I blow the negative with a blast of canned air. The negative carrier rests on a small light table and I bend over with my loupe and look for dust. Damn, I think. Still a couple of pieces of lint. I blow the negative carrier again with air, doing my best to rid the negative of all dust. It'll be a white spot that I'll have to touch up later. If I don't get it now I'll have to spot it later and my spotfixing a print always looks like I did something. I look again through my loupe at the negative. I think I got it now. I think. I hope. I'll find out once I do a test print or two.
I place the negative carrier holding the neg, in the color enlarger between the lamp and the focusing lens. I gently pull down the lamp housing to secure the carrier. I've already set up my easel to print a 7 x 7 inch image on 8 x 10 inch paper. Now I just need to focus it in. I turn on the enlarger lamp and crank the enlarger head up and down to get the rough size ofan image and then I get down close to the easel with my focusing mirror, reaching high above my head to the fine focusing knob on the enlarger. No filters right now. F stop wide open for focusing. Back and forth, between almost sharp and spot on sharp. Looking for the grain to pop in the mirror. Pop. There it is.
I stop the enlarger down to F 16, very gently turning the aperture, not wanting to move the enlarger very much. This is a very old Omega color head enlarger and it doesn't like to be bumped. Very delicate, this old machine. It already has a threaded bar that runs from the frame through the old sheet rock wall to the north. This jury rigging is there to add stability and hopefully keep it level. And when a train goes by the whole room shakes, enlarger included. I've often thought it would be fun to exposure photo paper as the trains go by, just to see how fuzzy the image would get. The Toole Shed's north wall borders the tracks.
I'm in the Toole Shed Darkroom, here in the Toole Shed, in the Historic Warehouse District of Downtown Tucson. Doesn't that sound quaint? Well, not really. Across the street is Pleasure World, a video porno store that fronts a male prostitution business. Perhaps the only porno store in America that shares a common wall with a courthouse, in this case, Tucson City Court. The courthouse parking lot is where most of the night time prostitution business is transacted, if that's the right word. James and other Toole Shed residents have called the police on many occasions but they don't seem interested. Really pisses off James.
Speaking of James, it's through his generosity that I'm printing tonight, and other nights too. Maybe a little history about the Toole Shed and the Warehouse District is in order.
Back in the early 1980's,The City of Tucson (The City) and Arizona Department of Transportation (ADOT) decided to widen and improve the Aviation Parkway, a relatively unused East-West thoroughfare that runs parallel to the Southern Pacific railroad tracks, east of downtown. A city bond came up and The City was voted the money for the construction. Then, the City and ADOT decided that since now that the Aviation Parkway was going to be so wide and nice and could soon perhaps relieve some of Tucson's traffic congestion, it would make sense to connect it to Interstate 10 that runs just west of Downtown. About a mile separates the Interstate from the west end of Aviation. Only problem was how to get the roads together. The City and ADOT came up with another bond issue to get the money to make The Last Mile. They were confident that it would pass. In preparation, ADOT bought all of the land between the Aviation Parkway and I-10, except the Tucson Electric Power (TEP) building, a large eight story structure. They'd worry about TEP later. On the land they did purchase were a series of old warehouses. Legend has it that they were owned by a number of prominent Tucsonans and that ADOT paid way over market value for them. I believe it's called a Sweetheart Deal. Anyway, ADOT bought the land and the old buildings and the bond came and It went down. Down hard to defeat. The people spoke and said No to The Last Mile. Now, The City of Tucson had egg on its face and ADOT was stuck with old rundown buildings it paid too much money for. But the City and ADOT held onto hope that, in the future, another bond would pass to pay for the road and for construction. It's now the year 2002 and we still don't have the Last Mile. A spiffier Aviation Parkway but no Last Mile. But it ended up being good for us artists. I'll explain.
