Wednesday, December 06, 2017

Testing the Lumenbox

Lumenbox Camera

Post-Script: This first image was 1/2 hour exposure in morning light with the aperture stop in place. The image was rather faint on the paper negative, but after digitization the tones were expanded in software using the curves and contrast adjustment tools.


Note the interesting colors. The cyan tones on the trees appear almost realistic, and the sky in the upper left corner resembles the martian landscape via NASA imagery. Reminds me of an artifact from my formative years in the 1960s, when many Americans still only had black-and-white television, of a colored plastic overlay attached to the screen, that had three color zones, blue on top, brown in the middle and green in the foreground. It looked eerily realistic for certain televised baseball shots of the infield.

This next image was taken this afternoon, in my front courtyard in brighter sun. Another 1/2 hour exposure, this one minus the aperture stop, so the lens was wide open and hence producing a slightly softer image.


Given that the courtyard walls are sand brown colored stucco, there is a certain eery resemblance to reality here.

Making lumen print images is a fun hybrid process. Making the paper negative requires little else but time, no additional chemical processing needed. Like a slow negative polaroid without the chemical pod. Most of the work is in post-production, where you can apply your creative vision to the tonal curve in order to get the contrast to your liking. The colors kind of fall where they may, as they are an inversion of the negative's original tones, appearing on the opposite side of the color wheel spectrum.

This process isn't really complete unless these images are printed in delicate color tones upon textured art paper via digital printer. Since I lack such a printer, that will have to wait for the future.

See the description field in the videos for details on Jorge Otero's Lumenbox project.

Typecast via Jitters, the coffee-and-chocolate colored electric Smith-Corona, sporting a brown ink ribbon.

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Monday, December 04, 2017

Another Ultra-Portable Joins the Fleet

Smith-Corona  Cougar

Post-Script: If you're a collector of small typewriters, there's a tradeoff to consider, that being build-quality and typing action versus portability. There are only a few ultra-portables that come close to the same user experience as a medium-sized portable. But by limiting yourself to that small collection, you will miss out on the larger world of ultra-portables; which implies that such a collector must accept the limitations that come with these diminutive writing machines.

I've accepted long ago that I like the build-quality of many Brother machines, yet all the ones I've used suffer from a heavy touch. I accept that as part of the owner experience. This Smith-Corona is no exception. It does have a flimsy feel, far different from the Olympia SF, for example. Yet it's much lighter than the SF, while also noisier in operation. It goes with the territory.

I like that my collection of small typewriters are so easy to store, and each fits in a messenger bag for mobile typing, ideal for the restless word wrestler.

Here's a video I made about this typewriter. Enjoy.

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Sunday, November 26, 2017


Smith-Corona Electric

Post-Script: My submission for Typing Assignment # 12, on the subject of thankfulness.

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Thursday, November 16, 2017

Typing Assignment No.12: Thankfulness

Typing Assignment No.12 is about the subject of Thankfulness. Write a one-page piece however you like - fiction, biography, prose, poetry - whatever, on the subject, and have a photo of it posted online by Sunday, November 26. You can include a link to your image here in the comments below; in the comments for the above YouTube video; or by emailing me at:

Happy writing!


Monday, November 13, 2017

ABQ Type-Out!

There was a particular moment at yesterday's ABQ Type-Out, while standing under the shade of the portal in front of Pennysmiths Paper, being interviewed by a local television news crew, when I had to formulate an answer to the question of "why typewriters." I answered that it was their ability to provide a non-distractive writing experience, a quip rather rattled off the top of my head, but which in retrospect was probably the right line to use.

There are many diverse reasons why a person, in the year 2017, might want to use a typewriter, and thus there isn't just one correct answer to that question. I'm not even certain now whether that was the best answer for myself. Is that really why I type, because I'm so easily distracted? I'm actually not sure.

In theory, the idea that typewriters provide a non-distractive writing experience and thus by implication can make you a better writer is at best an assumption and at worst a straw man argument. There are many competent professional writers who seem to possess the self-discipline required to use computers for writing, among them people like Stephen King. Perhaps the real problem here is not the lack of typewriters, but just an issue of discipline. If a person can't shut off the Internet browser and hunker down in a Word document, maybe there are deeper issues at play.

