Collodion Portraits

This is one of those posts where I should be elated, but I'm not (so much).

I prepared all week to make some images for the Getty Conservation Institute today. The Getty invited me (and others) to be part of their project called, "Preserving the Chemical Photography Era". I got the invite months ago, but between my book and DVD, workshops, Wet Plate Day, and life, I haven't had the chance to do the work. However, I almost succeeded today.

One of my many weaknesses is perfectionism. Not on everything, and certainly not in every situation. But making plates for the Getty Institute tends to bring the proclivity for "perfection" out.

The irony is, I'm working in Wet Plate Collodion photography, "perfection" doesn't exist. In fact, I've written many times about how I love the imperfection of the process - how do I reconcile that? The project isn't even about what I'm trippin' on - it's really kind of a "geek" project. A cool geek project, I might add.

They are analyzing different photographic (chemical) techniques and documenting how the image was produced. It's for future generations to identify images they have no clue about. When they discover the 5000 glass plates that I will have stored in my attic, they'll know what they are looking at and how they were made. Cool stuff.

My dilemma is a personal one; I don't feel that these images are worthy of the Getty. Primarily because I scratched the surface on #2 and it looks like shit now. I was so pissed, I almost had an anxiety attack, I'm serious. I flipped out. It was THE perfect image. I wanted to brush a mark off of the top of the glass and my finger left a huge mark on the plate, I was sick and wanted to scream. It took me two hours to get the image and it was gone in a fraction of a second. Even through I ruined #2, I think I still may put it in my book. What do you think, would you? I like #1, I distressed (forgive me) it on purpose, I really like his expression and "presence" in it. The piece of Collodion gone from the bottom right side doesn't bother me at all on that one. 

Anyway, I'm not sending them to the Getty, but wanted to share them with you. I have to say, they had the potential to be some of the best images I've ever made. Maybe next week.

#1 Whole Plate Black Glass Ambrotyoe (6.5"x8.5") May 9, 2009 - Viernheim, Germany
#2 Whole Plate Ambrotype (6.5"x8.5") May 9, 2009 - Viernheim, Germany Later broken and then purchased in Paris.

Comments

[byzanicon]

I find that dealing with mistakes - or unexpected outcomes - can be alarming. It's not what I had envisioned, so I'm taken aback for a bit. My type of art is more forgiving in terms of perfection than yours is, though, so accepting a so-called blemish is a bit easier for me than it would be for you. You know what a perfect photograph looks like and a blatant flaw can be seen as a sign of an amateur.

Flaws are indicative of humans, though, and inclusion signifies that the work was made by human hands. Persians include a flaw in every carpet they make as to not be an effrontery to God, but that's a purposeful flaw, yours wasn't.

I'm of the mind, as perfect as this image was otherwise, it was not meant to be the image you submitted to Getty. There's another one waiting for you - or maybe you have already made it. I can think of a couple that would be perfect ... to my mind anyway.

Caron

[Quinn Jacobson]

The outcome was gorgeous, the "accident" happened when I tried to brush some small marks from the plate that I had made; it was a stupid move - it seems that I never learn.

The natural occurring "flaws" are beautiful. In my statement I say, "I also embrace it for its imperfections; echoing our human imperfections." That's a huge part of what I do (as metaphor). I see a lot of artists/photographers trying to make "perfect" plates - plates that look like large format film. I'm not interested in that at all. I am interested in not taking huge pieces of emulsion from the surface of the image when I don't intend to. That's what I was kvetching about - ;-)

Thanks for your comments Caron, I appreciate them.