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Essay by
Fred W. McDarrah
Compiled by
Lexis Horvath
and
Rachele Romano-Jaworski
A New York City native and long-time Photo Editor for the Village Voice, Fred McDarrah was a chronicler of American culture through his near half-century of photojournalism. From the avant-garde Beat scene of 1950s Greenwich Village, to the cultural and political explosions of the late 1960s, to New York under the three-term mayoral stint of Ed Koch and beyond, McDarrah's images serve as a precious and expansive photographic record of America through some of its most tumultuous decades. Its politics and values, its art and culture, its anxieties and its hopes for the future all crossed McDarrah's lens throughout his prolific career.
As well as maintaining a busy practice that straddled the line between photojournalism and art photography, McDarrah had a deep interest in the history of photography, a history in which he aimed to situate himself. For over a decade, he applied yearly for the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship. Awarded by the Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, this still-ongoing grant program awards those who demonstrate exceptional creative ability in the arts, with the goal of providing the resources necessary for one to work with as much creative freedom as possible.
Though experienced in navigating the alleys, streets, and boroughs of New York, McDarrah aspired to use this grant to expand his practice with cross-country travel, photographing as the great landscape photographers of the 1800s did. On his journey, he planned to travel with film and developing supplies, recreating the conditions under which 19th century photographers would have worked as they captured views of the nation in a stage of expansion. From his consistent and ongoing applications for the Fellowship, through his travels to bring the project to life, McDarrah displayed a dogged persistence, an unwavering will and determination to meeting his goals - perhaps the same quality that made him so adept at cutting through crowds to photograph exactly the images he wanted. Upon finally receiving the Fellowship in its 1972 season, he prepared to set out with his wife Gloria and two young sons, Tim and Patrick in tow.
The family embarked on a three month roadtrip across the United States, documented in photographs and in an essay. By McDarrah's account, the journey was grueling, and his hope to develop his pictures on the move, as the 19th century masters did, proved even more difficult than initially imagined - as evidenced by the long title of his essay, seen at the beginning of this one. Still, the results of his work, some of which are pictured below, are a depiction of the American wilderness totally foreign to the rest of McDarrah's work. Leaving behind the big city with its daily chaos, the hustle and bustle of a dense and diverse population, his depictions of the country do not impart the sense that McDarrah failed in his mission, but rather that he had imbued his work with new perspective and appreciation for his tools.
Below, McDarrah's descriptions of the journey's hardships and accomplishments, as described in his essay on the experience...
A New York City native and long-time Photo Editor for the Village Voice, Fred McDarrah was a chronicler of American culture through his near half-century of photojournalism. From the avant-garde Beat scene of 1950s Greenwich Village, to the cultural and political explosions of the late 1960s, to New York under the three-term mayoral stint of Ed Koch and beyond, McDarrah's images serve as a precious and expansive photographic record of America through some of its most tumultuous decades. Its politics and values, its art and culture, its anxieties and its hopes for the future all crossed McDarrah's lens throughout his prolific career.
As well as maintaining a busy practice that straddled the line between photojournalism and art photography, McDarrah had a deep interest in the history of photography, a history in which he aimed to situate himself. For over a decade, he applied yearly for the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship. Awarded by the Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, this still-ongoing grant program awards those who demonstrate exceptional creative ability in the arts, with the goal of providing the resources necessary for one to work with as much creative freedom as possible.
Though experienced in navigating the alleys, streets, and boroughs of New York, McDarrah aspired to use this grant to expand his practice with cross-country travel, photographing as the great landscape photographers of the 1800s did. On his journey, he planned to travel with film and developing supplies, recreating the conditions under which 19th century photographers would have worked as they captured views of the nation in a stage of expansion. From his consistent and ongoing applications for the Fellowship, through his travels to bring the project to life, McDarrah displayed a dogged persistence, an unwavering will and determination to meeting his goals - perhaps the same quality that made him so adept at cutting through crowds to photograph exactly the images he wanted. Upon finally receiving the Fellowship in its 1972 season, he prepared to set out with his wife Gloria and two young sons, Tim and Patrick in tow.
The family embarked on a three month roadtrip across the United States, documented in photographs and in an essay. By McDarrah's account, the journey was grueling, and his hope to develop his pictures on the move, as the 19th century masters did, proved even more difficult than initially imagined - as evidenced by the long title of his essay, seen at the beginning of this one. Still, the results of his work, some of which are pictured below, are a depiction of the American wilderness totally foreign to the rest of McDarrah's work. Leaving behind the big city with its daily chaos, the hustle and bustle of a dense and diverse population, his depictions of the country do not impart the sense that McDarrah failed in his mission, but rather that he had imbued his work with new perspective and appreciation for his tools.
Below, McDarrah's descriptions of the journey's hardships and accomplishments, as described in his essay on the experience...
A New York City native and long-time Photo Editor for the Village Voice, Fred McDarrah was a chronicler of American culture through his near half-century of photojournalism. From the avant-garde Beat scene of 1950s Greenwich Village, to the cultural and political explosions of the late 1960s, to New York under the three-term mayoral stint of Ed Koch and beyond, McDarrah's images serve as a precious and expansive photographic record of America through some of its most tumultuous decades. Its politics and values, its art and culture, its anxieties and its hopes for the future all crossed McDarrah's lens throughout his prolific career.