For example, I know of one writer who uses typewriters, and is constantly on Facebook, morning to evening. First thing in the morning will be posts including some meme about staying out of the way until after that first cup of coffee. Then will come posts of memes about writing, how hard it is. Later will be something about how little progress has been made on that book, and how it's such a struggle. On and on it goes like this, all day long, into the evening when will still be more posting to Facebook, either about typewriters, or coffee, or the writing life and that ongoing struggle to get the book done.

I think I know the problem, and it isn't Microsoft Word; and typewriters aren't going to fix it. Just get the heck off the damned Internet and Facebook, and hunker down and write.

Yes, I do believe typewriters can provide a quality of writing experience different from computers; an intentionality of purpose and a laser-like focus. But let's not kid ourselves. Being a writer is a discipline as much as a skill. By discipline I mean a purpose-driven life, not merely the image of a bootcamp drill sergeant, barking for you to get down and give him fifty more pushups. I mean the kind of discipline you'd see in some lone craftsperson, toiling away in the obscurity of their silent studio to the acclaim of no one but themselves. Constantly honing and refining their craft. Removing the distractions from their life that would prevent their continuous improvement.

Too many would-be typewriter users try to justify their typewriter hobby with the idea that, by writing with typewriters, they will achieve some level of writing they'd otherwise not reach through more conventional means. Maybe they're obsessed by the image of the beret-clad typist, holed away in his flat on the Left Bank, typing and smoking to the sounds of jazz and a steaming espresso machine. Romantic, yes. Realistic, no.

I think it's okay to collect and dabble with typewriters without feeling the need to somehow justify owning them under the pretense that they'll somehow make you a better writer. What might actually make you a better writer is to spend less time on the Internet and Facebook, jibber-jabbering about typewriters, and get down to the serious business of writing. Pen, typewriter, computer - whatever works for you. But toying with typewriters isn't writing. It's toying with typewriters for the sheer joy that typewriters provide. There's nothing wrong with that, no guilt trip needed. Just enjoy typewriters, collect them, whatever. But don't pretend like they're a substitute for the real work required to be a good writer.

Am I saying that typewriters can't be used by serious writers? No. Far from it. If that's what works for you, then keep doing that. But don't shoe-horn typewriters into your work flow just because you're romantically enamored with the concept of writing by typewriter. It might just not work for you. Sure, go ahead and try it. Build a realistic working methodology that includes the typewriter, than use that for a while. Examine the process, see what's working and what's not, then make adjustments. And if, in the course of making those changes, you find typewriters no longer work for you, then ditch them from your writing methodology. Don't just keep using them because you somehow feel obligated because you've labelled yourself as "that typewriter writer".

Mankind, we're a tool-making species. That's what distinguishes us from other animals, discounting the chimpanzees who fish termites out of their nests with a stick. We could probably do that too, if we had the appetite for termites. I think the crucial idea here is we need to be wielding the tool, not having the tool wield us. We need to be in control, to make the choices.

Constant refinement and tweaking of our creative process is just part of being a creative person. It comes with the territory. If you aren't curious about "what if," then you aren't alive enough to call yourself a creative. The crux of creativity is curious exploration. You see something, you prod and poke at it, like that chimp with his termite stick, and see what happens. You observe the results, then modify your prodding technique, or find a better stick, until you see improvements. And on it goes.

Back to the scene yesterday at the Type-Out. We had us some darned nice termite sticks. Portables, medium-sized machines, larger uprights. Manuals and electrics, spanning a range of ages from the WW1 era to the 1970s; from the tiny Hermes Rocket to the hefty IBM Electric and Olympia SG1. Sticks, big and small, a diverse collection able to satisfy the aesthetics of even the most discerning typist. I didn't feel then, and don't now, the need to justify typewriters. That's usually the first thing people ask when they find out you use typewriters. "Isn't it so difficult to use?" "Aren't computers so much easier?" "Gawd, why would you want to use a manual typewriter when a computer is so much better." On and on the complaints go. And that's fine. People can just complain, no sweat. Everyone to their own opinion. But in their complaining, let it be known that most of these people don't understand why it is that we do use typewriters.

