs would be a good item to trade in the possible reciprocity pact with the United States. The present tariff was 100 per cent.and he suggested they might be allowed in duty free as a concession. The chain groceries were selling their product but the high duty made the price to the consumer very high. Commissioner Hebert: "Figs of this type are produced in Smyrna." Empire Figs Salty Mr. Bowron: "If we can get empire figs we would rather, but theyare usually packed in salt and unsuitable for what we use them." Chairman: "For lack of imagination we often take figs on the dining car." Mr. Bowron: "Those are the kind we put up but they are imported and cost around 40 cents." He admitted they had only brought in three experimental shipments so far. Chairman: "Well, what good are you going to do the country if you get the duty down. Is it going to make the figs in the train cheaper?" Mr. Bowron: "It should." Chairman: "If you are allowed to bring these figs free in bulk you spend $388 in Canada in wages and material and you reduce the price to the Canadian consumer." Mr. Bowron: "Yes, ten cents a can is cheaper." Chairman: "Then that's the whole story." The case was taken under consideration. The application of the Jones Tent and Awning Co., Ltd., of Vancouver, for a duty on venetian blinds was laid over, the applicants not being ready to proceed. This completed the second session of the tariff board. The next hearing being the woollen hearing, the date of which has not been set.

[angelkarafilli]

Photography history

Period British Dry Plate Advertisement

[davewhenham]

Dry: the 2023 Update

Dry: the 2023 Update: the one I made for Dean #believeinfilm

This one is especially for Dean who very kindly enquired as to whether there would be an update on my “Dry” adventures. My experiments with dry glass plates began in 2021 and whilst I did expose a few plates in 2022 I didn’t post about it at the time. One of the last things I commented upon in my series of posts in 2021 was how “dry plate season” in the UK could be said to extend from March to…

[piccolos-bigtoe]

Oouugghhh, gueess who finished their homework assiignment…. This guy!!! Smiles big with too many teeth I am normal. I do not regret all the time I spent (I may spend more time to fix a fewwww small details….) I am so ready for the summer oh my balls………. I still have a few projects and papers to wrap up here for classes, I will pull through,,, probably…. It’s been tough ngl I feel like I JUST fell into the swing of things and now it’s ova, but that’s okay I’ll adapt

I swear to god every single one of my classmates better give me a standing ovation and kiss me on my beautiful beautiful lips when I present this in critique. I swear to god………. There better be crying…. Kidding I’m not that full of myself but I’m excited to hear what my graphics prof will say teehee…. I will probably print a physical copy of this (whether or not it will be good quality paper idk).

Also I got my portrait taken today on a silver wet plate (iirc), suuupperrr old form of photography. An artist traveled to my school and held a gallery + talk yesterday and I enjoyed it very much, I typically don’t go up on Fridays because I don’t have classes but I went with a friend to get out portraits taken and then watched the washout process of the plates!! Photography is crazy I don’t understand it. The only thing I’m kind of like dissapointed by is I’m typically not bothered by my skin or acne, but this type of photograph catches stuff SUPER WELL, like it’s kind of crazy, my friend doesn’t really have prominent freckles but on the photo they look way darker than usual. Same thing happened with my dry skin and acne, I don’t mind it too bad, but I was caught off guard a little bit to be honest lol. (Picture below w/my face cut off obviously…. I just wanted to show off my dress because it’s my prized Gunne Sax dress and like the only dress I will actually wear). Me and my two friends were the only ones who dressed up?? No one else did, which was kind of surprising, because this type of photo is rare to get just cause no one really takes them anymore or gets the equipment for it. Okay I’m done rambling tbh I am just procrastinating sleeping,, augh whatever goodnight…. I always post before I sleep…

[anon-e-miss]

Shaping You - Seen

Prowl was not eager to see Punch again but his originator in law was king of Polyhex and as long as Prowl lived in his court, interacting with him was unavoidable. He had made a bad impression on him, in more than one way and his title hunting procreators had made a worse one. It seemed that the king was no more eager to see Prowl than Prowl was to see him as he never once summoned Prowl nor Jazz to dine. It troubled Prowl that he was playing a role in estranging Prowl from his originator. Unlike Prowl, Jazz seemed to have always been close to his originator and it was terrible to be the cause of that bond breaking. As Jazz guided him to a carriage, Prowl hoped that this tour and the gift of his bridal armour to his citizens might ease some of his distaste.

Jazz had insisted they wait until Hotwire had completed his proper armour, though the mock up had served Prowl just fine, the final product was cut of thinner metal and painted the richest blank paint and the most perfect iridescent white Prowl had ever seen. It gave the effect of appearing as if it had been carved of crystal and not of metal. If Prowl had not known better he would have expected his chest plate to be transparent. This was armour sculpted by an artist, a striking contrast to the gaudy thing he had worn to his bonding. It in this Prowl felt like the consort of a prince, more than he had in his bridal armour.

“Hotwire smelted yer armour ‘n molded it into bricks,” Jazz explained as they set off, after she separated out the gems. “Got enough that ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout leavin’ anyone short.”

“Thank you,” Prowl replied. “That is easier than donating panel by panel, and less crass than handing my pelvic girdle to a school or museum.”