As well as maintaining a busy practice that straddled the line between photojournalism and art photography, McDarrah had a deep interest in the history of photography, a history in which he aimed to situate himself. For over a decade, he applied yearly for the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship. Awarded by the Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, this still-ongoing grant program awards those who demonstrate exceptional creative ability in the arts, with the goal of providing the resources necessary for one to work with as much creative freedom as possible.
Though experienced in navigating the alleys, streets, and boroughs of New York, McDarrah aspired to use this grant to expand his practice with cross-country travel, photographing as the great landscape photographers of the 1800s did. On his journey, he planned to travel with film and developing supplies, recreating the conditions under which 19th century photographers would have worked as they captured views of the nation in a stage of expansion. From his consistent and ongoing applications for the Fellowship, through his travels to bring the project to life, McDarrah displayed a dogged persistence, an unwavering will and determination to meeting his goals - perhaps the same quality that made him so adept at cutting through crowds to photograph exactly the images he wanted. Upon finally receiving the Fellowship in its 1972 season, he prepared to set out with his wife Gloria and two young sons, Tim and Patrick in tow.
The family embarked on a three month roadtrip across the United States, documented in photographs and in an essay. By McDarrah's account, the journey was grueling, and his hope to develop his pictures on the move, as the 19th century masters did, proved even more difficult than initially imagined - as evidenced by the long title of his essay, seen at the beginning of this one. Still, the results of his work, some of which are pictured below, are a depiction of the American wilderness totally foreign to the rest of McDarrah's work. Leaving behind the big city with its daily chaos, the hustle and bustle of a dense and diverse population, his depictions of the country do not impart the sense that McDarrah failed in his mission, but rather that he had imbued his work with new perspective and appreciation for his tools.
Below, McDarrah's descriptions of the journey's hardships and accomplishments, as described in his essay on the experience...
A New York City native and long-time Photo Editor for the Village Voice, Fred McDarrah was a chronicler of American culture through his near half-century of photojournalism. From the avant-garde Beat scene of 1950s Greenwich Village, to the cultural and political explosions of the late 1960s, to New York under the three-term mayoral stint of Ed Koch and beyond, McDarrah's images serve as a precious and expansive photographic record of America through some of its most tumultuous decades. Its politics and values, its art and culture, its anxieties and its hopes for the future all crossed McDarrah's lens throughout his prolific career.
As well as maintaining a busy practice that straddled the line between photojournalism and art photography, McDarrah had a deep interest in the history of photography, a history in which he aimed to situate himself. For over a decade, he applied yearly for the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship. Awarded by the Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, this still-ongoing grant program awards those who demonstrate exceptional creative ability in the arts, with the goal of providing the resources necessary for one to work with as much creative freedom as possible.
Though experienced in navigating the alleys, streets, and boroughs of New York, McDarrah aspired to use this grant to expand his practice with cross-country travel, photographing as the great landscape photographers of the 1800s did. On his journey, he planned to travel with film and developing supplies, recreating the conditions under which 19th century photographers would have worked as they captured views of the nation in a stage of expansion. From his consistent and ongoing applications for the Fellowship, through his travels to bring the project to life, McDarrah displayed a dogged persistence, an unwavering will and determination to meeting his goals - perhaps the same quality that made him so adept at cutting through crowds to photograph exactly the images he wanted. Upon finally receiving the Fellowship in its 1972 season, he prepared to set out with his wife Gloria and two young sons, Tim and Patrick in tow.
The family embarked on a three month roadtrip across the United States, documented in photographs and in an essay. By McDarrah's account, the journey was grueling, and his hope to develop his pictures on the move, as the 19th century masters did, proved even more difficult than initially imagined - as evidenced by the long title of his essay, seen at the beginning of this one. Still, the results of his work, some of which are pictured below, are a depiction of the American wilderness totally foreign to the rest of McDarrah's work. Leaving behind the big city with its daily chaos, the hustle and bustle of a dense and diverse population, his depictions of the country do not impart the sense that McDarrah failed in his mission, but rather that he had imbued his work with new perspective and appreciation for his tools.
Below, McDarrah's descriptions of the journey's hardships and accomplishments, as described in his essay on the experience...
The first thing I wanted to do when I won my Guggenheim Fellowship in Photography was travel across the country and take pictures of everything that got in front of my camera. As a photo journalist working in the streets of New York I wanted to do something I would never have gotten a chance to do without a grant and this was my big chance.
I especially wanted to concentrate on the kind of pictures taken by the great landscape photographers who worked through the era of exploration, roughly from the end of the Civil War until about 1905.
Besides taking the kinds of pictures they took I also wanted to work like they did right out in the open in the darkroom tent where I could develop negatives and print pictures the instant they were taken; I wanted to find out 100 years later what it must have been like roaming the country in a photographic van to see if it was still as tough as it was then, to see if I could be self-sufficient, get good pictures and come back with professional work.