As an analogy, let me use classic automobiles. "Why would you want to commute to work in that old thing? It doesn't even have air conditioning, it barely gets off the line, it sucks gas and the brakes are shoddy." Yes, all that is true. Yet people collect antique automobiles and are thrilled to own them, to tinker with them, to polish them and take them out for a Sunday drive. But you won't find them commuting to work in them on Monday morning, that's not why a person collects antique automobiles. And much the same with typewriters. We enjoy tinkering with them, polishing them, getting together with other, like-minded typewriter owners, even take them out for a spin and write with them once in a while. But few are willing to take them to the office and use them, in the way that computers have replaced typewriters. Things have changed, the old order has been replaced with the new, and with those changes typewriters are used in new ways. Back in their day, Model A Fords were the working man's family transportation. The horseless carriage. A practical improvement upon the equine variety. And since then, people who still have Model A Fords use them differently. They are no longer one's daily commuting car or family runabout, but are classics, to be preserved and honored and cherished and tinkered with and fussed over. And driven on Sundays, slow and smooth like, not with the efficiency of that latest Toyota Camry, but with purposeful, deliberate intention, enjoying the experience for experience's sake.

So go ahead and write that Great American Novel with your Smith-Corona. Or drive cross-country with that Model A. But do so knowing the journey won't be the same as with that slick word processor or Toyota. You won't be cruising the Interstate at 85mph, pulling over for a quick Big Mac and fill-up, then back on the highway. Your's will be the backroads of life, more purposeful but also more pedantic. You won't be measuring your progress in sizable chunks of the continent devoured in one day's time. You'll more likely be going from one small town to another, one small piece of writing to another, savoring along the way each nuance of the road, each paragraph and new phrase laid down on fresh paper. It'll be a real adventure, not just a quick jaunt out to the coast. But along the way you might discover something you'd otherwise miss if you took the Toyota.

The single biggest mistake I saw people making at the Type-Out was attempting to touch-type. We forget what it was like before rubbery keyboards and slick software took all the toil out of typing. Then, it took training, weeks and months and years, before you could call yourself a competent typist. Now, people are expected to sit down at a computer and, with virtually no training at all, produce professional output. Bam, whiz, whir and it's done. There's good reason why the image of the old newspaper reporter, banging away on his typewriter with two fingers, his cigarette ash dangling precariously, is so persistent. It's because that old two-fingered technique, as denigrated as it has been over the decades, is so efficient at producing error-free, quality copy. In the end, you'll write quicker using two fingers, given the reality that mistakes will require correction, or even retyping of the entire document. The tortoise over the hare.

"But, but..." you'll exclaim. "My typing teacher drilled into us the importance of touch-typing, yada, yada, yada..." Yea, I remember that, too. Actually, the thing I remember the most from high school typing class, being one of the few boys present, were all the pretty girls. But this ain't 1971 and you aren't learning electric typewriters so you can get a secretarial job. Nosirree. This is 2017, and I'm telling you that those old gin-reeking reporters knew what they were doing when they pecked away on their writing irons with two fingers. They didn't have time to stop and correct, and maybe they had a carbon underneath and weren't about to correct the second copy, too. They had to get it right the first time, error-free.

And here's another thing you might want to think about before criticizing those two-fingered monkeys. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome wasn't a "thing" until computer keyboards. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, will you! I think this is an important point. Touch typing on flat keyboards all day is bad for you, plain and simple. Just because you CAN, because the finger force required to operate a rubbery keyboard is so light, doesn't mean you SHOULD. Where I work, at a major Fortune 500 corporation, the issue of ergonomics and at-risk keyboard behavior is a big deal. People go out on MLOA (medical leave of absence) because of wrist injuries. The company looses money, people's lives are upended, they live with pain and suffering and take a long time to heal. Touch typing might be quick (but is it, really; consider how often you quickly backspace and retype over mistakes, just because you can, hare-like, when you could pedantically and accurately two-finger type with no mistakes and fewer wrist-injuring keystrokes, tortoise-like), but is it safe?

A deeper question might be, do we really need the speed offered by touch-typing on a slick rubbery keyboard? The typical keyboardist rushes through their document, constantly rat-a-tat-tating with the backspace key to erase those frequent mistakes, then stopping suddenly to discover the whole damned paragraph makes little sense because the speed of thought is so much slower than their fingers, and then fondle the mouse and click, highlight, drag and drop words and phrases here and there, having to revise and edit the whole ugly thing until it resembles, somewhat, a well-written piece. Alternatively, you could slowly, methodically think your way through a piece, carefully two-fingering those words into place, in the end requiring less editing and revision and in the process giving your wrists a well-needed break. Take it easy, write slowly and carefully - that's the fastest, safest way to write.

The best thing about typewriters as tools for the writing process is that they teach us to slow down, just slightly faster than the speed of thought, and think before typing, then type slowly, carefully and safely. They also teach us the value of ink on paper, about paper as a valid form of archive and backup, as a way to document the writing process.

