Love in the Time of Kodachrome

The break-up is always harder when you realize in later years … just how much you miss the relationship but not necessarily the girl.

This distracting epiphany presented itself in the middle of a wedding a few years ago while shooting some bridal portraits. She posed for me in a fantastically rustic soybean field, mottled with the golden-brown texture and shadows of fall. This is the sweet-spot of the day, I thought to myself. In a few minutes, the window for the perfect shot will gently fade into the shadows. I motioned to my assistant to angle the bride’s position so that she was back-lit against the setting sun. Classic bride portraiture. My dad would have loved this setting.

Feeling oddly nostalgic, I turned to him again. “You know, the warm colors today would look awesome on Kodachrome film, don’t you think?” Tilting his head in the puzzled way of a young kid, he turned to me, lowered his reflector, and innocently asked, “do you mean, the Kodachrome iPhone app?

No … no, not the app … the film.” He looked right through me, befuddled … as if I’d just told him I was born in the back of a Model-T Ford. At that precise moment, I realized that an entire generation of kids have now grown up without ever experiencing the romance that makes photography such a pure and adventurous art. And with the ever-increasing bridle that technology is leveraging over our creativity, I fear they never will.

Did you ever use film to shoot a wedding?” He condescendingly asked. “What was that like?

Fighting back the tears that precede the absurdly lucid moment when one realizes his age, I weakly smiled back at him. “Yeah, I shot weddings on film. We didn’t have apps back then … I guess you could say film was my first love.”

Dude, that must have been really intense. You know, not ever knowing if you just shot an entire roll of crap. I couldn’t do it.” Picking up the reflector to angle some light back upon her face, he asked me the question — about the big break-up. “When did you do it? When did you stop using film?

Firing a few frames and directing my bride through the last series of shots, I considered my break-up with film and how the beauty of it simply vanished with digital. It was hard, I won’t sugar-coat this. I mean, how difficult is the break-up when you’ve been together for a lifetime? How long is the mix-tape of memories and nostalgic paths you both traveled? Pretty long, I think to myself. So, if I could teach my assistant a few things about the love of photography … before digital … this is what I want him to know (and secretly wish he could experience).

The Adventure: Film is to photography what Indiana Jones is to adventure — they’re inexorably and timelessly linked. Photography should be an adventure, after all. There should be some mystery and trepidation about the final image — whether the exposure was correct and if I predicted shadow and light accurately in my mind’s eye. Ansel Adams was known to spend hours and even days meditating over a particular image. And his exposures revealed a genius that simply can’t be contained in a Canon exposure algorithm. Even if you could, what’s romantic about that? On the other hand, what’s more romantic than spending an evening on the roof of an old van, watching the light dance across the face of a mountain?

War correspondents in Vietnam occasionally processed their film in the field under the grim protection of a jacket or bivouac. The wrong chemical mixture at the incorrect temperature and the film is ruined. The satellite uplinks correspondents use today are cool, I get that. But there’s nothing particularly adventurous happening — just bits of data dancing around the atmosphere. For me, the only adventure in the digital age is sitting around wondering if the strange, grinding noises coming from my dying hard drive will eat my pictures — bits and numbers simply vanishing into the matrix. I can control a chemical mixture, but I have no control over this hard drive. In the end, love for something is a product of romantic tension and anticipation … not outright fear.

The Reveal: Digital photography has trampled the romance our creative senses playfully conjure for our imagination. And since today’s camera provides an instant preview, histogram, exposure advice, and a magical card that holds thousands of images, I suppose we don’t actually need sense. But that’s exactly the problem! Photography is part math, part composition, and, most of all, part magic. Digital tragically negates math and magic because the result is instantaneous. But like seeing a bride for the first time, the wait inspires and engenders our passions.

During the reception that night, I noticed a group of men standing around in clusters staring at their camera preview screens — robotically assessing and deleting pictures. We call this Chimping … or, the art of ogling over one’s own creation. Not a very loving term since it reminds us that we’ve become slaves to the histogram and blinded to the perpetually changing light, motion, and life around us.

Before the break-up, the reveal — the moment in time when I finally witnessed a particular image — took hours or even days. It was the truly magical part of the process. And that’s the way love should be … mysterious, slow, and full of anticipation. So when I finally printed a freshly developed image under the cool red glow of a darkroom safe-light, the anxiety and trepidation of the wait always seemed worth it.

