Fast and Slow

In the age of all things fast - fast emails, fast food, fast sex, fast money, fast transportation, fast wi-fi - I have decided to take on a hobby with a new-age opposite - something slow. Film photography, my latest hobby craze, moves so slow that there aren't many of us who have paitance for tricky set-up and long term processing. 

According to the popular vote analog cameras are out; digital pixels and automatic everything at the click of a button is in. trend according to geek can't account for the select of us "freaks" who find an unmitigated joy and value in taking it nice and slow with analog. I can't help but think that when it comes to the point and click if you move too fast are you missing out on magic? 

In the 1800's the idea of catching images of reality by harnessing exposed light onto a film inside of a wooden box was miraculous and supernatural. People got over it eventually. I'm having an 1800's reaction to film photography today. It still feels magical. I just developed prints from my first roll of Kodak black and white film. Some of my shots are out of focus. Others lack compelling subjects, greater meaning, or a striking composition. However, eight portraits I took of a fashion designer and proprietor in the setting of her trendy San Francisco studio loft are, in fact, magical. These eight I can be proud of. Taking it slow is worth it. 

In a marathon, pacing yourself is the key to longevity and finishing ahead. In film photography pacing yourself means focus, light and clarity. If everything comes fast there's no mystery building over time. Without mystery there's no intrigue. Learning is slow. Learning film photography is even slower.  

Another something slow we overlook in fast times are our slimy garden friends, Snails. Today I crossed paths with a snail on the side walk outside my apartment, and It got me thinking. Snails move at (for lack of a better phrase) snail pace. With homes on their backs they can never ditch the weight no matter how far they roam. 

We humans have the same problem, but instead of homes on our backs we carry around expectations, old habits, worries and woes. I wonder, when we're out and about and moving fast can we get to the point when we're moving at a rate fast enough to escape what's behind us, our pasts, and on our backs? Or, in an even slower sense, in the most gratifying moments of slowing down can we ever really get slow enough to where we can shake the weight of the world from our shoulders for good?

Human faces house the human soul; eyes are the windows, they say. I say some people's houses (faces) are heavier than others. As a new student of photography I have begun to study faces. Faces of the people on the bus. Faces in the crowd downtown. Faces in magazines and television. Reading faces has become a regular occurrence.

Portrait of a little girl I looked after in Oakland, CA. Shot digitally by myself 

 When I see a face that intrigues me I can usually know why. The faces that interest me aren't usually clean, young, or fragile. Faces that catch me are expressive, sensual, innocent, wise, worried, wrinkled, emotional, asymmetrical, angular, powerful and bold. I decided that as far as film photography is concerned it's better to capture someone with any amount of concern than someone vacant at home. 

If we can't escape where we come from. If our faces are our past. If fast or slow makes no difference at the end of the marathon. Then perhaps having the world on one's shoulders in the right sort of light is beautiful, honorable and precisely what brings us together. 

One of my favorite fashion photographers, Richard Avedon, spent his entire carrier taking photographs of raw human emotionality. He couldn't get enough of it. 

Avedon; self-portrait

Susan Sontag in her book On Photography reminds me that "one can't possess reality, one can possess images. One can't possess the present but one can possess the past." She also stated that “to take a photograph is to participate in another person's mortality, vulnerability, mutability. precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt.” 

Susan Sontag; photographer unknown

Susan Sontag shot by Annie Leibovitz

Susan Sontag; photographer unknown

Sontag was profound to study photography in a reflexive and critical account. I feel more than ever the importance of time. Pixels arrange themselves on the spot. Film takes a few moments to set up and weeks to develop. We don't have to choose one over the others; fast, slow, digital, film. The weight we bring around with us - "time" - acts differently depending on the  lens you choose to look through. I'm crazy about slow. I like using film photography because it's made up of at least one part magic I can be sure of. After all, how does such a grand subject fit so nicely into such a small box? I guess we'll never know, no matter fast and slow.