I've no real bug about manual typewriters being intrinsically better than electrics, other than their portability and reliability, and the economy of their ribbon system. Actually, given the reality of manufacturing in 2017, a newly designed typewriter, aimed at the enthusiast writer, might look more like a hybrid between electric daisy-wheel plastic wedge and AlphaSmart Neo. For my aesthetics, it would have a standard-width carriage, accepting paper no wider than standard letter sized. Forget those ginormous wedges that took up a majority of one's desktop. It should have a simple and reliable print mechanism, like a daisy-wheel system, but be quick in response to keyboard inputs, with little or no latency. For my needs, it wouldn't require spell check, a thesaurus or even a correcting ribbon and memory system. It would preferably have a cloth ribbon that auto-reverses, for economy over print quality. I can imagine ways to make a cloth ribbon system that advances and auto-reverses, even on a daisy-wheel system, while being designed elegantly simple, using tiny solenoids or stepper motors. It would have a great-feeling keyboard, like the AlphaSmarts have. It needn't be much wider than a Neo, just a bit deeper and thicker to account for the print mechanism. It could be controlled by something like an Arduino board. And it could be lithium-ion battery powered for portability, along with household AC. An electronic typewriter aimed at the enthusiast writer market, not the professional office. A writer's tool that accepts paper as a valid medium for the initial stages of the writing process, but does so nimbly, economically and portably.

Alas, but one can only dream. Back in the 1980s, when I had a Smith-Corona daisy wheel wedge, the thing I liked about it was the quality of imprint from its carbon film ribbon. And the thing I didn't like about it was the frequent replacement cost of those same carbon film ribbon cartridges, which were one-time-use only. I recall that's the thing that motivated me into getting my first manual, some gray Royal with the red badge logo that unlocked the ribbon cover. Yes, I liked the economy of its ribbon; but no, I didn't like the low-quality cloth ribbon imprint. Today, I feel differently. I'm okay with cloth ribbons and their imprint quality, because I harbor no presumptions about a typed page being the equivalent of a professionally printed document. I understand better the place that typewriters have in my writing life. They're like that point-and-shoot film camera. The negatives might be gritty and grainy, but they're raw and real and physical.

These are the things that resonate with me after the Type-Out: answering the question of WHY? Dealing with those issues of intention, and the writing process, and the discipline of being a writer. Dealing with the ergonomics of manual typing, and finding what works best for one's self. And electric typewriters, especially those 1950s-era Smith-Corona Electrics that are small and sexy and so easy to work, with economical cloth ribbons.

I'd like to briefly mention that fellow conspirator Kevin Kittle and I will hopefully be getting together soon to do an in-depth video review of his newly acquired Godrej, recently arrived from India.

Thanks too for all the hard work Kevin put into the organizing the Type-Out; and a hearty shout-out to the staff at Pennysmiths Paper for their support.

Written on AlphaSmart Neo at Limonata Coffee.

Post-Script: Here's the link to a local TV news story about the Type-Out event.

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Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Reversal Print Progress

Never give up. That's good advice for anyone. I learned this lesson just recently, as I'd taken a pause from experimentation with this peroxide/citric acid reversal technique for creating direct positive prints from conventional photo paper.

What I had been doing was mixing the bleaching solution by combining the hydrogen peroxide and citric acid solutions together. I'd tried various concentrations of both but, not really understanding what I was doing, had mixed success; sometimes I'd get good reversal, other times it would take an hour or longer - or the bleaching simply wouldn't happen at all.

At the suggestion of a fellow APUG member (there's a thread on APUG documenting our progress with this new process), I tried separating the two constituent components of the bleaching process into individual trays. I also had a hunch that we'd been using way too much citric acid. So I mixed 1/5 gram (about 1/5 teaspoon) of citric acid powder into 200mL of water for the acid bath; then made a 300mL solution of 9% hydrogen peroxide (by diluting 77mL of 35% peroxide with 223mL of water) for the peroxide bath.

I was able to successfully process eight prints in a row with this batch of chemistry, with negatives exposed in both direct sun and shaded daylight - a far better success rate than I've experienced previously. Here's a synopsis of my process:

*Expose Freestyle Photo's Arista Ultra grade 2 RC paper (semi-matte finish) in-camera at ISO 1.6 (I also tested ISO 0.8, but it appears to be a bit too much exposure).

