Colin Dullaghan's photos

Leelanau County, Michigan

Neighborhood to come, Johnson County, Indiana

From a roll that sat forgotten in my Argus C3 for the better part of a year, and mostly consisted of grossly underexposed scenes. This one, though, struck me.

As a gift to my sister, I promised to photograph her son. Of the ten shots on the roll from that day, this was my favorite. A lot of credit, though, should really go to Grayson's grandma, who elicited this smile as she crouched just to my left. Baby photography is hard! Technical notes: Wanting to use natural light, I loaded a roll of Ilford Delta 3200 in the Mamiya RB67. For a narrow depth of field and flattering effect, I used a 180mm lens. Even with the fast film, I had trouble shooting above 1/30th of a second in the window light. (Another surprise was a side effect of the low-light setting: His pupils were almost completely dilated! I'm not sure why I didn't anticipate that. In a couple of the pictures, the whites of his eyes weren't visible at all, leading my wife to observe, "Um, he kind of looks like a puppet.") The biggest thing I learned from this, though, was that Ilford 3200 should really be shot at ISO 800, or so, unless you're using a special developer. I used my usual 1+100 Rodinal, and got thin negatives with tons of grain. Ah well, I kind of like the effect -- or, at least, I've convinced myself that I do. At any rate, unless I get that special developer, I now know of no way to shoot portraits in room light with an RB67. Which is kind of disappointing. The camera's so versatile, I've always told myself that there's nothing it can't do besides fit in your pocket!

Still getting the hang of lith printing, but really enjoying the process of discovery. Similarly, I'm not really a fan of posting a flatbed scan of a darkroom print, but I don't see a way around it! This is a shot of a building called Lone Hall, on the campus of Arsenal Technical high school in Indianapolis. The clouds this afternoon were too dramatic to ignore, and this stately old structure just called out for a picture. The 180mm made for a dramatic portrait, shooting from ground level as I was, and I ended up really liking the picture. With lith, the paper seems to make as big a difference as anything else, so I'll note that this was printed on Fomatone MG Classic 542, warm tone, baryta base. In person, the texture is really appealing, and the image looks almost luminescent. Looking forward to further tinkering! (So far it's maddening trying to get cloud definition without losing all detail in the shadows…)

Stagville Plantation, in Durham County, North Carolina, was once one of the largest plantation complexes in the American South. Liggett and Meyers Tobacco Company actually owned and worked this land for decades before donating it to the state.

I have a policy against buying cameras just to look at, and indeed I made good on my promise to actually shoot pictures with this one. But it's still awfully fun to look at.

I was determined to shoot with a Kodak No. 3A Autographic camera I found in an antique shop. It was in pretty rough condition, and I'm not sure the seller even knew how to open it! But, I figured, a dark cloth wrapped around the bellows should minimize the many light leaks, stopping the lens way down should cut down on my having to guess about focus too much, and some foam-rubber spacers should let me spool a roll of 120 film across the (enormous) film gate. I was right! Next experiment may be 4x5 ortho film -- I won't even have to cut it down; the back of this camera is *that* big.

Life is not easy. It's especially not easy when you're five. Everything's big. You know the rules, but you don't *make* the rules. There are things you want to happen that you cannot make happen. You must negotiate with people who don't speak your language, or think the way you do, and you almost always lose. Even a family camping trip.. happens in a place you've never been. And that's not cool and fun; it's scary. The car moves and moves and moves and then stops and you're there. Somewhere. Dad and Mom pile out and unpack and pitch the tent as you read, and snack, and wait. You may try to help. But mostly you wait. To see what will happen to you next. If it's hot, maybe at the end of your wait is a walk down to the lake. Everyone's ready for something easy -- easier than setting up a tent and worrying about how tonight will be. And when you get to the lake, you want to go in. Of course you do. Dad goes in with you. Mom didn't bring her suit; it'll be another 20 or 30 minutes until she lets herself be talked into swimming in her underwear with you. For now it's you and Dad. You're working on swimming. You're probably getting it. It feels like you're getting it. You can paddle now, excitedly, and… just… barely… keep your face above the surface. Some of Raccoon Lake gets into your mouth, which you just learned to keep closed as you paddle. Barely. Dad says if you swim to him, he'll catch you. You can hold his hands or put your arms around his neck and he will hold you up, keep you up from the lake. So you swim out. Away from Dad. Across Raccoon Lake, paddling and struggling and, because you cannot help it, smiling. Because this is hard. And you're still doing it. Because the water feels good. Because you are proud of yourself. Because your mom is on the shore, watching you. Because you know that Dad will catch you. At the end of your paddling, when your strength is half gone and your courage all the way exhausted, you circle back and return. Dad is waiting, he is there. But of course he has a camera. He'll put the camera down before you get to him. You know that you will make it. You know that you have succeeded. You feel the sun shining on your face, and, because your ears are underwater, you hear the distant humming of ski boats. You feel the water holding you up, just a little, not enough. But some. Almost there. Almost there.

Lakeside, Michigan