ADOT was stuck with these buildings but they couldn't do anything will them for they were slated for demolition for the road, but the road never came, and the warehouses just lay fallow. The homeless began to reside in them but that was about their only use. Then some artists contacted ADOT in the late 80's and said that they would love to use the warehouses for art studios. We'll put in all the sweat equity and we'll clean them up, fix them up and pay you all a little rent, the artists told ADOT. And they won't be such an eye sore, and you'd be helping the artists of Tucson have affordable studio space. ADOT agreed. James, James' wife Julia, Dave, and a number of other people went into the warehouse on the corner of Toole and 6th and began the long process of making it livable and workable. They named the building The Toole Shed, after the avenue outside and the tools inside. They have been on a month to month lease for over ten years. ADOT fixed the roof this year but not until much asking and pleading. Rent is paid infrequently but enough. ADOT is reasonably happy in that no news is good news, and Dave, James, Julia and the rest of the residents just do repairs as they come up. Except the roof but that was a big expensive job.
The Toole Shed has some legends told about it too. Perhaps true. Perhaps myth. Perhaps a bit of both. It is said that Air America, the CIA-run airline that sent goods and arms through Laos during the Vietnam War, ran shipments through the Toole Shed on their way out of the country. It is also said that during Prohibition, that there was a speakeasy in the basement of the Toole Shed, where porno films were shown and bathtub liquor was served. The Shriners, at one time, even stored their sequined costumes in the Toole Shed.
Now, The Toole shed is home for over 15 art studios, a darkroom and most recently, The Museum of Contemporary Art, a project of James, Julia, Dave and other patrons and artists.
The darkroom was a creation of James and Julia's hard work. Story goes that Julia built the sinks for James as a birthday present, and that James assembled the counters, scrounged the cabinets, and found the enlarger. The color processor, it's said, was brought by somebody and then just left there, or something like that. Stories in the Toole Shed do one of two things, get bigger and more elaborate, so a story of a mouse becomes a story of a moose, or they shrink and become very small, so a story of a art couple drinking, fighting and fucking all the time, just fades away after they are no longer tenants. Anyway, the darkroom is huge for a darkroom, a trapezoidal shaped room with a high ceiling and plenty of room of dancing and moving around. James is a tall man who prints color photos that are 30 inches x 36 inches. Great big Prints. So the darkroom is big. A Rock and Roll darkroom.
This night, Steve Roach's "Lost Pieces" are playing on the boom box in the darkroom as I focus the enlarger. I'm printing Color tonight. The old color processor is clunking away on the other side of the room. It is old, but it does just fine. Most times that is. No replenisher reservoir which is a bit of a drag, for the chemicals become old in about four days, but you canstill do quite a bit of printing in four days. I'm printing black and white negatives on Fuji Crystal Archive Color Paper. 11 by 14s and a few 16 x 20s, mostly. Good sizes. The red light isn't on, like in black and white paper printing though. With color paper, it's complete darkness.
I turn out all the lights, and take out an 8 x 10 inch piece of paper from the Fuji Box, and by touch, place it in the easel below the enlarger. I check to make sure the Fuji box is closed, to ward against light leaking the paper and accidentally trashing it. I reach toward the timer to my left that has been set for two seconds of exposure light. With my right hand, I find an 8 x 10 piece of cardboard and place it over 4/5 of the paper that is to be exposed. I hit the timer with my left forefinger. Two seconds of F 16 light and image fall on the easel and the paper. I move the cardboard off the easel about a 1/5, about an inch and a half, and hit the timer again. Two more seconds. Back off a 1/5. Hit it again. Two more. Back off another 1/5. Hit the timer switch again. Two seconds of"Hoop Dance #2" falls on the Fuji paper. Now take the cardboard completed away from the enlarger. Hit it. The last two seconds. Dark. Total Dark now.
I lift the top of the easel and take out the 8 x 10 and I walk in the complete darkness to the Hope Color Processor 15 feet away. There is a tiny piece of fluorescent tape on the processor to guide me, but it's pretty old hat to me now. I've walked back and forth in the dark, a lot in this darkroom. Like a blind person, my body remembers how many steps it is to the processor, where the handle to the lid is, how to get back to the enlarger, etc. Half the fun to me is the process of making these prints. Making magic in the dark. And part of the magic is working in the full darkness.