“Yeah, I didn’t dig that image,” Jazz replied. “Nothin’ crass ‘bout ya but don’t mean others ain’t ‘n I don’t want ya gettin’ anymore grief.”

“Never fear,” Prowl replied. “I will come to some manner of grief by my conduct alone.”

“Yer conduct is perfect,” Jazz assured him. It had not been but it was kind of Jazz to reassure him.

His new armour was snug over his belly. Dipole insisted on spoiling him by experimenting with Praxian cuisine and Prowl was indulging more than he ever had under his originator’s supervision. Beyond that, Jazz was diligent in doing his duty as a bridegroom and he flooded Prowl’s gestational tank at least twice a mega-cycle, if not thrice and thus Prowl’s belly was kept round with the proof of his virility. If Prowl did not kindle soon it was clearly a fault in his spark and not in Jazz’s efforts.

“Since we got a ways to go, why don’t we keep busy?” Jazz suggested.

“Oh?”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Prowl squealed.

His flaccid spike hung between his splayed legs. Jazz’s spike battered his transfluid duct, ringing his reservoirs dry. Prowl knew that medics routinely drained Praxian brides when they became… congested, this was most certainly not how it was done back home. A froth of transfluids and lubricants oozed from Prowl’s well fragged valve. His belly jiggled as Jazz fragged his aft and Prowl could not imagine would his originator would make of such a sight. Jazz had him wailing in overload and the thought vanished in the white burn of ecstasy.

He was the picture of the blushing bride as they stepped off the carriage. They had spent the entire journey making passionate love and Prowl could not keep the flush from his face as he walked along next to Jazz. His swollen folds and aft rim rubbed against the lining of his armour. This must have been why Dipole had put that absorbent lining in; she knew how Polyhexian grooms were expected to be, insatiable. Prowl thought the crowds gathered at each stop along the tour were surprised by his appearance. He was far more rotund than the photography from the ceremony and parade would have suggested but no one scorned him, at least not outwardly.

Polyhexians in Darkmount wept at their gift, they received the largest share of ununtrium as Jazz believed they had the most need and seeing the bombed out shells of buildings, Prowl agreed completely. They needed a medical centre, schools and every other government service returned. Prowl heard talk of Empties and insisted on going to the Dead End to see the situation. Victims of EMP weapons that had broken their processors and their frames, the Empties were shunned by their own framekin out of fear their madness could spread. No one entered the Dead End except to harass the poor wretches and as a result the shattered district was a restricted zone with armed guards at the gates. When Prowl entered the gates with guards grumbling at his back, he was struck dumb by the devastation. It was as if the district had been smelted where it stood. The buildings looked like they were melting even now. Many of the Empties had a similar appearance. Prowl saw one planting seeds in what must have once been a traffic circle. From the way the soil looked, Prowl did not believe anything would grow here again. He knelt next to the mech and planted seeds with him.

“Ratchet?” Jazz’s voice broke Prowl from his reverie. “Whatcha doin’ here.”

“I have a clinic here,” Ratchet explained. “I’m doing what I can to make them comfortable.”

“Hello Ratchet,” Prowl greeted the medic.

“You’re looking better,” Ratchet declared. “Much better.”

“I am pleased you approve,” Prowl replied. His own kin would not. “Is there any ununtrium left to donate to Ratchet’s clinic?” Prowl asked.

“Yep,” Jazz replied. He waved a servo and their escort left to fetch the donation from their carriage. “Consider us yer official patrons, Ratch.”

“Mecha will tell you that you should put your shanix to better use,” Ratchet replied.”

“‘N those mecha can kiss my aft,” Jazz replied.

Prowl prayed the weapon that had done this damage to the Dead End and its residents had been destroyed and its blueprints tossed in the smelter. It was so terrible, so terrible what it had done. War in general was terrible but the Empties had been damaged in such a hideous way. Even vorns after the weapon had detonated, the damage continued to spread in the frames and processors of the survivors. Empties who had appeared physically undamaged in the beginning had developed deformities. This was why their neighbours feared them. They feared it was contagious. Ratchet said it was not and Prowl believed him.

“Y’er perfection,” Jazz told him when they returned to the carriage.

“How do you mean?” Prowl asked.

“Their own kin shun ‘em,” Jazz said. Some o’ those sparks got livin’ kin ‘n they don’t claim them ‘cause o’ the Affliction ‘n ya planted seeds wit one. Ya didn’t argue it was a weird place to plant, ya just… joined ‘m. Ya saw ‘m.”

“They deserve to be seen,” Prowl replied. “The seeds will not sprout. The soil has been as devastated as the buildings, but perhaps in time it will be restored. I saw a tree growing out of the wall of a temple in Petrex. How it sprouted there, who could ever know, but it did and maybe something will sprout here again.”

“Perfection,” Jazz declared. “Y’re perfection.”

Pictures of Prowl planting seeds with an irradiated Empty replaced those of the bonding in the media. Prowl was uneasy, it was clearly socially unacceptable to interact with Empties and he had made enough missteps already. Dipole called him a saint when she showed him an article she had saved to memory glass. He did not feel like a saint. If anything, Prowl felt like a fool for acting without thinking. Though he did not regret gardening with the mech, Prowl feared what the king would think of him endangering his heir by abandoning the itinerary.

