Dalton Rooney

Two years ago, I took a trip that changed my life. My wife and I were traveling together in Italy—being tourists, visiting family, eating great food—and out of nowhere, I realized that I was meant to be a photographer. It was a bolt out of the blue and I had absolutely no idea what it meant. I had a small point and shoot camera with me at the time and knew nothing at all about photography. But I returned from that trip somehow knowing what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

In the two years since, I’ve been continually surprised by how prescient that realization was. I’ve gone deep, deep down the rabbit hole, spending entire days in the art library at Brooklyn College, devouring book after book of photography. I remember the exact moment I discovered the work of Harry Callahan. The same goes for Robert Adams, George Tice, Walker Evans, and Stephen Shore. Oh my god, Stephen Shore. There was an entire world that I had no idea existed, and now I am completely immersed in it.

I’ve looked at thousands of pictures in the last two years and taken thousands of pictures myself. I’ve often been unsteady and unsure of myself, like a newborn deer taking my first steps. I’ve taken some wrong turns along the way, but for the most part I have steadily improved. I know an awful lot about the technical requirements of making a good photo. I know how to put together a composition. I am developing a visual style and learning to work within a theme. But most importantly, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned about the great unknowable questions that live inside of me, and I’ve learned that I can get ever closer to answering those questions with a camera in my hand. I don’t think that I’ll ever get all the way to the bottom of all of this, or at least I hope I don’t. What do you do with a Rubik’s Cube that’s already been solved? You put it on the shelf and admire it. But I do know that every big step along the way leads to art-making that satisfies me on the deepest level.

I’ve just returned from another two weeks in Italy. Much like the last trip, it was revelatory. I have spent the last two years preparing the foundation for this moment, and I feel like I have taken that next step. I worked myself to the point of exhaustion. I climbed mountains, crossed rivers, and walked for days on end. At one point, I was fairly certain that I was going to die. (Never leave for a day-long hike in 95+ degree heat without bringing as much water as you can possibly carry… words to live by.)

I’ve only seen a couple of contact sheets so far, but I am falling in love. I’ve already noticed certain new patterns of seeing that emerged as I became more attuned to the landscape and to the climate. I think these patterns will be emphasized when I begin printing these photos in platinum in the fall. I will share a few images once I’ve gotten further along with developing and scanning, and then I’ll move on to printing the portfolio. I am very much looking forward to watching this series of photographs take shape and releasing them into the world.

This is definitely my last post until I get back. I have a plane to catch, after all!

I realized as I was getting everything together that packing photographic equipment for a trip is hard. How do you decide what goes and what stays? How do you optimize for weight and space? How do I make sure nothing gets broken? Have I forgotten anything?

Of course I’ve forgotten something. But I won’t know what it is until I’m already on the plane. Then I’ll smack myself on the forehead and say “Dag nabbit, I forgot my discomboobulator! ” If you learn one thing from reading this blog, it should be “Never forget your discomboobulator.”

Here’s a snapshot of what I’m bringing with me.

Let’s see…

• Hasselblad 500c/m.
• YashicaMat 124G (for color film, mostly, but also as a backup in a pinch).
• Manfrotto 190XDB tripod with 486 RC2 ballhead (the 055XProB is just too big).
• Minolta Spotmeter F (with extra battery) plus an old General Electric selenium meter for emergencies.
• Various filters, hoods, cable release.
• Trusty notebook.
• 31 rolls of Ilford HP5 120 (should be good for 14 days, right? Two rolls a day is a lot for me) plus three rolls of Fuji Pro 160S color negative film just for fun.
• Spare 120 take-up reel. I’ve never actually needed one of these, but, why not?
• Screwdriver in case the Hasselblad locks up.
• Lens cleaning tissue.
• Kitchen timer for night photography.
• Italian phrasebook.
• Bubble level.
• Baseball hat (Brooklyn Cyclones, yeah!), lip balm, chewing gum, sunglasses, canteen, granola bars, sunblock.
• A nice Tamrac Adventure 7 backpack to put it all in. (Well, some of it will be checked, but you get the idea.)

So what am I forgetting???

Photograph by Dalton Rooney

I am leaving the heat of New York City for the heat of Sicily for a couple of weeks, so this is likely to be my last post before I go. I should have lots of exposed film when I return, but I won’t be posting very many photos right away. If all goes well, I will be printing the photos from this trip in platinum/palladium in the fall and creating a nice portfolio. That will be fun to watch, I am sure that learning platinum and palladium will give me lots to blog about when I get back.

See you in July!

Part of the fun of finally completing the “Taking a Picture” series is that now I get to give away a free print. I put the name of anyone who left a comment on the series into a hat and randomly selected one, and the winner is…Kohlton Ervin, from Meade, Washington.

Congratulations, Kohlton! The print will be in the mail this week. Kohlton is a photographer himself and you can check out his work on Flickr.

Thank you to everyone who participated in the series, or even just read along. I feel like I learned a lot along the way, and I hope you did too.

Photograph by Dalton Rooney

Photograph by Dalton Rooney

When I bought my SX-70 for $20 on eBay, I really had no idea that I would be so smitten with the camera and the pictures that I am taking with it. I have found over the last few weeks that I have gotten better at predicting what the “polaroid effect” will do to an image and actively seeking out subjects that will benefit from that touch. I have been so happy with the results that I have created a new gallery in the “Current Work” section of the website. I have also set a goal for myself to take enough of these by the end of the summer to compile a small book, which I will probably make available through Blurb.com or another print-on-demand service.

