Fragments of the Dawn

Are we we? Were we always we? Or are we empty vessels hoovering up the we?

Using ‘me’ as a proxy for ‘we’ and defining ‘were’ as ‘a time well before the first Zoomer crawled from the womb’, I’ve always been in the ‘we were always we’ camp. Whatever differences lie between the twains of ‘me’ can be chalked up to the simple fact that modern me has more experience and knowledge than nascent me, and thus makes different decisions. Yesterday’s me was explorative and driven. He was organized, focused, iconoclastic and fairly certain of his extraterrestrial origin. Today’s me is no different.

That’s not to say I’m still wearing platform shoes like it’s 1977; skinny leather ties like it’s 1981; or frosting my hair like 1985. Those were all mere accoutrements and not fundamental to the plot. Sort of like Julie Newmar, Lee Meriwether and Eartha Kitt were just variations on the same Catwoman. To Adam West’s Batman, they were one and the same.

But after thumbing through ULTRAsomething’s fifth Exorcism, I had a rather potently conflicting thought — one that challenged my perception that we were always we; or at least that I was always me. “Wow,” I thought, “I don’t have a single thing in common with that guy who first plunged into photography some 32 years ago.”

And so, bored with all the choices on my overabundance of streaming channels, I decided to prove it to myself (something nascent me would have done as well).

Through the convenient portal provided by an old box of negatives, I traveled back in time to those very first few strips of film that ran through my very first serious camera and my very first serious attempts at photography. Who was that guy, who 32 years ago decided to expand his love of looking at photographs into the act of taking photographs? Was he me?

First Travel Landscape

Because I was a photography connoisseur long before I became a photographer, I had a rather expansive visual vocabulary when I began. For the none of you who might be interested, I wrote about my circuitous path to becoming a photographer in an article called Origin Story. In my ceaseless search for prints to peruse, I would travel far and wide from my home in San Francisco’s North Beach neighbourhood, looking for galleries. And more often than not, given my location, these galleries were chock full of absolutely stunning prints made by Group f/64 photographers. And though I never developed an interest in landscape photography, I definitely wanted to make prints like these. So when I bought my first camera and darkroom enlarger, I thought the quickest way to producing my own stunning prints would be to trek down to Ansel Adams’ favourite hunting ground, Yosemite, and try my hand. Below is my very first attempt at a landscape photo.

It is everything a Group f/64 photo is not. I remember thinking it was an absolute failure, and that the heavily pronounced grain and murkiness would surely convince Canon to repossess my new camera, lest anyone see the results and choose to blame Canon. But I also remember secretly liking it precisely because it was grainy and murky. And now, 32 years in the future, I don’t have to be secretive any more. It’s a photo that looks like me and nothing like a Group f/64 photo. And while I have zero interest in landscape photography now, I also had zero interest then. It’s the way I photograph something, not what I photograph. So consider this Exhibit A in the “We were always we” camp.

First Architecture

Anyone who slogged through my origin story knows my interest in photography was birthed by my interest in architecture. So it’s no surprise that some of my earliest forays into photography involved architecture — or rather I wanted them to. In my mind, I would be the new Julius Shulman, and his photos of mid-century modern structures helped me realize that my opinion of a particular piece of architecture could be as much a product of the photographer as the architect.

Unfortunately, I had no access to famous architects or their buildings. Nor was it the mid-century any more. Architects in the early 90’s had abandoned my love of minimalism and functionalism, and pivoted to a sort of ornamental and decorative style — but tawdry and tasteless unlike previous incarnations. So even if I had known any architects, I wouldn’t have wanted to photograph their buildings. However, I did quite like the gritty utilitarian buildings that lined the back alleys around Chinatown, so they became the subject of my early architectural leanings.

This is the first architectural shot I could find amongst my negatives. It offers precious little view of anything beyond functional detail, with a hint of abstraction and a dollop of blur. At the time, I thought it was horrible. I look at it now, and it looks like me. Exhibit B in the “We were always we” camp.