Trying to calm his battle computer, Prowl walked the palace’s haggard garden. It must have been splendid in its time but the vorns of civil war had not been kind to it. He saw an amethyst sapling leaning and looked about for something to use for stakes. Branches from the dead try that might have propagated the sapling remained on the ground nearby. Prowl used them to hold up the sapling. It would probably be pulled up whenever the palace hired gardeners again but for now it would hold.

“What would yer procreators think o’ that scene?” Punch asked. Prowl flinched. He should have seen the king coming. Stiffly, he turned around and prostrated himself as the Polyhexians did, lowering his crest to the ground.

“Which scene, Your Majesty?” Prowl asked. Punch scoffed and Prowl flinched again.

“The one all o’er the news,” Punch said when Prowl did not speak further.

“Where I gardened with the poor mech?” Prowl asked. “They would have been less than enthused.”

“Why?”

“The castes do not mix in Praxus,” Prowl said, never lifting his helm. Though they hope to climb above theirs, it would not be permitted to step below mine.”

“Hypocrites,” Punch grumbled. “Go on, get up.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said as he did as he was told. He gestured to the sapling. “I do not think to make a claim on it. I just thought that as long as it was here, it should have some support.”

“My great great great grandgeni planted this garden for his bride ‘cause he was homesick. The amethyst trees were the first thing he planted. It’s nice to see a part o’em lives.”

“I see,” Prowl replied. “That was considerate of him.”

“Ya ain’t a fool,” Punch said. “Y’re procreators bragged ‘bout yer test scores ‘n they were impressive. Ya didn’t do anythin’ wit’em.”

“They considered it unseemly for me to seek a true function,” Praxian brides may dabble but they do not work.”

“In that armour, how could they?” Punch asked. “I know what ya ‘n Jazz did, donatin’ that o’er priced scrap were it’s needed. That was yer idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Prowl replied. “I thought it could be put to better use.”

“‘M not inclined to like ya, mechlin’ but ya don’t make yerself easy to hate?”

“Oh?” Prowl asked before his processor caught up with his mouth. “It came easily enough to my caste mates.”

Punch laughed and Prowl flushed.

“I can see why Jazz ‘n Dipole o’ taken a shine to ya.”

[adamstanheightsleftshoulder]

Iris: Prologue

Everywhere.

Adam and you went everywhere together. 

It had been this way since you were both five years old. That was the year the kindergarten teachers took all the kids to the zoo, and his mother and father seemed just about normal, and you were just glad to make a friend. You played in the sandbox, and watched pigeons, and when the teachers said to hold hands with a buddy neither of you ever thought about who you were going to choose, it was automatic.

On his sixth birthday, you watched as Scott stabbed him with a rusty nail. That was the year you two met Scott in the first place, and Adam called him his best friend, and a little part of your very young brain felt very, very jealous. You were the one who told his parents about the nail, and went off to find the first aid kit for him on your own. It was the year Adam got called to the office for punching Tommy Driscoll in the stomach for calling you a freak, and you didn’t carve out time to watch the pigeons any more because Scott said it was more fun to climb trees, and Adam insisted Scott must be right.

By the time you were entering middle school, the whole world seemed to know you were a package deal. If Adam was invited, you were invited- birthday parties, school events, holidays. That was the year you both turned 12, and the teachers took you all to camp at some lake, and Adam told you you’d get worms in your ear if you didn’t dry it properly, and Tommy Driscoll pushed you into lockers at school. It was the year his parents fought a hell of a lot more- so he would sneak out his window and walk over, and sleep in your room when they got too loud. 

High school- junior year came, and nothing changed. Scott was still kind of an ass, and Adam was still your best friend, and the three of you took over the back row of Miss Grundy’s calculus class and turned it into your own comedy club. That was the year Adam found photography, and Scott found music, and you found writing. Adam’s parents got worse, his father turned the arguments onto him, and he slept in your room more than his own (though now, your parents seemed to expect it. They cooked an extra plate of breakfast and dinner, and washed extra sheets for his inevitable crashing on your floor). 

You and Adam are everywhere together, and as far as you’re concerned, everywhere with Adam is the way the rest of your life is going to be spent.

[laurastudarus]

The Stanley Hotel was born with its founder Freelan Oscar Stanley near death. In 1903, the 54-year-old inventor of dry plate photography and the Stanley steam engine was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Because it was believed that fresh air would slow the disease—or, more realistically, provide a pleasant backdrop to his last few days—Freelan (affectionately known as FO) and his wife Flora were sent to Colorado—first to Denver, and then, on the suggestion of his doctor to the wilderness outpost, Estes Park.

(via The Stanley Hotel Is the Perfect Halloween Haunt - Paste Magazine)

[seoul-bros]

Today I went to the Hiroshi Sugimoto exhibition at the Hayward Gallery on the South Bank. This is his first retrospective in the UK. RM met him earlier this year and spoke to him for GQ Japan.

I really wasn't sure what to expect but what I found was striking, intriguing, and in some cases disturbing and eerie. He's an artist prepared to follow his inspiration wherever it takes him: dioramas at the American Museum of Natural History in New York, abandoned cinemas and theatres in the US and France, the wax works at Madame Tussauds, classical architecture, and experiments with light and electricity. A consistent theme for me was his trying to bring dead and inanimate things to life through photography.

