Working closely with the wet-plate photographer Robert Kenney, BCreative develops content for his company blog that engages the history, ideas and emotions sparking his work.
Developed in the early 1830s, during that great nineteenth century age of scientific advancement, photography was an instant hit. A fantastical phenomenon. Light was suddenly given substance and the face of the world changed.
For the first 20 years a photograph was a daguerreotype, an image rendered on a polished silver-plated sheet of copper. Unfortunately, like many first iterations of an idea, the daguerrotype had some drawbacks despite its amazing propertties. Since only a positive could be made directly to the copper substrate, the image could not be endlessly reproduced as with a negative. And the image appeared flinty and was easily marred – most daguerreotypes were sealed in decorative cases for preservation. It was also an expensive and dangerous process, particularly as the photographer was required to use a mercury vapour to develop the image which often lead to neurological disorders. But the results seemed to justify the risks.
In 1851, Frederic Scott Archer, a genial Brit, who worked as a sometimes sculptor and itinerant chemist, came up with the formula that would allow the emulsion collodion (then used as a clotting agent to treat the wounded during war) to be used for a much more ethereal idea. The wet-plate collodion process was cheaper, more efficient, less dangerous and opened the field of photography to everyone rather than just a wealthy elite or studio audience. In my opinion, the collodion process allows for as much craft as chemistry to be involved in the making of an image. But first you have to know the rules before you can bend them.
To get what could be described as a perfect collodion print, you have to follow a slow, methodical process. The first step is to deburr, or sand, the edges of a clear glass plate to prevent the collodion mixture from running off the sides. The glass needs to be thoroughly cleaned to ensure that the collodion adheres smoothly to the plate. Any surface imperfections will be seen in the final image. Once the emulsion has sufficiently gelled to the plate, it is immersed in a silver nitrate solution for several minutes to sensitize the plate to light.
During this preparation, the subject is waiting in place, practicing what it takes to not move for a minute or more. Before I prepare a fresh plate, I will work collaboratively with my subject to position them in a way that they feel comfortable.
In the 1800s articulating arms were used to keep a subject’s head in place and I’ve found these useful myself though I make do with a microphone stand. It looks like a torture device but it does the trick.
When I return with the wet plate, the model will have typically found their own position. Once the plate is placed in the rear opening of the 10 x 10 camera and the back is sealed, I take off the thick leather lens cap and the plate begins to be exposed. There is no shutter or iris. I set my timer for anywhere from a half minute to a minute and a half. Somehow in that suspension of time, magic happens. Or can happen. There is the risk of ruin at every step.
In the dark room, the glass plate is developed by free-hand pouring ferrous sulphates and then the revealed image is fixed to the plate by immersing it in a chemical bath. This act of the image blooming to life is revelatory – you have no idea what you will see until that moment. At my studio, we call this the “dramatic reveal” like they do on home decor shows when something that is well-known to the viewer (say, their favourite room) gets re-imagined. I think with the collodion process I am re-imagining who these people are and freeing them from the boundaries of time. I haven’t had anyone cry yet, but they are certainly transfixed. As am I.
In my opinion, a perfect collodion print – one without surface markings and where the subject stands in a smooth pool of light – may not be a perfect image. I’m still learning how to run ragged with the rules and allow beauty to be found in a broken place. What I’m doing is a personal act of discovery as much as a portrait of someone else. The collodion process allows me to continue a spiritual journey toward authenticity while also playing around with the chemistry of light. I feel like I’m now living in my own age of wonders.