*First developer: Ilford Multigrade concentrate, mixed 1+15 to 1+20, developed for 1:30. The concentration and strength of the first developer has a lot to do with the overall contrast of the finished print, even with this fixed-grade 2 paper. The negative image on the paper usually appears very dark.

*Rinse: Thoroughly rinse the print in fresh water, to remove residual base-pH developer.

*First Citric Acid bath: process face-up for :30 with gentle agitation, ensuring the paper remains submerged.

*First Peroxide bath: process face-up for 2:00, ensuring the paper remains submerged. Avoid excess contact of paper surface with tongs. Gently press paper down with rubber tip of tong to ensure paper remains submerged. Avoid excess agitation. After about 1 minute the image will begin to reverse, with a sabbatier or solarization effect visible, as the darker tones (representing the image highlights) begin to fade. The fading or bleaching will slow or cease.

*Second Citric Acid bath: process face-up for :30 with gentle agitation, ensuring the paper remains submerged. The image should slightly fade even more, as the carry-over peroxide mixes with the fresh citric acid.

*Second Peroxide bath: process face-up for 2:00, ensuring the paper remains submerged. Avoid excess contact of paper surface with tongs. Gently press paper down with rubber tip of tong to ensure paper remains submerged. Avoid excess agitation. Most of the remaining darker tones should fade to near paper-white, with only a few areas of slight gray remaining. Total bleaching time is 5:00.

*Rinse: Thoroughly rinse residual peroxide solution from paper under running water.

*Fogging Exposure: Expose the remaining silver halides in the paper emulsion under enlarger, set to 16" height and f/22 aperture, for :15.

*Second Developer: Process for 1:30-2:00 in same developer solution as first developer.

*Stop Bath: Process for :30 in acetic acid or white vinegar stop bath solution (i.e. standard paper stop bath).

*Fixer: Process for 2:00 in standard paper fixer solution.

Complete the processing by a rinse aid and a 10 minute rinse, then squeegee and heat dry the print with a clean, dedicated hair dryer.

Processing the paper in separate bleaching solutions using this two-step technique seems to consistently produce a reliable bleaching of the darker tones after the first developer step. Careful monitoring of the image as it bleaches is helpful; some subtle moving of the print in the peroxide bath seems to help, but too much agitation is to be avoided. The process seems to require a specific technique to master. Gently and slowly pushing the paper down into the solution as it tends to float to the surface is important, as the peroxide solution seems to stratify as it's used.

The one remaining process issue left to resolve are little spots, that I call "freckle defects," that seems to happen on brightly exposed highlights, and more near the edges of the print than the center. This might be an indication of excessive exposure; or insufficient bleaching. More experimentation is needed.

I intend on repeating this same technique time and again, to verify its consistency, before scaling up the image size to 8"-by-10".


Excess exposure at ISO 0.8. Note too the freckle defects in the highlights.

Here I reduced the exposure using ISO 1.5, but a light leak resulted from a wonky film holder. Note the freckle defects are only evident at this highlight area of fogging.


Thursday, October 26, 2017

Lumen Print Camera Build

The last few weeks have seen me struggling to achieve consistent results with an experimental method of reversal processing black & white photo paper, using a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and citric acid as a bleaching agent. As interesting as that is, the lack of consistent results has me temporarily seeking solace in another experimental photographic technique, one that seems in comparison much easier to tame: lumen prints - technically a paper negative image created by the auto-development action of light itself against grains of silver halides, no chemical processing required.

Lumen prints have been created by artists and other creatives for many years, often using a pinhole camera placed outdoors, pointed at the sky, recording over a long period of time the path of the sun. But using the lumen print process to create more conventional photographs is a bit more esoteric. Just the thing to interest me.

I first heard of this by way of Jorge Otero, a lumen print artist and purveyor of nice wooden lumen print cameras he calls Lumenbox, on Etsy. I wrote a blog article about him recently.

This week I decided to make a more serious lumen camera besides the crude cardboard, duct tape and plastic fresnel lens camera I'd cobbled together earlier. The process requires a fast lens, in order to shorten the othewise lengthy exposure time as much as possible. I looked through my assortment of optics and decided, for an approxiamate 4x5 sized image, that only two lenses would suffice: an improvised binocular lens, of 150mm focal length and a wide-open aperture of f/3; and the original lens to my Speed Graphic camera, the Kodak Ektar 127-f/4.7.