Diorama Series (1976-1977) Using careful framing, long exposure times, and a large view camera for clarity of detail, Sugimoto heightens the illusionism of the dioramas themselves, creating exquisite effigies of a natural world on the verge disappearing.

Polar Bear (1976)

The Theaters Series are photos of abandoned theatres, their classic opulent architecture, now bereft of admiring human eyes, slowly disintegrating. The film on the screen, the only source of light adding to the overall spookiness of the image.

Palace Theater, Gary, 2015 "Snow White"

Everything reminds me of BTS at the moment. So I couldn't help but think of this set in Budapest while looking at these photographs.

Portraits Series (1999) A series of photos of famous people, wax figures from Madame Tussaud's and the museum of wax in the Itō, Japan taken out of their museum setting and photographed in a typical portrait style.

Henry the Eighth is the king of bling. He puts DJ Khaled to shame.

The Architecture Series (2000-2003) are blurred images of well-known examples of Modernist architecture like the Chrysler Building.

Lightning Fields (2016)- "The idea of observing the effects of electrical discharges on photographic dry plates reflects my desire to re-create the major discoveries of these scientific pioneers in the darkroom and verify them with my own eyes."

Optiks Series (2018) derived from Newton's prism experiment. Fine particles of color captured within the square frame of a Polaroid photograph.

Post Date: 16/12/2023

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 2-- Photograph

“Say cheese, my love,” Saeran instructs, finger hovering over the shutter button on his new camera.

You can't help but giggle. “You're going to run out of film if you just keep taking pictures of me around the house.” But you humor him anyway, smiling and posing with the plate you just finished washing. Why Saeran needs a photo of you scrubbing dishes, gaudy yellow rubber gloves and all, is beyond you, but you're willing to support his artistic vision even if you don't understand it.

“I don’t care,” he assures you, snapping another photo as you resume your earlier task. This one is more candid— you're bent over the sink, attacking a red sauce stain that somehow managed to find its way onto a plastic container. “I can get more film.” 

”And then you're going to go to a dark room and develop all these pictures of me?” You can't help but giggle. You don’t necessarily count yourself among the most interesting of potential photography subjects, after all. 

”Yes,” Saeran replies without hesitation. Clearly, he has a higher opinion than you do of your own merit as an artistic muse.

“Okay,” you look up from your work again to grin at him. ”I'm sure they'll turn out well, if you're the one... dark-rooming them?“ You want to encourage him, but you still have so much to learn about his new hobby— it’s so exciting that he wants to share it with you.

“Developing,” Saeran explains patiently, setting his camera down on the kitchen table and taking his usual place in front of the sink by your side. ”If you want, you can come with me and see how it's done.”

”That sounds like fun, honey,” you watch, endeared, as he picks up one of the plates and begins carefully drying it. The two of you have fallen into a rhythm since leaving Magenta— you used to hate washing dishes, but now, it's become something you look forward to, just like all the other little moments that you get to share with Saeran. “You must really be almost out of film by now.”

Not only has he been photographing you at every opportunity, but he's also been snapping photos of all the flora and fauna of the backyard— which, needless to say, hosts quite a lot of flora and fauna. ”Mhm,” he agrees with a grin. “I've been wanting to learn how to take photos since I was young. It doesn't feel real yet that I actually get to do it.”

“It's as real as we are,” you assure him, resting your head on his shoulder. You’d like to hold his hand, but you’re still wearing the bulky rubber gloves. “I’m glad you get to explore whatever you want now.” 

Saeran considers this. “For a long time, I didn’t even let myself think about what I would do with my freedom,” he muses, “But now that I have it, everything just comes naturally. I want to try as many new things as I can with the time that I have on this earth.” 

You lift your head and lean over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you,” you announce, “And I love you.” 

“I love you too, my angel.” Saeran tilts your chin up and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. He pulls away to gaze into your eyes for a moment before speaking. “Should we finish washing these dishes?” 

You can’t help but giggle. You’ve never been happier than you are with Saeran. ” Yeah, okay, love.”

[dgalerab]

i know that the goal of food photography is to make it bright and colorful and have good contrast and make it look clean and professional but i stg the ability of food photographers to make food look dry and unappealing is incredible. i'm a "if the wrong foods touch the whole plate is suspect" autistic but gdi you put those ingredients in their sauces or i swear to GOD

[airellesinhaze]

2

Exhibition dates: 26th June – 27th October 2019 Visited September 2019 posted September 2020

Curators: Matthieu Rivallin and Pia Viewing

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Nageur sous l’eau, Esztergom Underwater swimmer, Esztergom 1918 Contact original

“”… especially haptic qualities are demanded of the deconstructionist performer, spectator, and reader; not to follow optically the ‘line of ideas’ in the text or in a picture and see only the representation proper, the surface, but to probe with the eyes the pictorial texture and even to enter the texture.”69 Such “touching” with the eye did not lead to a secure tactile experience of being firmly planted on the ground, for all grounds, all foundations, were suspect, however construed. We are, as Nietzsche knew, swimming in an endless sea, rather than standing on dry land. To “touch” a trace, groping blindly in the dark, is no more the guarantee of certainty than to see its residues.” Gandelman, Claude. ‘Reading Pictures, Viewing Texts’. Bloomington, Indiana, 1991, p. 140 quoted in Martin Jay. ‘Downcast Eyes: The Denigration of Vision in Twentieth-Century French Thought’. Berkley: University of California Press, 1993, p. 512.