First Abstract

Unlike the previous two genres, in which I dabbled due more to proximity than passion, abstraction was something much closer to my heart. Even before I first became interested in photography as a genuine art form, I was drawn to abstracts. If I couldn’t quite figure out a photograph — either what it was or how it was taken — then it would pinball around my brain long after I’d finished viewing it.

Below is the very first abstract I ever took, on the first roll of film I ever shot.

As abstracts go, it’s not all that abstract (unless maybe you’re one of those aforementioned Gen Z’ers, or younger). But truth be told, I’m still taking this same photo today. Rarely do I pass a video display of any sort without thinking it warrants a photo or two. Several such shots have even appeared in various Exorcisms. So mark this as Exhibit C in the “We were always we” case.

First Street

A second major catalyst toward my eventual plunge into photography was the work of Robert Frank, Elliott Erwitt, Garry Winogrand and others of their ilk (and I apologize to each of their estates for “ilkifying” them in this way). It’s interesting that this, more than any other genre, became the one with which I was most associated over the years, because it was the one I struggled with the most in the early days — mostly because I was gripped by the fear of photographing strangers on the street.

So unlike other first photographs, this one probably bears the least resemblance to who I ultimately became.

That’s because it’s not a photo I would take today, nor does it possess the empathy and humour I seek in all my street work. Also, it runs counter to my now ubiquitous use of deep depth-of-field and wide angle lenses, so as to bathe the subject in context, and not isolate them from it.

And yet, I don’t believe these deviations reflect a difference between past me and current me. Instead, they’re more a product of past me simply not knowing how best to approach the genre. After all, this is the very first “street” photo I ever took. I distinctly remember looking at the print and thinking this was not the approach I wanted to take — deciding I would need to alter my technique, go with wide angle lenses, shoot closer, and simply learn to conquer my fear. So my ability to instantly recognize this photo wasn’t me means I was, indeed, always me. And thus we have Exhibit D.

First Model Session

The third significant impetus for my plunge into cameradom was studio and figure photography, with the likes of Helmut Newton, Richard Avedon, Bill Brandt, and Frantisek Drtikol all pulling me into learning the art of lighting and set design.

Just like the street work, the studio required I photograph humans — and photographing humans removes an element of control from the photographer. Fortunately, as with my musical life, I thrive on serendipity and improvisation. I saw studio photography as a form of jazz — I compose a basic theme and structure, but the finished shot becomes an interplay of improvised counterpoint between model and photographer.

The following series is from my first ever session involving a model:

For several years, this was my primary photographic discipline, so it’s odd that it’s now the one I no longer practice. There are a variety of reasons, but perhaps the main one is that I simply failed to find an audience. I wasn’t interested in delivering the sort of images expected from this genre, and instead tried to ‘advance’ it into quirkiness (at first) or downright abstraction (which I eventually did) — neither of which seemed to fit any viewers’ desire. Ultimately, the disconnect between the photos I wanted to take and the photos people wanted to see lead me to abandon the genre entirely. I simply wasn’t willing to be the photographer someone else wanted me to be, and it’s this ‘adherence to self’ that’s hopefully evident in each and every Exorcism I publish today. And so, here is Exhibit E in the supposition that “we were always we.”

Conclusion

Looking at these first few tentative photos from the dawn of my photographic origins has shown me that I was, indeed, always me. The only real difference is that today’s me has more experience; more knowledge; and no longer allows public expectations to dictate his publishing efforts. So the doubt that crept in upon my perusal of the fifth Exorcism was unfounded. It’s not that I don’t have anything in common with the guy who first plunged into photography some 32 years ago — I’m just Catwoman in a different skin.

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©2024 grEGORy simpson

ABOUT THE PHOTOS:

Echoes was shot with a Hasselblad Xpan, fronted with a 90mm f/4 lens and loaded with FP4+ pushed to ISO 400 and developed in Rodinal 1:24

Lunch: Guu was shot with a Widelux F7 on Fomapan 400 at ISO 400 and developed in Rodinal 1:50.

The remaining photos, as discussed, were all shot in early 1992 on a Canon somethingorother fronted with a Canon whatchamacallit, on various thisnthat film stocks and developed in D76 and/or a local lab. Surely none of that matters?

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