The first thing I wanted to do when I won my Guggenheim Fellowship in Photography was travel across the country and take pictures of everything that got in front of my camera. As a photo journalist working in the streets of New York I wanted to do something I would never have gotten a chance to do without a grant and this was my big chance.
I especially wanted to concentrate on the kind of pictures taken by the great landscape photographers who worked through the era of exploration, roughly from the end of the Civil War until about 1905.
Besides taking the kinds of pictures they took I also wanted to work like they did right out in the open in the darkroom tent where I could develop negatives and print pictures the instant they were taken; I wanted to find out 100 years later what it must have been like roaming the country in a photographic van to see if it was still as tough as it was then, to see if I could be self-sufficient, get good pictures and come back with professional work.
The first thing I wanted to do when I won my Guggenheim Fellowship in Photography was travel across the country and take pictures of everything that got in front of my camera. As a photo journalist working in the streets of New York I wanted to do something I would never have gotten a chance to do without a grant and this was my big chance.
I especially wanted to concentrate on the kind of pictures taken by the great landscape photographers who worked through the era of exploration, roughly from the end of the Civil War until about 1905.
Besides taking the kinds of pictures they took I also wanted to work like they did right out in the open in the darkroom tent where I could develop negatives and print pictures the instant they were taken; I wanted to find out 100 years later what it must have been like roaming the country in a photographic van to see if it was still as tough as it was then, to see if I could be self-sufficient, get good pictures and come back with professional work.
The first thing I wanted to do when I won my Guggenheim Fellowship in Photography was travel across the country and take pictures of everything that got in front of my camera. As a photo journalist working in the streets of New York I wanted to do something I would never have gotten a chance to do without a grant and this was my big chance.
I especially wanted to concentrate on the kind of pictures taken by the great landscape photographers who worked through the era of exploration, roughly from the end of the Civil War until about 1905.
Besides taking the kinds of pictures they took I also wanted to work like they did right out in the open in the darkroom tent where I could develop negatives and print pictures the instant they were taken; I wanted to find out 100 years later what it must have been like roaming the country in a photographic van to see if it was still as tough as it was then, to see if I could be self-sufficient, get good pictures and come back with professional work.
To go primitive was an enormously challenging prospect in these times of motorized 35mm cameras and automatic roll film processing. Equipment today is truly portable, compact, lightweight, functional, dependable, automatic, simple to operate and produces professional results fast. So, although I wanted to be an explorer in photography I saw no point in using a large format camera with wet plates.
My equipment and chemicals would be suited to modern journalism. This is what I took:
To go primitive was an enormously challenging prospect in these times of motorized 35mm cameras and automatic roll film processing. Equipment today is truly portable, compact, lightweight, functional, dependable, automatic, simple to operate and produces professional results fast. So, although I wanted to be an explorer in photography I saw no point in using a large format camera with wet plates.
My equipment and chemicals would be suited to modern journalism. This is what I took:
To go primitive was an enormously challenging prospect in these times of motorized 35mm cameras and automatic roll film processing. Equipment today is truly portable, compact, lightweight, functional, dependable, automatic, simple to operate and produces professional results fast. So, although I wanted to be an explorer in photography I saw no point in using a large format camera with wet plates.
My equipment and chemicals would be suited to modern journalism. This is what I took:
To go primitive was an enormously challenging prospect in these times of motorized 35mm cameras and automatic roll film processing. Equipment today is truly portable, compact, lightweight, functional, dependable, automatic, simple to operate and produces professional results fast. So, although I wanted to be an explorer in photography I saw no point in using a large format camera with wet plates.
My equipment and chemicals would be suited to modern journalism. This is what I took:
Although there was a difference in the type and amount of equipment I carried compared to the expeditionary photographers, I quickly discovered that we must have shared a common problem of dealing with the incredible variations in the weather, and the hazards of living outdoors among the animals, birds and insects. Planning the trip, finding a location, setting up a darkroom and working in the field in a primitive manner was more of a hardship than I had expected. The title of this article tells it all in one sentence.
Although there was a difference in the type and amount of equipment I carried compared to the expeditionary photographers, I quickly discovered that we must have shared a common problem of dealing with the incredible variations in the weather, and the hazards of living outdoors among the animals, birds and insects. Planning the trip, finding a location, setting up a darkroom and working in the field in a primitive manner was more of a hardship than I had expected. The title of this article tells it all in one sentence.
Although there was a difference in the type and amount of equipment I carried compared to the expeditionary photographers, I quickly discovered that we must have shared a common problem of dealing with the incredible variations in the weather, and the hazards of living outdoors among the animals, birds and insects. Planning the trip, finding a location, setting up a darkroom and working in the field in a primitive manner was more of a hardship than I had expected. The title of this article tells it all in one sentence.
Although there was a difference in the type and amount of equipment I carried compared to the expeditionary photographers, I quickly discovered that we must have shared a common problem of dealing with the incredible variations in the weather, and the hazards of living outdoors among the animals, birds and insects. Planning the trip, finding a location, setting up a darkroom and working in the field in a primitive manner was more of a hardship than I had expected. The title of this article tells it all in one sentence.