Touching with the eye

Part 2 of a large posting on the exhibition L’equilibriste, André Kertész at Jeu de Paume, Château de Tours, which I saw in Tours in September 2019.

This posting contains photographs from his famous series “Distortions” (fascinating to see the original plates for the book of the same name, complete with cropping marks and red lead pencil annotations); American works from 1936 onwards, when Kertész moved to the United States to avoid the persecution of the Jews and the threat of World War II; and the late work colour Polaroids.

I admit that Kertész is not my favourite photographer. While I admire some of his photographs, I feel emotionally distant from most of them. Edward Clay observes in the quotation below that Kertész was “one of the most lyrical and formally inventive photographers of the twentieth-century… [His photographs] often convey a quiet mood of melancholy … He remains revered for his clarity of style and ability to blend simplicity with emotion, prizing impact over technical precision, seeking metaphors and geometry in everyday objects and scenarios, to turn the mundane into the surreal.”

Personally, I don’t find his photographs emotional nor lyrical, only a few poetic. Not melancholic, but geometric. In later works, he simplifies, simplifies, simplifies much like his friend Mondrian did. For me, the balance between sacred / geometry, the sacred geometry of the mystery of things, is often unbalanced in these images (particularly relevant, given the title of this exhibition). Is it enough just to turn the mundane into the surreal? Where does that lead the viewer? Is it enough to just observe, represent, without digging deeper.

At his best, in images such as Underwater swimmer, Esztergom (1918, above), Arm and Fan, New York (1937, below) and Washington Square, New York (1954, below) there is a structured, avant-garde mystery about the reality of the world, as re/presented through the object of the photograph, it’s physical presence. In Underwater swimmer, the body is stretched and distorted by an element, water, not a man-made mirror. His photographs from Hungary, Italy and early Paris possess a sensitivity of spirit that seems to have been excised from his life, the older he got. Far too often in later images, there is a “brittleness” to his photography, in which the object of reflection sits at the surface of the image, all sparkling in unflinching light. The single cloud oh so lonely in the sterile city; the man looking at the broken bench; the “buy, buy, buy” of consumer culture. You consumer Kertész’s later images, you do not reflect on them.

Dr Marcus Bunyan

All iPhone installation photographs © Marcus Bunyan. Please click on the photographs for a larger version of the image. View Part 1 of the posting.

“André Kertész, one of the most lyrical and formally inventive photographers of the twentieth-century, whose work advocated for spontaneity over technical precision, has left a distinctive legacy of poetic images which form a bridge between the avant-garde and geometrical precision. A roamer for much of his life, his feelings of rootlessness manifest in his work and often convey a quiet mood of melancholy. … Claiming “I am an amateur and I intend to stay that way for the rest of my life”, Kertesz was a great source of inspiration to photographic legends such as Cartier-Bresson. He remains revered for his clarity of style and ability to blend simplicity with emotion, prizing impact over technical precision, seeking metaphors and geometry in everyday objects and scenarios, to turn the mundane into the surreal. Nothing was too plain or ordinary for his eye, since he had a special ability to breathe life into even the most ‘unremarkable’ subjects.” Edward Clay. “André Kertész: between poetry and geometry,” on ‘The Independent Photographer’ website, May 19th 2020 [Online] Cited 26/08/2020

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #34  1933 Gelatin silver print

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #40 1933 Gelatin silver print

Installation views of the exhibition L’equilibriste, André Kertész at Jeu de Paume, Château de Tours showing photographs from the series Distortions, the bottom image showing at left, the photograph Underwater swimmer, Esztergom 1918 Photos: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Planches originales de la maquette du livre ‘Distortions’ (installation view) Original plates of the model of the book ‘Distortions’  1975-1976 Collection Médiathèque de l’architecture et du patrimoine Photos: Marcus Bunyan

Installation view of the exhibition L’equilibriste, André Kertész at Jeu de Paume, Château de Tours showing photographs from the series Distortions Photo: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #60 (installation view) 1933 Contact original Photo: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #86 (installation view) 1933 Contact original Photo: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #86 (installation view) 1933 Contact original Photo: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #109 (installation view) 1933 Contact original Photo: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #6 (installation view) 1933 Contact original Photo: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #159 (installation view) 1933 Contact original Photo: Marcus Bunyan

André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985) Distortion #128 (installation view) 1933 Contact original Photo: Marcus Bunyan

[sawtastic-sideblog]

I am so sorry to anon. I meant to save what I posted as a draft and it posted while I was taking a test. Anyway here's the finished one!

Contains spoilers for Downton Abbey season 3 and Adam is a LotR fan in this I jsut forgot to write it in.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Adam climbs, ready to see his beloved children. The last few days have been rough for him. He's had to follow a doctor that has been cheating on his wife. It's emotionally draining.

He fumbles the his keys and drops them to the floor with a loud clang! Adam curses under his breath as he bends to pick up his keys. He hears a door open to his right, revealing a short plump woman with green eyes that shimmer in the dim hallway lighting.