I decided to experiment with the binocular lens on the Speed Graphic, while at the same time I was cobbling together a camera for the Ektar lens. The exposure times used with this process are often 20-30 minutes in bright sun, slow enough to permit me to also work on the camera while shooting some footage for a documentary video on the subject. The binocular lens has a relatively sharp central portion of its image, with the rest all a mess of swirly and cloudy artifacts. Artsy might be a good description. While the Ektar lens is clinically sharp, center to edge.

I had considered building a camera from scratch, but then looked at the stack of pinhole cameras accumulating in one corner of my darkroom. I decided on a wooden craft box, purchased some years ago from Hobby Lobby and made into a pinhole camera, might fit the bill. It had about the required size and the sturdiness of wooden construction over many of my other cameras that are built from foam core board.

I drilled a hole in the front of the box big enough for the Ektar lens, then proceeded to figure out how best to mount it. It turns out that the box would be a bit too deep for achieving infinity focus with the lens mounted to the front, so I had to resort to mounting the lens inside the front of the box, mounted backwards to gain access to the shutter. A sliding section, made from salvaged foam core board and hot glue, made for a convenient focusing method. The lid of the craft box fits snuggly over this sliding section. I'm using a thin sheet of lucite plastic, sanded smooth on the front side, as a makeshift focusing screen for the camera. I remove the back, focus and compose, then the camera is ready to receive paper.

After a first abortive attempt at making an exposure, in which the paper slipped off the rear flange of the sliding section, I modified it with a thicker flange surface, necessitating a smaller film format size, just about 4" square. A piece of craft paper, taped to the bottom of the flange, serves to hold the bottom edge of the paper in place when loading the camera. It's all experimental, this cobbled-together camera, and will most likely require modifications going forward.

This lumen process is a bit non-intuitive. It uses light-sensitive paper, but because chemical developers are not used, relying instead solely on the auto-development action of light against silver halides, the paper can be handled under subdued lighting with little concern for fogging the paper. Being as Jorge Otero has discovered the process works faster when the paper is wetted with water, I simply took the rear box of the camera into the dark room, cut a sheet to size, wetted it, then carried the paper through the house to the front porch, where the camera was situated already focused on the subject. I then loaded the paper directly into the box, in bright daylight. And waited. For about an hour - I wanted to ensure good first results.

The auto-development process produces a color change with silver gelatin paper. I'm not enough of a scientist to understand the details, but do know that there are various types of silver halides used in these printing papers, and have seen various tones of browns, yellows, pinks and purples result, depending on the intensity and color of light. Experiments I did last week, using grade 2 paper, fell flat on producing good results; this process requires a high-contrast emulsion, which multi-grade paper provides. I'd advise anyone interested in this process to use both a fast lens, and multigrade paper, pre-wetted with water.

Once exposed, the paper negatives are still light-sensitive. So it's best to store them in some light-proof envelopes or sleeves. I made some crude sleeves from black craft paper and gaffers tape, but there's probably a better solution out there.

This is a hybrid process. To produce a usable image, scanning the negatives and entering into a digital work flow is mandatory; unless the negatives themselves are treated as some esoteric form of fragile paper art object, viewed under subdued lighting. I scan them, then invert the tones to produce a positive. In doing so, the colors also invert, from the warm tones mentioned earlier into blues and greens. One can also convert the image to monochrome and dispense with the color. Personally, I'm a bit torn on which to do. I really like Otero's resulting monochrome images, but there remains something intriguing about the resulting colors that has me interested. In the last image I created yesterday, the inverted positive has blue skies and green leaves on the tree. Weird. Almost like a color process, but I know just enough to know that ain't so. Still, when you see green leaves resulting from black and white paper, it makes you stop and think.

My old flatbed scanner is less than optimal for this process. And I lack completely a photographic quality printer. But this process has me interested in creating fine prints that will do this process justice. More experiments are in order. Best of all, this process is pure fun. With just a bit of waiting time thrown in. Just enough time to sit down at the typewriter and ponder.

Tree Test001 (1)
1 hour exposure on Ilford multigrade paper. 150mm-f/3 binocular lens on Speed Graphic.

Raven Test001 (1)
1 hour exposure on Ilford multigrade paper. 150mm-f/3 binocular lens on Speed Graphic.

House Test001 (1)
1 hour exposure on Ilford multigrade paper. Kodak Ektar 127-f/4.7 lens in Cinema Lumen Box camera.

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