Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

3 Prints Project Resurrected

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Black and white contact sheets from 35mm filmI have a small gray notebook to keep track of the black and white film I process.  Entries include date, number of rolls, developer, temperature, developing time and notes on how the negatives look.  Sometimes there may be a notation on the subject.  Until now the last roll of film developed was in October 2011.  That’s when the sink sprung a leak and how long it has taken me to make repairs.  Obviously it doesn’t take that long to fix a sink.  Life just got in the way.

Slowly working through the backlog of exposed film and getting into the flow of processing — I had forgotten how satisfying the ritual dance in the darkroom can me, the low amber glow, the soft sound of water trickling through trays, the quiet disconnection from technology and distraction.

Such is the attraction of black and white film photography.

Leica M6 camera with Domke bagUsing a film camera is a different experience than using a digital camera.  I like to believe the image is all that matters but I know that’s not true.  A body of work doesn’t spring into existence without a lot of work and sweat.  The tools and processes involved not only affect the final product, but also the worker.  For me, film has always resonated in my personal work.  For the past couple years I’ve wandered away from it.

The Leica M6 has been a faithful companion for over a decade.  It’s simple and reliable, much like the Vespa scooter I ride.

Gordon Harkins looking at prints at Saint's CafeAt Saint’s Cafe this morning Gordon looked over prints and contact sheets, a part of the long sharing we’ve engaged in to help motivate continued personal work.  It’s easy to stop in favor of so many other things but I’m grateful that I’ve continued making photographs for myself for over 50 years.  It just works.

Below are the images I brought to the cafe.

Carl Ector at Saint's CafeCarl is a Saint’s Cafe regular.  I showed him the print and he did not recall me making the photo.  I remember it well; standing outside the window waving to get his attention but he was lost in thought.  Carl told me he must have been working on his Huuduu composition, a jazz-funk piece.  He’s a musician and concert violinist.

Kim Dionis in her Boalsburg gardenMy friend and love, wife and confidant Kim in her garden.  She sees everything.

Aleta De veau at Johns Hopkins Bayview CenterAleta, the youngest child.  She went with me to Baltimore at my last appointment at Johns Hopkins.  I think she was smiling because afterwards we would pay a visit to IKEA where she would acquire some furniture.

 

Autumn Light

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Autumn near Galbraith GapJust a few weeks ago autumn was still amidst its fragrant, natural bloom of color and leaf.  Circumstance and schedule largely kept myself and the Vespa indoors engaging other worlds and foes.  But Kim, Junior and I did find a few moments late one afternoon to drink in the spectacle that comes to central Pennsylvania each fall and let the autumn light wash us clean of responsibility and concern, if only for some dazzling minutes.

On the way home from an appointment, the light guided our little car towards Galbraith Gap and a corridor of land recently acquired by the Commonwealth that leads into the mountains.

Kim Dionis in autumn light

Long shadows imply a rapid change in the day as the sun plummets toward the horizon.  I’m convinced the transition is faster in autumn and winter.  My camera watched Kim explore as Junior watched me, waiting for a tennis ball to emerge from a pocket.  Funny how attention, human and canine, can be so focused and connected among a group of people.

Kim Dionis, photographer

As the remains of the day began to fade toward dusk I watched as Kim worked with her camera.  She considers me the photographer in the family but that’s purely a one-sided judgement.  In the art world arena she’s sold more photographs than I have.  She shoots more that I do.  And her relentless approach to a subject is dizzying.  I’ve learned much from that approach though must confess I cannot bring the focus of mind or will to bear on any subject.  It remains a goal but I suspect I don’t have the intellect or obsessive capacity for it.

Due to a chronic medical condition her productive time is limited, strangled really, to a few short hours each day.  Some days less.  In any good relationship people find strength in one another.  How those are embodied are different, and for some perhaps unknown.  It’s clear to me though.  I’ve watched Kim struggle with loss and defeat, but she returns over and over in enthusiasm and desire.  In the autumn light I’ve had the chance to witness the soaring of human spirit and be able to say, “Hey, that’s my wife!”.

I hope I can offer something useful in return because Junior just wants fed, played with or another biscuit…

Alone on the Road

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Thinking about the things that make winter riding so attractive — so few vehicles on the road.  Stir in Thanksgiving Day and I’m all alone.

Didn’t think I would find much traffic on Thanksgiving morning.  With most people already at their destinations and the rest staying warm inside I had the neighborhood to myself.  Mostly.

Cold can be deceptive.  With the sun out it “seemed” to not be so bad but just a few moments with the gloves off left my hands hurting.  A little wind combined with 23F did its work.

State College, Pennsylvania is dead on Thanksgiving morning.  Penn State is closed and everyone is somewhere else.  Would have parked the Vespa in the middle of the crosswalk for a picture except my luck would have the only police car on patrol roll up as I was lining up the shot.

Reminded me of Abbey Road.

Allen Street, the hub of downtown State College was empty.  Reminded me of holidays of my youth when everything, everywhere closed.  God help the person in need of food or fuel.

The road this morning led out of town to Cracker Barrel where I would meet a friend for Thanksgiving breakfast.  His idea.  Last night I suggested Denny’s.  Nothing with a more local flavor was open.

The parking lot at Cracker Barrel appeared to border on the tundra.  Perhaps because I parked beyond the cars to gain this view.  Everything isn’t always as it appears.

Breakfast was ok.  The company much better.  Always nice to get together with friends.  Cracker Barrel had a big fire burning in a huge fireplace.  I could easily have lay down in front of it and gone to sleep.  I’m that kind of guy.

At home, with no fireplace in sight, a hug with Junior would have to suffice.  Kim caught the action.

As much as I like to ride, it’s good, no, it’s great to be home.

Togetherness

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Kim last night after we returned from our first long ride together on the Vespa.  I never understood the attraction of riding two up until we were on the road, moving through the late evening light, feeling her body against me, my hand reaching down to touch her leg, her voice drifting forward from the ether, her hands on my waist.

I hate riding with a passenger.  Another preconceived notion destroyed.

She wore my bumblebee jacket, her new Nolan helmet and fancy Held gloves.  A heavy storm passed earlier sweeping away the heat and leaving us a dimming landscape dressed in low hanging fog, muted color, and a sense of riding through Brigadoon.

In the dark, under the glow of the garage door light, I could see the smile on her face, the wind blown transformation that makes riding magic.  Later she suggested we ride tomorrow.

For a long time I hoped Kim would crave a scooter of her own.  Now, after riding together, I’m not so sure…