"Oh, Adam! I thought that was you! How are you, darlin'?"

"I'm good, Mrs. Ortega. How are you? And Mr. Ortega?"

"We're both good. We wanted to invite you over for dinner next weekend. My family is flying in, his family is driving up, and we're gonna have some friends over too."

"Oh, um, thank you, Ms. Ortega, but I don't know. I'm not big on crowds and in small spaces. Not really my scene."

"How 'bout I bring you a plate? My family is bringing the southern cuisine and Miguel's family is bringing the authentic Mexican cuisine. Abuelita is making tamales. My mama's making her chicken and dumplins and I'm making my blueberry pie you like so much."

"That sounds greats, Mrs. O. Thanks."

"It's not a problem dear. Oh and I think my daddy is bringing you some old camera equipment his daddy gave to him. He said somethin' about one of th first cameras ever made being passed through the generations. He likes you, son."

"Oh, wow, I couldn't accept that."

"You will. Daddy is very convincing. Especially in his old age."

"Eighty one isn't that old."

Mrs. Ortega laughs and turns to walk back into her apartment. Adam jams his key into the lock as his neighbor calls out to him.

"Give some love to Merry and Pippin for me?"

"Of course, I will. Goodnight, Mrs. Ortega."

"Goodnight, Adam."

Adam walks into his apartment and throws his keys in the bowl of the table by the door. He sets his bag down on the table as he toes off his shoes. He scans the open area of his apartment in the light from the standing lamp by the wall.

"Mer? Pip? Where are you?"

He makes his way into the kitchen and grabs a can and a bag of cat food. He turns around to pick up two ceramic food bowls. One blue with 'Merry' etched into it with white paint making the letters pop and the other is a matching green one with 'Pippin etched into the side. Birthday gifts from Mrs. Ortega. She always treats Adam, Merry, and Pippin like her own kids. The Ortegas never had children of their own but have nieces and nephews who come to visit sometimes. Mia, the thirteen year old daughter of Mrs. Ortega's sister, has taken an interest in photography. Everytime she visits, Adam gets a knock on his door. He's more than happy to talk with Mia, go on walks with her, her brothers, aunt, and uncle to take pictures of the world around them, and show her how to develop pictures in his home red room.

Adam turns back around to see a figure sniffing at the bag of food. A pair or yellow eyes look up at him expectantly. Adam smiles warmly.

"Hi, honey," he says as he walks to the counter and sets the bowls down. He holds his finger up and moves it towards a small pink nose. "Boop."

A small 'mrrrhp' is the response Adam gets before the cat headbutts Adam's hand, demanding to have attention. He happily obliges and scratches the cat's head.

"Hello, my little Merry-baby," Adam coos. Merry rubs against Adam's chest as he opens the can of food and halves it into the bowls. He adds some dry food with it. His cats will eat anything and, somehow, Mrs. Ortega has a lot of cat food and brings it to him. He doesn't complain. Free food for the cats.

Merry, the cat currently sitting on the counter watching as Adam walks towards the mat again, is an orange short-haired tabby. She has yellow eyes that are always full of mischief. She is two years old and is so full of energy. She loves to cuddle and always finds her a seat somewhere on or near Adam. She was sitting outside of the hospital one day as Adam was leaving. In his very drowsy, tired, and sick mind he decided to try to catch her and ran out into the middle of the road. He was almost hit by a bus, but a tall, blonde man pulled him out of the way. When Adam went to protest the man shut him down, grabbed the cat, shoved it into his arms, and told him to go home. Adam went back to the hospital for a dislocated shoulder a few months later and met the man again. A doctor by the name of Lawrence Gordon. Adam was smitten by him and asked for his number while under th influence of painkillers. Dr. Gordon laughed and asked about the cat.

Pippin, who is currently no where to be seen, is a short-haired tuxedo cat. He's nine years old and likes to lay around in the sun all day. He's still spry in his old age and is often found perched at the top of the cat tower. Yet, another gift from the Ortegas that was made by Mr. Ortega himself. He's been with Adam for a long time, since he was six months old. Adam found him in the dumpster behind a bar. He was trying to hook up with some girl who was so drunk she couldn't keep the contents of her stomach inside. Adam heard a small sound coming from the dumpster and peeked inside. He saw a plastic bag moving around. Curious and slightly drunk, Adam reaches for it. When he opensnit he finds a very small and malnourished cat. His yellow eyes wide in fear. Adam looks back at the woman and decides to call her a cab. He waits with her when her friends come out and gush over the kitten and thank him for the cab. Adam gets home and looks up how to take care of a kitten. He was terrified because he could hardly take care of himself.

"Food time, babies," Adam calls. Merry leaps off the counter and walks over to her bowl. The sound of old joints popping and the shaking of the cat tree from the cat atop of it stretching. Adam walks over to the wooden tower covered in soft fabric and puts a hand out. The old cat bumps Adam's hand with his head. Adam scoops him up and cradles him in his arms. He walks towards the untouched bowl of food as he peppers kisses all over Pippin's head. He gently places the old cat by his bowl and walk to his bedroom to change into his pajamas. His phone vibrates in his hand as he walks toward the living room.

"Hey, babe," Adam greets his friend.