I place the 8 x 10 in the slot that feeds the paper through the processor, close the lid, and walk in the dark to the light switch on the other side of the room. I turn it on, and it is instantly big time bright. I have seven minutes to wait until the print comes out on the other end of the processor. I light a smoke and sway to the drums on the Roach tape and think back to that night nears Owl's Head when I shot the Hoop Dance #2.
Not much Moon to speak of. A Half Moon sliver to the east, obscured in cloud. I wonder if this'll work. There is still some dusk to the west so I have time to set up the shot.
The massive rock of Owl's Head is a bit farther to the south than usual. I'm not at my usual sacred place, with the fire pit and big rock seats and the familiar ground. I'm north at a relatively unknown wash to me. But I need a wash with trees and this'll do just fine.
My Pathfinder is parked a bit in the desert, with just ehough room to pass, on this one lane 4 x 4 dirt path. I don't think I need to worry about company. I've been coming out here for a while and have only seen folk out here at night a couple of times. But famous last words, I park the truck in the road and sure enough someone will come. And I need the truck to say still for me, for most of the evening.
I pop the hatchback and pull out the hula hoop, the power converter and a hell of a lot of extension cord. I go inside of the cab and connect the converter to the cigarette lighter and look for the power light on the unit. Good. It's glowing. I go and get three rolls of drop cords. One by One, I unloop the cords,and plug the first cord into the converter and slowly walking down the hill to the wash, connecting the second and third cords as I go. I continue through the wash bottom and behind some small Mesquite trees and off to the east, to the estimated furthest distance I'll go with the hula hoop. It'll be easier to pull cord back to the truck then to pull the cord away.
I start up the truck and let it idle. I grab the hula hoop with its 100 wrapped Christmas lights and walk through the wash to the end of the extension cord. I plug it in.
"Wow" I say out loud, as it brightly lights the wash floor.
I think this'll be plenty of light.
The Rollei is already on its tripod on a nearby hill, with depth of field calculated, the focus 2/3 out, and the f stop at F 5.6. It's good to go. Now the hoop and cords are ready. Just need to wait a few more minutes for it to get a little bit darker but not full black. I may need a little ambient light from the just past setting Sun. Then again, maybe not. I'll shoot a lot tonight, to cover my ass.
Ten minutes pass.
"Ok. Let's do it" I say softly to myself.
God, let me know when I need to close the shutter for this is an almost moonless shoot. Help me God and my Gut too, to close the shutter after the right amount of time. Where am I?, I think. Here. What time is it? Now. These two questions usually tend to get me centered.
I walk up the hill to my Rollei and check to see if the lit hoop is out of the frame. Yep, it is. I open the shutter and walk back down to the wash. Grabbing the hula hoop, I swing it from left to right, back and forth, pulling the extension cord with my right hand as I dance through the wash. I hit a tree with the hoop.
"God damn it," I say.
I put the cords and the hoop back out of the frame to the left. I walk up the hill, close the shutter, advance the film, check again to see if the hoop is out of frame, and then open the shutter again. 'Slow, Stu. Dance with it. Dance.' I think to myself.
After returning to the hoop, I dance again through the wash, swinging the hoop. This time no tree. It felt good too, this dance. I drop the hoop far to the right and go up to my truck to check on the time. Some glow still to the west from the sun and some glow to the south from the distant city lights of Tucson. Hmm. 10 minutes should do. Well, I think, since the motor is running, let's listen to some tunes. Elvis Costello's new one is on the CD player. After ten minutes, I go to my camera and close the shutter. Looking at the sky, there is only the faint glow of the Tucson lights to the south. No light to speak of from the west and the Moon is still playing hide and seek in the clouds. Hell, let's do it anyway. I reposition the hoop to the East, open the shutter and dance again. I love the dancing part. I love this making of light curves and light lines. I place the hoop on the ground, outside of the frame, and again go to the truck. No tunes this time. I check the time and go for a walk up the road away from the wash. Twenty minutes this time.
Beautiful night. No rain lately. But plenty of cool air in the washes. Ten degrees warmer I'm guessing, as I leave the washes, then cool again descending into the next wash. Just lovely.