It is fun to let go from time to time and improvise a bit with the camera. I had gotten so used to the razor sharp, perfectly composed photographs I tend to make with my Hasselblad that I had kind of forgotten that photography can be much more loose, where perfectly straight lines and tight compositions take a backseat to the overall “feel” of the image. It is freeing, and I also think it is giving me a much needed break so I can recharge before jumping into black and white when I go to Sicily next week.

Photograph by Dalton Rooney

I was a bit surprised when I showed this photograph to my wife this morning and she said that she had seen it already. After all, I just took it yesterday afternoon, and developed and scanned it last night after she had already gone to bed. But she is convinced that I have taken this picture before.

Now, I know that I haven’t taken this exact photograph before, but she brings up a good point. I spend an awful lot of time walking the streets of Brooklyn looking for interesting sidewalk scenes. This one caught my eye, like many of the scenes I photograph, because of some interesting geometric details: the vertical line of the window and the door on the left, the twin satellite dishes, the checkmark made by the sign and its shadow and the door that floats just above it. This is one of the reasons I love the view camera—it forces you to take your time and allows you to be very precise in arranging the scene. It’s not just about the lines and shapes and tones that make up the picture; there is something a bit melancholy here in the sagging roof and drooping wires and dirty stucco that says something about this neighborhood and its place in the world.

One of the things I often do in my pictures is empathize with inanimate objects. It has to do with how I see the landscape, and how I put together a picture. I won’t take a picture unless I can find some kind of connection, some kind of personality in the objects I am photographing. To me, this is a photograph full of possibilities, and I could take a hundred more like this and find something new in each one. To most people, though, it’s probably just a picture of the side of a building. One of many I have taken, which probably isn’t all that different than the work of a lot of other photographers.

I guess I am trying to bridge the gap between how I see my own work and what the rest of the world sees. When one of my professors tells me that I am printing too dark, I bristle. It’s one thing if that were a technical issue, but as an artistic decision I feel that it’s necessary to stand by my work, even if it isn’t a decision that makes everyone happy.

Which brings me to my final question: how much of your art is driven by personal, creative goals, and how much do you let the others influence what you do?

I’ve been planning to sit down and write this for quite a while, but I’ve been keeping very busy with other things. The fact that it is currently hailing outside has given me the chance to spend some quality time indoors, though. Much like my previous post on scanning, I am going to try to avoid going into excruciating detail on every step of my digital printing workflow, because I don’t think it will be worth reading for most people. The general ideas are more important, and I am glad to answer any specific questions in the comments or offline. That’s not to say this won’t be a very technical post, and a long one at that. Please remember that I am giving this final print away to someone who has commented on one of the posts in the series, so feel free to drop a line even if it’s just to say hello.

Black and white inkjet printing felt like a very daunting subject when I first approached it. Two years ago, I had a low-end HP inkjet printer which made acceptable 8×10 color prints, but was absolutely lousy for black and white. It was impossible to get profiles for non-HP papers, and there was practically no information about archival permanence for the paper and inks I was using. In short, I wanted to create black and white prints on matte paper that looked as good as or better than what I could produce in the darkroom, and I wanted them to last a very long time. So I took the plunge into the deep waters of selecting a printer and building a solid black and white digital printing workflow.
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Photograph by Dalton Rooney

Photograph by Dalton Rooney

Photograph by Dalton Rooney

I am quite happy with the way these Polaroid photographs from the last couple of months have been coming out. The addition of color, compared to the black and white I usually shoot, feels light and easy; the freedom of using a handheld camera again is something else altogether. When I look back to a couple of years ago, taking pictures on these exact same streets, I am pretty amazed. I’ve been taking this same route to work for years now, but I feel like I’m seeing everything just a bit differently these days.

Photograph by Dalton Rooney

When I was four or five, my grandparents moved into a new house in Joshua Tree, California. Shortly after they moved in, they discovered that the previous owner, who had built the house, had died at home just a year before.

Needless to say, as soon as they found that out, all kinds of weird shit started happening. I should have mentioned at the beginning of this story that everyone in my family is completely mental.

Guests would remark on the strange noises they heard during the night. Someone insisted that they had seen the reflection of a face in the china cabinet in the dining room. Of course, this being the seventies, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all high as a kite on goofballs, but still, it was enough to put a chill into my four-year-old heart. And then, the weirdest thing of all happened; something that is still a complete mystery to me to this day.

My grandparents had a big group of people over for Thanksgiving dinner. Just as the meal was about to be served, my grandmother pulled out her Polaroid camera. Everyone leaned in and she snapped a picture of us at the table, and then, as the photograph developed, she gasped. There was a glowing white face, with bright red eyes, reflected in the glass of the china cabinet behind us.

I am getting goosebumps on my arms as I type this. My grandparents still have the picture, somewhere in storage. I don’t believe much in “paranormal phenomena”, but that picture gives me the heebie-jeebies to this day.

Truth is a funny thing. At this point, most of us are sophisticated enough to know that even a straight photograph doesn’t do much more than resemble the truth of the event it portrays. By the time an image has been filtered through the photographer’s eye, the camera’s lens, onto the film and back out into the world, even the simplest subjects have been filled with an awful lot of meaning. And yet, that unsophisticated family photograph—surely it must have been some strange kind of glare from the flash? or a practical joke played on us all by my grandfather?—has a tremendously deep meaning to me. It captures an important time in my childhood. It tells me something very specific about my family. So, whether or not that photograph holds any universal truth about the existence of ghosts, it certainly holds a great deal of personal truth for me.