It was early in June that I set out from New York with my wife and two boys in a VW Squareback loaded down with a Morsan 10X12 Bungalow Tent, Nylon Backpack Mountain Tent, four Sleeping bags, four Wood Army Cots, Gaz Bluet Cookstove with cooking gear, Gaz Butane Lantern, two tarps, Portable Cooler, Five Gallon Thermos, Axe and a trunk of photo equipment for my project.
Our first stop was Camp Quaxon near Mt. Holly, New Jersey about 75 miles from New York. I planned to field test the equipment, prepare a blueprint of the darkroom and to construct a miniature mock-up to see if it would function properly.
But as soon as we arrived it started to rain and it poured and poured. The rain continued for days. So we packed our gear and headed West to beat the storm.
As we raced through the entire state of Pennsylvania and Ohio and Indiana the pelting rain kept following right with us.
Everything looked ugly and depressing — the gas stations, trailer parks, industrial mills, billboards and truck stops — the anonymous countryside was dull, bleak and wet. Automobile graveyards and bulldozed pits pockmarked the roadside. Tumble down shantys were everywhere. We never saw any people in any of the towns we went through. I began to photograph right out of the car window. It was either that or drown of boredom in the rain.
It was early in June that I set out from New York with my wife and two boys in a VW Squareback loaded down with a Morsan 10X12 Bungalow Tent, Nylon Backpack Mountain Tent, four Sleeping bags, four Wood Army Cots, Gaz Bluet Cookstove with cooking gear, Gaz Butane Lantern, two tarps, Portable Cooler, Five Gallon Thermos, Axe and a trunk of photo equipment for my project.
Our first stop was Camp Quaxon near Mt. Holly, New Jersey about 75 miles from New York. I planned to field test the equipment, prepare a blueprint of the darkroom and to construct a miniature mock-up to see if it would function properly.
But as soon as we arrived it started to rain and it poured and poured. The rain continued for days. So we packed our gear and headed West to beat the storm.
As we raced through the entire state of Pennsylvania and Ohio and Indiana the pelting rain kept following right with us.
Everything looked ugly and depressing — the gas stations, trailer parks, industrial mills, billboards and truck stops — the anonymous countryside was dull, bleak and wet. Automobile graveyards and bulldozed pits pockmarked the roadside. Tumble down shantys were everywhere. We never saw any people in any of the towns we went through. I began to photograph right out of the car window. It was either that or drown of boredom in the rain.
It was early in June that I set out from New York with my wife and two boys in a VW Squareback loaded down with a Morsan 10X12 Bungalow Tent, Nylon Backpack Mountain Tent, four Sleeping bags, four Wood Army Cots, Gaz Bluet Cookstove with cooking gear, Gaz Butane Lantern, two tarps, Portable Cooler, Five Gallon Thermos, Axe and a trunk of photo equipment for my project.
Our first stop was Camp Quaxon near Mt. Holly, New Jersey about 75 miles from New York. I planned to field test the equipment, prepare a blueprint of the darkroom and to construct a miniature mock-up to see if it would function properly.
But as soon as we arrived it started to rain and it poured and poured. The rain continued for days. So we packed our gear and headed West to beat the storm.
As we raced through the entire state of Pennsylvania and Ohio and Indiana the pelting rain kept following right with us.
Everything looked ugly and depressing — the gas stations, trailer parks, industrial mills, billboards and truck stops — the anonymous countryside was dull, bleak and wet. Automobile graveyards and bulldozed pits pockmarked the roadside. Tumble down shantys were everywhere. We never saw any people in any of the towns we went through. I began to photograph right out of the car window. It was either that or drown of boredom in the rain.
It was early in June that I set out from New York with my wife and two boys in a VW Squareback loaded down with a Morsan 10X12 Bungalow Tent, Nylon Backpack Mountain Tent, four Sleeping bags, four Wood Army Cots, Gaz Bluet Cookstove with cooking gear, Gaz Butane Lantern, two tarps, Portable Cooler, Five Gallon Thermos, Axe and a trunk of photo equipment for my project.
Our first stop was Camp Quaxon near Mt. Holly, New Jersey about 75 miles from New York. I planned to field test the equipment, prepare a blueprint of the darkroom and to construct a miniature mock-up to see if it would function properly.
But as soon as we arrived it started to rain and it poured and poured. The rain continued for days. So we packed our gear and headed West to beat the storm.
As we raced through the entire state of Pennsylvania and Ohio and Indiana the pelting rain kept following right with us.
Everything looked ugly and depressing — the gas stations, trailer parks, industrial mills, billboards and truck stops — the anonymous countryside was dull, bleak and wet. Automobile graveyards and bulldozed pits pockmarked the roadside. Tumble down shantys were everywhere. We never saw any people in any of the towns we went through. I began to photograph right out of the car window. It was either that or drown of boredom in the rain.
As we drove on I was continually searching for the ideal site to set up the darktent and start developing and printing the pictures I was taking along the route. But nothing seemed right through South Carolina and into Georgia.