The Romance: Musicians don’t write songs about compact flash cards. Paul Simon wrote one about Kodachrome … and it’s timeless. Beat that digital.

{Digital Film}: Let’s clear something up right now. Digital film is not film. It’s numbers. Really, it’s not even that. It’s a kind of magnet waiting to pull the numbers into temporary storage — a byte-driven warehouse. Numbers feels like a cold slab of marble to me, and I’m sure I won’t remember anything magical about a compact flash card. But film touches the senses. Turning to my assistant before the cake-cutting, I began thinking about the precise day my dad told me it was good luck to smell the cartridge after flipping the top off of the film canister. “Did you know that film smells rich like freshly baked cinnamon rolls when you tear open the foil packaging?”

He looked at me — again puzzled. “Why do you care about the smell?

Because love is about the connections we make to something meaningful. And our senses are all meaningful. I remember that day because it was my first photography lesson as a young boy … and it was with my father. Will you remember the first time you cracked open the plastic case around a compact flash card?

The Light: Everything about photography is embodied in the light. To help make this concept easier, digital cameras provide a handy gadget called a histogram — the tool that displays the value of highlight and shadow with a simple bell curve. Young photographers live by this measurement. And it is indeed handy to see before making a final exposure. The problem is that we’re replacing the patient observation required to judge light and shadow with a two-dimensional and incomplete algorithm. With film, we used to study the light. Indeed, we tried to understand it. But like a failing relationship, we’ve given up our senses in lieu of the quick fix.

The year I broke up with film, I met a disc jockey at a wedding. Shortly before the bouquet toss, he approached me and asked about the investment required to start a digital photography business. Absurdly, he admitted that he had no experience but had heard that Photoshop could cover up his inexperience. In his eyes, Photoshop was more critical than the camera itself. And this is sadly representative of today’s young photographers.

Turning to the young disc jokey, I shared my advice with the tone, I’m sure, of a 6th grade grammar teacher: “Photoshop can’t light the photograph for you, it doesn’t work that way. In the same way,  a good enlarger is meaningless without training, or, a fancy new strobe is about as useful as a boat anchor without the ability manipulate the quality and volume of light.” At that point, I knew it would be a hard break-up. No, I didn’t care so much about the film itself … my artistic girl of sorts. But my relationship with the medium would be forever linked to my passion for the art.

The Film: Photography is a poetic endeavor — the expression of which is made solely by the film that captures the image. Before the compact flash card, every film had a voice … every bit of emulsion offered its own unique color and passion. What love I had for film was innocently contained in each one of those canisters, and they were all unique lovers. Ilford black and white — its soft, rich, and smooth tones remind me of a jazz bar at midnight. Kodak Tri-X Pan — a gritty, black and white classic. Its grain and shadows are the stuff of a late night rock concert. Kodak Portra — amazingly faithful representation of life with a touch of color. Like Kodachrome, Portra is the film to have a long, trusting relationship with. Kodachrome — the classic. Nothing made an image warmer or classier than Kodachrome. … like a first love, no app or action will ever come close. I’ve even heard there are apps that mimic Kodachrome.

***

Packing up my bag for the night, I sent my assistant home. As I started the long walk to my car — laden with bags and stands — a guest stopped me, raising her arm to show me a plastic bag full of gadgets. “Camera guy, do you want some extra table cameras?

Looking in the bag, I noticed that it contained 15 or 20 disposable film cameras — Kodak’s early answer to digital. “Thanks for the offer, no. I’m not sure who even processes these things any more.

Yeah, everyone brought digital cameras. Nobody even touched these. I guess they’re just old news now …”

Circle portrait of Adrienne Maples for verification purposes.

Adrienne Maples

 

Kansas City photographer, Adrienne Maples, weaves together powerful narratives with her photographs to create mood and evoke emotion.

 

She a board member of AIGA and KCAC. As a committee member of KCDW, she organized the 2024 talks: The A.I. Asset, Creator as Curator.

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About

the Author

Adrienne Maples

 

Kansas City commercial photographer, Adrienne Maples, weaves together powerful narratives with her photographs to create mood and evoke emotion.

 

She's an AI enthusiast, passionate about teaching others how to use technology responsibly for the greater good. Known for her 'spunk & pizazz', she directs & curates images to transform mediocrity into the extraordinary.

 

She a board member of AIGA and KCAC. As a committee member of KCDW, she organized the 2024 talks: The A.I. Asset, Creator as Curator.

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