"Adam, I've told you not to call me that."

"Aw, come on, Larry, everyone deserves to be called 'babe' every once in a while."

"Yes and I have a wife who calls me that," Lawrence counters. Despite the annoyance in his voice, Adam can hear a smile.

"Whaddya want, Larry? I gotta fix food and cuddle cats."

"Alison wanted to see if you wanted to go out for dinner tomorrow night."

"How about you guys come over. Diana loves the cats and the Ortega's are having a dinner party next week, so I was thinking about having them over for dinner before then. I won't feel bad if they bring me a plate after that," Adam jokes. He hears Lawrence chuckle before he continues. "I also have this recipe Zep from work sent me. Looks pretty good. And it comes from Zep. He's an amazing cook."

"I have to agree with you. Let me run it Alison."

"Let me talk to her. I'm very persuasive."

"Okay, hold on. I have to go find her," Lawrence laughs.

"Hey, babe," Alison's voice rings down the line. Pippin hops onto the couch and bumbles his way over to Adam, sitting beside him with paws on his thigh. Adam's hand immediately goes to Pippin's head and scratched behind his ear. The cat purrs in appreciation.

"Hi, Ali. Adam is on the phone to talk about dinner plans. You're on speaker, Adam."

"Hi, Adam."

"Hey, Alison. Lawrence said you wanted to have dinner together tomorrow night. I was thinking you guys could come over and, hi, Merry, I'll have the Ortegas over. Zep gave me a new recipe," Adam explains and greets his cat by petting her head.

"Sounds great. Six work for you?"

"Perfect. I'll let Mrs. O know."

"Need us to bring anything?"

"Just your dazzling smile and Larry's charming personality. Oh, and Diana. Can't forget her."

"They won't forget me!" A small voice yells indignantly. Adam laughs and grabs the remote from the coffee table. He reclines back and props his feet on the table. Merry walks down Adam's legs to the coffee table and just sits staring out at nothing on the other side of the room. Adam's hand finds Pippin's side and pats.

"Did your hear anything, dear?" Lawrence asks, amusement dripping off his words.

"No, did you?"

"Nope," Lawrence says.

"Adam! Tell mommy and daddy that I'm right here!"

"I think there's an intruder in your house, Larry."

"Me too. I'll go take a look."

"He's on the hunt," Alison says. Adam hears the grin in her voice and can imagine Lawrence stalking around the kitchen and living room of his house. He hears high pitched squeals and laughter coming from his phone. His eyes scan the rows of television shows and movies on his screen. He chooses his guilty pleasure show. 'Downton Abbey' has been his thing for years. He, Alison, Diana, and Mrs. Ortega often have watch parties. When he has a bad day, likes to cuddle up under a pile of blankets, eat his weight in pizza, and cuddle the cats. "Do you have food, Adam?"

"Yeah, I ordered pizza."

"Good. Just making sure you're eating. Lawrence told me about your bad day."

"Yeah, it has sucked, but I have my kittens to cheer me up."

"Have a better night."

"Thanks, Al. I appreciate you. and Larry. And the rugrat." "Goodnight, Adam. We love you." "Bye, Adam!" "Bye, Addy!"

Lawrence and Diana both shout at the same time. The corners of Adam's lips curl up at the use of his nickname Diana gave him. He bids them goodnight and hangs up. The doorbell rings and he stands up, much to Pippin's displeasure. Adam brings the pizza over to the coffee table and turns on the show. Hours later, Adam is still watching the show. Tears stream down his face as Tom Branson clings to Sybil.

"Please, don't leave me, Love," Tom begs.

"Don't leave him, Sybil," Adam whispers as he wipes tears away. Merry stretches from her spot in Adam's arms, her head in the crook of his neck and his arm cradling her like a baby. His other hand returns to Pippin's back. Pippin is laying in a loaf on Adam's thigh. He is facing the television, staring in the direction of it, almost like he is watching as Sybil's life fades and, once again, the Crawley family is thrown into the arms of grief.

"Fuck," Adam sobs, burying his face into Merry's side. Merry's paws finds Adam's head as she starts to chew on Adam's hair. She twists and turns and hops from Adam's arm onto the arm of the couch. He picks up Pippin and pulls his feet out form under him and onto the floor. The episode ends and Adam turns off the television.

"I think it's time for bed, kitterinos," Adam says as he stands and stretches. He wipes at his face as he goes though and turns off all the lights. He goes to brush his teeth, cats following him all the way. The orange rubs her face against his ankles.

"Meow," Pippin calls from the bedroom door.

"Ahh," Adam says back. Pippin responds with another meow and Adam responds with another lowercase scream. They go on like this until Adam goes into the bedroom.

Once in bed, Merry finds her way to the second pillow on the bed and curls up facing Adam. Pippin finds his rightful place on Adam's chest as Adam scrolls on Youtube to find a video to listen to as he goes to sleep. "Goodnight, my sweet boy. Goodnight, my sweet girlie. My pretty kitties."

He closes his eyes and runs his hands over Pippin's back. The old cat purrs and does the little paw thing that cats do over Adam's ribs. Merry presses her head against Adam's head. He smiles and reaches his free hand up to pet her. She spins in a circle and lays with her face on Adam's shoulder, one paw tucked under her and the other on Adam's shoulder. Adam angles his head towards Merry's back and lays his face on her hip.