[In Texas,] we were at the Del Rio campground about four days when suddenly one morning I was bitten on the toe by a scorpion that had been resting quietly all night in my shoe. Being a New York photographer who feels safe only on city pavement, I naturally got hysterical and had visions of dropping dead on the spot from blood poisoning without ever having finished my darkroom experiment. In my panic I got the entire camp in an uproar over what was assessed as nothing greater than a mosquito bite. But I was so embarrassed by the incident that we had no choice except to quit the campsite and go our way.
As we drove on I was continually searching for the ideal site to set up the darktent and start developing and printing the pictures I was taking along the route. But nothing seemed right through South Carolina and into Georgia.
[In Texas,] we were at the Del Rio campground about four days when suddenly one morning I was bitten on the toe by a scorpion that had been resting quietly all night in my shoe. Being a New York photographer who feels safe only on city pavement, I naturally got hysterical and had visions of dropping dead on the spot from blood poisoning without ever having finished my darkroom experiment. In my panic I got the entire camp in an uproar over what was assessed as nothing greater than a mosquito bite. But I was so embarrassed by the incident that we had no choice except to quit the campsite and go our way.
As we drove on I was continually searching for the ideal site to set up the darktent and start developing and printing the pictures I was taking along the route. But nothing seemed right through South Carolina and into Georgia.
[In Texas,] we were at the Del Rio campground about four days when suddenly one morning I was bitten on the toe by a scorpion that had been resting quietly all night in my shoe. Being a New York photographer who feels safe only on city pavement, I naturally got hysterical and had visions of dropping dead on the spot from blood poisoning without ever having finished my darkroom experiment. In my panic I got the entire camp in an uproar over what was assessed as nothing greater than a mosquito bite. But I was so embarrassed by the incident that we had no choice except to quit the campsite and go our way.
As we drove on I was continually searching for the ideal site to set up the darktent and start developing and printing the pictures I was taking along the route. But nothing seemed right through South Carolina and into Georgia.
[In Texas,] we were at the Del Rio campground about four days when suddenly one morning I was bitten on the toe by a scorpion that had been resting quietly all night in my shoe. Being a New York photographer who feels safe only on city pavement, I naturally got hysterical and had visions of dropping dead on the spot from blood poisoning without ever having finished my darkroom experiment. In my panic I got the entire camp in an uproar over what was assessed as nothing greater than a mosquito bite. But I was so embarrassed by the incident that we had no choice except to quit the campsite and go our way.
When we hit New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah I finally felt we were getting somewhere. I was now taking the kinds of pictures I had traveled all this distance to take - the Carlsbad Caverns, Puebloes in Toas[sic], the Indian ruins of Mesa Verde, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest, The Great Sand Dunes and the Grand Canyon, described by one explorer as "the most sublime spectacle on Earth." It was very exciting!
Each scene was a permanent classic photograph I had seen before and it now came alive in front of me: Bell’s "Looking South in the Grand Canyon" (1872); Russell's "Monument Rock" (1867); Vroman’s "Toas Pueblo" (1899); Jackson's "Mammouth Hot Springs" (1880); O'Sullivan’s "Ancient Ruins in the Canon de Chelle" (1873); and dozens of others.
I was now more determined than ever to set up my darktent to duplicate the methods of working outdoors that had been pioneered by the early photographers.
But in the Grand Canyon I found yet another excuse to prolong the job at hand; I couldn’t find any water other than the camp faucets and the Colorado River down at the bottom of the Canyon.
For the first time I began to have self-doubts. Were my trivial hardships real or imagined. Had I gone soft. Why couldn't I get it all together. Was a place like the Grand Canyon just too much for me to deal with in modern times. Would I have ever made it as a landscape photographer on a Government expedition exploring the territories in 1875. They couldn't have had it as tough. Nevertheless, they did.
When we hit New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah I finally felt we were getting somewhere. I was now taking the kinds of pictures I had traveled all this distance to take - the Carlsbad Caverns, Puebloes in Toas[sic], the Indian ruins of Mesa Verde, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest, The Great Sand Dunes and the Grand Canyon, described by one explorer as "the most sublime spectacle on Earth." It was very exciting!
Each scene was a permanent classic photograph I had seen before and it now came alive in front of me: Bell’s "Looking South in the Grand Canyon" (1872); Russell's "Monument Rock" (1867); Vroman’s "Toas Pueblo" (1899); Jackson's "Mammouth Hot Springs" (1880); O'Sullivan’s "Ancient Ruins in the Canon de Chelle" (1873); and dozens of others.
I was now more determined than ever to set up my darktent to duplicate the methods of working outdoors that had been pioneered by the early photographers.
But in the Grand Canyon I found yet another excuse to prolong the job at hand; I couldn’t find any water other than the camp faucets and the Colorado River down at the bottom of the Canyon.
For the first time I began to have self-doubts. Were my trivial hardships real or imagined. Had I gone soft. Why couldn't I get it all together. Was a place like the Grand Canyon just too much for me to deal with in modern times. Would I have ever made it as a landscape photographer on a Government expedition exploring the territories in 1875. They couldn't have had it as tough. Nevertheless, they did.
When we hit New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah I finally felt we were getting somewhere. I was now taking the kinds of pictures I had traveled all this distance to take - the Carlsbad Caverns, Puebloes in Toas[sic], the Indian ruins of Mesa Verde, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest, The Great Sand Dunes and the Grand Canyon, described by one explorer as "the most sublime spectacle on Earth." It was very exciting!
