David Harris at the Richard Avedon Show, North Vancouver, 1983

I was talking to a fellow photographer the other day (spaced appropriately, at a picnic table). Our careers have at times run parallel, geographically and thematically. In fact, at one point we worked at the same Toronto studios at the same time, somehow managing not to run into one another, lost amongst scores of staff.

We discussed our ultimate existential purpose, as photographers. “We’re visual historians.” he said. And he’s right. Whatever corner of the planet we “cover,” whether for Time, National Geographic, or our family scrapbook (if anyone keeps one of those in these days of social media hegemony), we are archivists.

I take my legacy seriously enough to print (and sell) what I deem my most important contributions. It is no small investment in time and money. Anyone who endeavours to commit photographic images to paper — assuming conservation is an important consideration — will soon find that the process demands fastidious attention to detail as well as a big financial commitment — in archival materials, hardware and, these days, specialty software.

Not much has changed in that department. My journals from 40-years-ago comment on the cost of good (fibre-base, silver-gelatin) printing paper. I’d often burn through a box of 25 sheets to get one or two acceptable prints. If anything, equivalent inkjet paper costs more today. In fact, inflation aside, it does. A single sheet of the kind of 100% rag paper I use for my limited edition prints can (depending on size) cost up to $10.00. I’m awaiting delivery of 3 packs of paper — a total of 75 sheets — setting me back $650. My preferred paper, branded either Canson Infinity or Epson Legacy, comes from a  manufacturer of artist’s papers in France, founded in 1557.

Just as in the old wet darkroom, testing and note keeping are key to controlling costs. Similarly, the right equipment is essential. 

In order to control, rather than guess, exposure, dynamic range, and colour in the finished print, we employ a whole host of techniques and devices along the way.

In camera, the essentials haven’t changed. We want to employ as much of the dynamic range the film or sensor can inherently provide. Get this wrong — under- or over-exposure — and you’re trapped in a corner as far as the tonal range you can get out of a negative or file, and ultimately the print. See my post on the Zone System for more on this. 

Shooting RAW over JPEG is the best bet these days, but no excuse for neglecting the histogram. When it comes to colour photography (and every digital file has colour information in it) I might include Colour Checker charts in a test shot under given lighting conditions, using that test to give myself a neutral starting point for editing.

Today’s digital “darkroom” has replaced chemistry, developing tanks and trays, enlargers and lenses, grain magnifiers and printing easels, washers and drying racks, with computers and software, monitors and calibrators, inkjet printers and pigment ink (ignoring C-prints — which you should — and dye sublimation).

Paper conservation (as in thrift) begins with a calibrated monitor — there is no sense trying to print (or prepare images for the Web for that matter*) without a monitor that approximates as closely as possible what the printer can produce. We calibrate our monitor with a spectrophotometer.

My old darkroom equipment is stored in a corner of the garage and is unlikely to be used (by me) anytime soon. I don’t miss the toxic processes. But, even after gathering dust for a decade, the gear would still produce beautiful prints. Longevity is not the strong point of digital equipment. Not to say that a 10-year old digital camera can’t produce good results in the right hands, but cameras change every six months, it seems. And, more relevant to this discussion, certainly computers, monitors and printers age out pretty quickly.

I have just updated most of the critical components in my print production workflow. It will take a lot of print sales to break even 😉

Even so, the latest investments serve the same goal as all those expensive boxes of Ilford Galerie paper I bought in 1984 — the pursuit of imaging excellence.

In particular, the new monitor has relieved stress on my aging ocular apparatus and, by default, enabled better, more consistent image preparation. Thankfully, my 12-year-old X-Rite spectrophotometer works with the new monitor’s internal calibration software (superior to external, computer-based calibration). 

What has all this technical blathering got to do with today’s feature photo? Nothing, other than it is a (virtual) example of the kind of archived material — my legacy, if you will — that I feel compelled more than ever lately to commit to paper. And it has benefitted from the new upgrades.

*The image above is edited and output in the sRGB colour space — the standard for screen viewing. But I have no idea how every screen is calibrated, or not, and the brightness level you have set. So, I can only guess if you’re viewing the photo as intended.
Finally, the subtitle of this post is “An (expensive) argument for photographs as objets d’art,” contending that, in these days of virtual photography, a fine print should be considered  rare enough to be classified with other 3-dimensional works.