He feels so loved by these two small creatures. They put all their trust in him and he puts his own happiness with them. The three of them are a family. They all love and trust each other. This is the most love Adam has felt in his life. He can say that these two make his life complete and he doesn't know what he'd do without them.

Adam is lulled to sleep by the sound of both of the cats purring and Shayne Topp's voice reading Reddit stories.

[talesofedo]

I found this photograph online and I’ve come up very dry on information on this like the photographer, when, and where. I hope you can help, thanks!

I'm afraid I don't have any answers for you either.

The picture is in the private collection of Hayashi Michio, and the only information given is that it's a wet plate photograph by an unknown photographer.

As many of the images in the collection identify both the subject and the photographer, I would say there probably isn't any known information about this one or it would be included.

As for date, I would put this most likely into the early 1870s, before 1876. Wet plate photography comes to Japan in the 1860s and by the late 1870s starts to be replaced by newer technology (dry plate photography, invented in 1871). Additionally, the wearing of swords was banned by the Haito Edict in 1876.

The Hayashi Michio collection has some very good images, including pictures of Sakamoto Ryoma, Katsu Kaishu, and the Emperor Meiji, as well as a fair number of images taken in the studio of Hori Yohei (they're the ones taken on the checkered rug). Unfortunately, while the rug or cloth used in the floor in this photo seems to be pretty unique as well, I don't believe I've seen it before.

[em-lee]

Under the template list 3-5 events and/or inventions in photography which impresses you the most, and has the most impact on your life today. (2-3 paragraphs)

The event in 1834 when Talbot created negative images changed my life today because I enjoy black and white photos. It is significant to the way everyone takes photos now. It is used as a form of expression and different colors give us more expressions. Dry plates being manufactured is useful today. It allows us to being the start of taking photos.

In 1907 when the color film was made it gave us more discribe items. Also colored film allows more expressions and a variety of ideas. Sunsets are useful today because you see them on everyones instagram. They are a beautiful thing to look at and now we have a form to appreciate them.

[kerropi-1001]

The history of photography goes way back to the 16th century. Throughout the years it has been changed from major advances starting since the beginning where brightness and clarity of the camera improved!!! And from then it continued to improve where also in 1855 the beginning of the Stereoscopic era began. Then go on to 1880 where George Eastman creates a dry plate company and then the first half tone photograph appears in the news paper. This time was when there was limited resources as to how to improve and capture decent looking photos.

Now this is when it takes it's major advances such as in the late 18th centurty where KODAK the infamous camera that everyone and their mom buys was produced which helped create 100 circular pictures. They then used film instead of paper and the box film camera was introduced. Along with the infamous Kodak the first Nikon camera was produced known as the Nikon 1 and then 1934 less than 100 years ago the fuji photo film made camera and lenses which made taking photos even more easier. Starting from the 16th century to now the way photographs were taken changed drastically and still continues to improve and its all simple and can be taken which a simple button which makes taking pictures fun and enjoyable.

[chromisomi]

lifebuoy, a reylo fic | ch 10 is up!

Rey isn’t a virgin. She’s not.

In fact, her first time was with some average-looking frat boy her first semester of college, in a cramped-up room with pounding music playing outside and someone knocking on the door every now and then. Did she push the experience to the back of her mind ever since? Yes. Had she vowed to never have sex like that again? Sure. But the point is, she’s not a virgin.

“Then you’re a prude.” Poe grins at her with a mouth full of pasta. “A prude who totally seduced her professor and ran as soon as he got a hard-on.”

“He’s not my professor- lecturer.” Rey snaps back at him. “And I’m not a prude.”

“I’m just shocked you agreed to go to his house at night.” Poe twirls around his plate for some more spaghetti before taking another bite. “What happened to saying no to strangers offering sketchy candy and all that?”

“He hired me for a photography session, Poe.”

“That’s the sketchy candy in this scenario.”

Rey snatches the fork from him and takes a bite herself. “I won’t say no to business. And besides, everything was fine before tonight. He’d kept to himself while I took the shots last weekend.” She swallows down the pasta. “This is really good by the way.”

“Thank you.” He takes the fork back. “So what changed tonight?”

“I kept asking questions I shouldn’t have.” Rey cringes. “Which is probably why he got so drunk. And then I had to go on and get horny.”

Poe shrugs. “Which is totally fine, it happens. You guys just got caught up in the moment.”

And Poe’s right, Rey knows that. Just like with the frat dude, Rey had gotten caught up in her hormones. It happens. One-night stands happen, hook-ups happen, sex happens.

So, why is it a big deal that she practically dry-humped Ben in his kitchen?

“God,” Rey groans. “I’m overthinking again. I need to call it a night.” She points at Poe. “And you better not tell Finn. I’ll tell him myself, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to take it as well as you did.”

“My lips are sealed.” Poe goes through the motion of zipping his lips before tilting his head. “Wait. Aren’t you going to see him at work? The Solo guy?”

She closes her eyes. “Most likely.”

Even without looking, Rey can hear how hard Poe’s grinning. “I need to see that.”

read the rest of the chapter on ao3!

or start from chapter one here!