Each scene was a permanent classic photograph I had seen before and it now came alive in front of me: Bell’s "Looking South in the Grand Canyon" (1872); Russell's "Monument Rock" (1867); Vroman’s "Toas Pueblo" (1899); Jackson's "Mammouth Hot Springs" (1880); O'Sullivan’s "Ancient Ruins in the Canon de Chelle" (1873); and dozens of others.
I was now more determined than ever to set up my darktent to duplicate the methods of working outdoors that had been pioneered by the early photographers.
But in the Grand Canyon I found yet another excuse to prolong the job at hand; I couldn’t find any water other than the camp faucets and the Colorado River down at the bottom of the Canyon.
For the first time I began to have self-doubts. Were my trivial hardships real or imagined. Had I gone soft. Why couldn't I get it all together. Was a place like the Grand Canyon just too much for me to deal with in modern times. Would I have ever made it as a landscape photographer on a Government expedition exploring the territories in 1875. They couldn't have had it as tough. Nevertheless, they did.
When we hit New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah I finally felt we were getting somewhere. I was now taking the kinds of pictures I had traveled all this distance to take - the Carlsbad Caverns, Puebloes in Toas[sic], the Indian ruins of Mesa Verde, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest, The Great Sand Dunes and the Grand Canyon, described by one explorer as "the most sublime spectacle on Earth." It was very exciting!
Each scene was a permanent classic photograph I had seen before and it now came alive in front of me: Bell’s "Looking South in the Grand Canyon" (1872); Russell's "Monument Rock" (1867); Vroman’s "Toas Pueblo" (1899); Jackson's "Mammouth Hot Springs" (1880); O'Sullivan’s "Ancient Ruins in the Canon de Chelle" (1873); and dozens of others.
I was now more determined than ever to set up my darktent to duplicate the methods of working outdoors that had been pioneered by the early photographers.
But in the Grand Canyon I found yet another excuse to prolong the job at hand; I couldn’t find any water other than the camp faucets and the Colorado River down at the bottom of the Canyon.
For the first time I began to have self-doubts. Were my trivial hardships real or imagined. Had I gone soft. Why couldn't I get it all together. Was a place like the Grand Canyon just too much for me to deal with in modern times. Would I have ever made it as a landscape photographer on a Government expedition exploring the territories in 1875. They couldn't have had it as tough. Nevertheless, they did.
My own hardships were minor indeed compared to those really suffered by the early photographers. But I was able to muster up a few good ones. In Vaughn New Mexico all the signs prohibited us from going around in bare feet and dirty hair. That applied to us for sure. The Great Sand Dunes National Monument was an arrid[sic] desert and we choked without water..Swarms of strange bugs attacked us in Great Bend Kansas. Trenton Nebraska was desolate. Not a camper in sight. We froze and it snowed in the Rocky Mountains in the middle of summer, no less. In Page Arizona our whole campsite was swept away by a raging dust storm. In Las Vegas the daily temperature dropped to 99 degrees, the low for the month. So we left there fast. When we got to Los Angeles we got lost. And in Malibu I discovered that the polyethylene darkroom that I made had completely stuck together during the Nevada heat wave. There was no end in sight. A forest fire struck in Big Sur. In Salt Lake the water was, naturally, too salty. And in Yellowstone Park we were constantly confronting huge brown bears.
Naturally, Jackson Hole Wyoming was too foggy and too many tourist waiting for the daily cowboy pageant interfered with my thinking and the crowds made me nervous.
By the time we reached Pray Montana I got down on one knee an asked for forgiveness for what ever it was that I did to deserve such bad luck and indecision. Somebody down (or up) there hear me.
My own hardships were minor indeed compared to those really suffered by the early photographers. But I was able to muster up a few good ones. In Vaughn New Mexico all the signs prohibited us from going around in bare feet and dirty hair. That applied to us for sure. The Great Sand Dunes National Monument was an arrid[sic] desert and we choked without water..Swarms of strange bugs attacked us in Great Bend Kansas. Trenton Nebraska was desolate. Not a camper in sight. We froze and it snowed in the Rocky Mountains in the middle of summer, no less. In Page Arizona our whole campsite was swept away by a raging dust storm. In Las Vegas the daily temperature dropped to 99 degrees, the low for the month. So we left there fast. When we got to Los Angeles we got lost. And in Malibu I discovered that the polyethylene darkroom that I made had completely stuck together during the Nevada heat wave. There was no end in sight. A forest fire struck in Big Sur. In Salt Lake the water was, naturally, too salty. And in Yellowstone Park we were constantly confronting huge brown bears.
Naturally, Jackson Hole Wyoming was too foggy and too many tourist waiting for the daily cowboy pageant interfered with my thinking and the crowds made me nervous.
By the time we reached Pray Montana I got down on one knee an asked for forgiveness for what ever it was that I did to deserve such bad luck and indecision. Somebody down (or up) there hear me.