I turn around wondering if I can see the lit hoop. A hundred yards away or so, is the hoop, glowing through the Palo Verde and the Mesquite, looking like something from another time and place, creating a wondrously magical light. Pity, I think. Would be a nothing photograph from this distance. But it's a big time something experience, live. Right here. Right now.
I'm struck by my own work. That happens rarely, that I get reflective during a shoot, for I'm mostly afraid of not getting the shot I want. But from this distance, I'm more detached, yet better connected to the hula hoop of light. There's a good paradox, I think. A friend long ago said that when you find two seemingly contradictory truths, that that paradox in the middle, represents an even larger truth.
The Big Truth is what I'm after. Hopefully I bag a bit of that Truth tonight.
The 8 x 10 Fuji Crystal Archive flops into the exit tray of the processor. Looking at the test strip, I like the brown color and it appears that seven seconds of light from the enlarger is about right for a full 8 x 10. I turn out the light, load the easel, expose the paper and walk to the processor again. I get off course and hit a stool with my right big toe.
"Ouch" I say. Well, that hurt.
I make it to the Hope Processor and load the print into it. After placing a second piece of 8 x 10 paper in the enlarger easel, I expose another seven second print, for good measure. Darkness. Missing the stool this time, I make it to the Hope processor without incident. Feed it in. Turn on the light.
Seven minutes later, both prints are out. Seems a bit dark, I think.I'll expose at 6.6 seconds next time. Also, seems a little boring, the sepia color. Then I have an idea. I'm sure I'm not the first to think this, but I'm wondering what would happen if I burned in the sky from a black and white negative onto color paper. What color would it make? What if I use no filters during the burn? What then?
I try out my idea. I burn in the sky by using a piece of cardboard to cover the paper at the bottom but feather in the horizon and sky at the top, allowing more light to hit the paper. After burning, printing and processing, I see the result.
The sky becomes a reddish orange, giving the illusion of the colors of sunset, yet the lines of the hoop dancing are still fine, bright and sharp. And the wash, is a rich dark brown. This is good, very good.
I repeat the printing process a number of times, making five 8x10 prints. It's going well in the darkroom tonight. Some nights, the darkroom fairies wreck havoc. Some nights, the dust never gets off the neg, or I make silly beginner's mistakes or I can never dial in the exposure times or the colors. But tonight, my print burning is reasonable, and my guesses on exposures are close if not right on. Six good prints. Happy, Happy. Now let's pull out the 16 x 20 inch paper and go for the gold.
First, I think I'll walk next door and get a soda out of the Toole Shed soda machine. The Hope Processor clunk clunks away. I'm shirtless in shorts and it's after midnight on a Friday night. I leave the darkroom and walk down the hall to the front door of the East End of the Toole Shed. Open the never-locked painted plate glass door and then open the always-locked yellow steel bar door. I relock the door and turning I notice that Pleasure World and the parking lot of City Court are hopping. Lots of cars. A number of He-shes walking from car to car. No biggie to me. I'm thinking about The Hoop Dance, the big print I'm about to attempt, if the processor will hold up, will I need to rewash the big prints, for sometimes old processor crud gets on the prints. Should I set a couple of separate wash trays. I hear whistling from the parking lot.I pay it no mind, thinking about F stops and trays of water. I unlock the door to the main Toole Shed, go inside and get a soda from the machine. Exiting the main section and locking back up, I hear whistling again and then I heard someone yell.
"Hey sweetie. You're cute," I hear a masculine-feminine voice say.
I look over at the parking lot across the way and seeing two women or rather men, looking at me. Suddenly I realize the whistling a few minutes before was for my benefit. I look away and continuing toward my door, very aware of the eyes of hungry men on me. I'm OK with women checking me out (which is almost never except when I wear tight jeans), but having He-Shes giving me the up and down is giving me the willies.
"He is cute!" I hear from across the street, a different voice say.
I say nothing. As I unlock the East End door, I become aware of my clothes or rather lack of them. All I have on is a pair of tattered blue jean shorts, old jogging shoes, and no shirt. No wonder I'm getting catcalls by the He-Shes across the street.
I relock the front door from the inside, and walk down the hall to the darkroom, smiling.
"I love this town" I say to myself.