My own hardships were minor indeed compared to those really suffered by the early photographers. But I was able to muster up a few good ones. In Vaughn New Mexico all the signs prohibited us from going around in bare feet and dirty hair. That applied to us for sure. The Great Sand Dunes National Monument was an arrid[sic] desert and we choked without water..Swarms of strange bugs attacked us in Great Bend Kansas. Trenton Nebraska was desolate. Not a camper in sight. We froze and it snowed in the Rocky Mountains in the middle of summer, no less. In Page Arizona our whole campsite was swept away by a raging dust storm. In Las Vegas the daily temperature dropped to 99 degrees, the low for the month. So we left there fast. When we got to Los Angeles we got lost. And in Malibu I discovered that the polyethylene darkroom that I made had completely stuck together during the Nevada heat wave. There was no end in sight. A forest fire struck in Big Sur. In Salt Lake the water was, naturally, too salty. And in Yellowstone Park we were constantly confronting huge brown bears.
Naturally, Jackson Hole Wyoming was too foggy and too many tourist waiting for the daily cowboy pageant interfered with my thinking and the crowds made me nervous.
By the time we reached Pray Montana I got down on one knee an asked for forgiveness for what ever it was that I did to deserve such bad luck and indecision. Somebody down (or up) there hear me.
My own hardships were minor indeed compared to those really suffered by the early photographers. But I was able to muster up a few good ones. In Vaughn New Mexico all the signs prohibited us from going around in bare feet and dirty hair. That applied to us for sure. The Great Sand Dunes National Monument was an arrid[sic] desert and we choked without water..Swarms of strange bugs attacked us in Great Bend Kansas. Trenton Nebraska was desolate. Not a camper in sight. We froze and it snowed in the Rocky Mountains in the middle of summer, no less. In Page Arizona our whole campsite was swept away by a raging dust storm. In Las Vegas the daily temperature dropped to 99 degrees, the low for the month. So we left there fast. When we got to Los Angeles we got lost. And in Malibu I discovered that the polyethylene darkroom that I made had completely stuck together during the Nevada heat wave. There was no end in sight. A forest fire struck in Big Sur. In Salt Lake the water was, naturally, too salty. And in Yellowstone Park we were constantly confronting huge brown bears.
Naturally, Jackson Hole Wyoming was too foggy and too many tourist waiting for the daily cowboy pageant interfered with my thinking and the crowds made me nervous.
By the time we reached Pray Montana I got down on one knee an asked for forgiveness for what ever it was that I did to deserve such bad luck and indecision. Somebody down (or up) there hear me.
As we rolled into Jensen Utah outside of Dinosaur National Monument I knew I had found the ideal spot I had been looking for. The weather was perfect, the water was pure, the site was ideal and it was beautiful.
What had appeared to be an overwhelming problem turned out to be deceptively simple. We set up camp on the Green River at the base of Split Mountain Gorge. Pitching the darkroom tent was a simple matter with the aid of three people--my wife and two boys. We each dug a six foot pole into the ground, draped the canopy over the poles, strung out guy lines on each pole and to keep light from coming underneath weighed down the enclosure with rocks. Presto, it was set up. A double flap permitted easy access. Once the darktent was set up I took the river water and mixed it with a pint of HC 110 to make a 1/2 gallon of stock solution.
One of the hazards of working in an airtight enclosure is that it's impossible to breathe. One of the accounts I read of the early photographers covered this little detail. But Weston Naef, photography curator of the Metropolitan Museum which published his "Era of Exploration," believes the photographers who used wagon darkrooms had provisions for baffled vents. I had no such apparatus so after about ten minutes in my darktent I got a little delirious and the heat became unbearable as the temperature rose rapidly.
Thereafter the only way I could work was to develop two rolls at a time with newly mixed cold developer. To wash the film I anchored the film at both ends with stainless steel spring clips and set them in a rock basin in the river. The downstream current automatically washed the film. This is the same way it was done 100 years ago in the wilderness, I then simply hung the film on a line. Early photographers did the same thing.
The film dried rapidly and there was never any problem with dust, dirt, scratches or bubbles. The film was evenly developed and dried fast. The way I handled the film was abusive and it is amazing how well Kodak 35mm film can take punishment. Each roll was immediately cut into lengths of six and carefully catalogued since I did not make contacts on this trip. My technique was downright amateurish compared to the way photographers worked in the field 100 years ago.
As we rolled into Jensen Utah outside of Dinosaur National Monument I knew I had found the ideal spot I had been looking for. The weather was perfect, the water was pure, the site was ideal and it was beautiful.
What had appeared to be an overwhelming problem turned out to be deceptively simple. We set up camp on the Green River at the base of Split Mountain Gorge. Pitching the darkroom tent was a simple matter with the aid of three people--my wife and two boys. We each dug a six foot pole into the ground, draped the canopy over the poles, strung out guy lines on each pole and to keep light from coming underneath weighed down the enclosure with rocks. Presto, it was set up. A double flap permitted easy access. Once the darktent was set up I took the river water and mixed it with a pint of HC 110 to make a 1/2 gallon of stock solution.
One of the hazards of working in an airtight enclosure is that it's impossible to breathe. One of the accounts I read of the early photographers covered this little detail. But Weston Naef, photography curator of the Metropolitan Museum which published his "Era of Exploration," believes the photographers who used wagon darkrooms had provisions for baffled vents. I had no such apparatus so after about ten minutes in my darktent I got a little delirious and the heat became unbearable as the temperature rose rapidly.
Thereafter the only way I could work was to develop two rolls at a time with newly mixed cold developer. To wash the film I anchored the film at both ends with stainless steel spring clips and set them in a rock basin in the river. The downstream current automatically washed the film. This is the same way it was done 100 years ago in the wilderness, I then simply hung the film on a line. Early photographers did the same thing.
The film dried rapidly and there was never any problem with dust, dirt, scratches or bubbles. The film was evenly developed and dried fast. The way I handled the film was abusive and it is amazing how well Kodak 35mm film can take punishment. Each roll was immediately cut into lengths of six and carefully catalogued since I did not make contacts on this trip. My technique was downright amateurish compared to the way photographers worked in the field 100 years ago.
As we rolled into Jensen Utah outside of Dinosaur National Monument I knew I had found the ideal spot I had been looking for. The weather was perfect, the water was pure, the site was ideal and it was beautiful.
What had appeared to be an overwhelming problem turned out to be deceptively simple. We set up camp on the Green River at the base of Split Mountain Gorge. Pitching the darkroom tent was a simple matter with the aid of three people--my wife and two boys. We each dug a six foot pole into the ground, draped the canopy over the poles, strung out guy lines on each pole and to keep light from coming underneath weighed down the enclosure with rocks. Presto, it was set up. A double flap permitted easy access. Once the darktent was set up I took the river water and mixed it with a pint of HC 110 to make a 1/2 gallon of stock solution.
One of the hazards of working in an airtight enclosure is that it's impossible to breathe. One of the accounts I read of the early photographers covered this little detail. But Weston Naef, photography curator of the Metropolitan Museum which published his "Era of Exploration," believes the photographers who used wagon darkrooms had provisions for baffled vents. I had no such apparatus so after about ten minutes in my darktent I got a little delirious and the heat became unbearable as the temperature rose rapidly.
Thereafter the only way I could work was to develop two rolls at a time with newly mixed cold developer. To wash the film I anchored the film at both ends with stainless steel spring clips and set them in a rock basin in the river. The downstream current automatically washed the film. This is the same way it was done 100 years ago in the wilderness, I then simply hung the film on a line. Early photographers did the same thing.
The film dried rapidly and there was never any problem with dust, dirt, scratches or bubbles. The film was evenly developed and dried fast. The way I handled the film was abusive and it is amazing how well Kodak 35mm film can take punishment. Each roll was immediately cut into lengths of six and carefully catalogued since I did not make contacts on this trip. My technique was downright amateurish compared to the way photographers worked in the field 100 years ago.
As we rolled into Jensen Utah outside of Dinosaur National Monument I knew I had found the ideal spot I had been looking for. The weather was perfect, the water was pure, the site was ideal and it was beautiful.
What had appeared to be an overwhelming problem turned out to be deceptively simple. We set up camp on the Green River at the base of Split Mountain Gorge. Pitching the darkroom tent was a simple matter with the aid of three people--my wife and two boys. We each dug a six foot pole into the ground, draped the canopy over the poles, strung out guy lines on each pole and to keep light from coming underneath weighed down the enclosure with rocks. Presto, it was set up. A double flap permitted easy access. Once the darktent was set up I took the river water and mixed it with a pint of HC 110 to make a 1/2 gallon of stock solution.
One of the hazards of working in an airtight enclosure is that it's impossible to breathe. One of the accounts I read of the early photographers covered this little detail. But Weston Naef, photography curator of the Metropolitan Museum which published his "Era of Exploration," believes the photographers who used wagon darkrooms had provisions for baffled vents. I had no such apparatus so after about ten minutes in my darktent I got a little delirious and the heat became unbearable as the temperature rose rapidly.
Thereafter the only way I could work was to develop two rolls at a time with newly mixed cold developer. To wash the film I anchored the film at both ends with stainless steel spring clips and set them in a rock basin in the river. The downstream current automatically washed the film. This is the same way it was done 100 years ago in the wilderness, I then simply hung the film on a line. Early photographers did the same thing.
The film dried rapidly and there was never any problem with dust, dirt, scratches or bubbles. The film was evenly developed and dried fast. The way I handled the film was abusive and it is amazing how well Kodak 35mm film can take punishment. Each roll was immediately cut into lengths of six and carefully catalogued since I did not make contacts on this trip. My technique was downright amateurish compared to the way photographers worked in the field 100 years ago.
Once the work was finished it was a simple matter of dismantling the equipment, cleaning it and storing it again in the trunk of the car for the long trip home.
Once the work was finished it was a simple matter of dismantling the equipment, cleaning it and storing it again in the trunk of the car for the long trip home.
Once the work was finished it was a simple matter of dismantling the equipment, cleaning it and storing it again in the trunk of the car for the long trip home.
Once the work was finished it was a simple matter of dismantling the equipment, cleaning it and storing it again in the trunk of the car for the long trip home.
