Mono, ah Mono
Back to basics. A simple phrase. At one time or another, we all want to get back to basics, to our roots, to our home. Mama’s arms, daddy’s tone deaf rendition of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning!” I’ve been reading a book called Downstream From Here, by Charles Eisendrath. You might notice his influence on The Courage Run, the feeling of refuge from the world outside. I didn’t even realize the connection till just now. But there’s more. Charles Eisendrath is known as a “reporter’s reporter,” and he was in Chile when my cousin was there, back in the 70s during the coup. And his son Ben is a fellow Leica photographer who I know through Facebook. Father and son are BBQ guys. I aspire to own one of their open fire grills one day, because I am of the BBQ faith, a disciple of clean burning blue smoke and all purpose salt, pepper, and garlic. In a recent Facebook post, Ben casually dropped an item that referred to “my machinist.” And it got me thinking, hell, I would like to have a machinist. I don’t know what I’d have my machinist do, but still, I’d like to have one. I’d ask them to build my ideal camera, with nothing but shutter speed, ISO, and aperture. And a lens adapter, or a rig that would allow me to position my flash off camera just so, without need for a human light stand. Certainly a bridge to nowhere, or a tunnel to the past or the future. I’d have them build a container that could melt brass and aluminum for all the wonderful creations that you could ever possibly build. A fire pit with flames higher than the sky, yet perfectly controlled to the exact degree.
My machinist, with all the colors of the rainbow, would construct a world of pure black and white, a monochromatic wonderland with all the shades of gray. Everything stripped to the bare essentials of shape and form, an infinite amount of detail. Straight and round, lines leading to spaces far behind, off center, this way, that way. I remember places I’ve been as if they were in black and white. Clearly, that can’t be so, yet the proof is in these images.
Carefully machined metal gives off a certain sound. The sound of satisfaction, of pieces that fit together to an exacting specification. The pieces don’t come loose or get stuck. They tighten to the point where they’re supposed to and stay there till we decide to take them apart. We set them on the table to admire how they look, we pick them up and turn them in our hands, and we appreciate the thought that went into them. A simple bolt, a work of art. A crank, a lever, a chain. A music box slowly playing Red River Valley. Black and white. Right and wrong. Here and there. Everywhere.
A fork in the road, polychrome and monochrome. I pick up my Monochrom and compose. No color distractions. My shapes and positions have to be right, the drama is built in, but it’s still got to be a compelling use of the scene. Most of the time, it’s off. The trick is to get that 1% or 5% or on that amazing day 10% spot on. And to keep going back for more, knowing there are days and weeks and months (or years, even!) from which nothing lasting can be pulled. Without all those colors, my job is easier and harder at the same time. There’s a wow to black and white, but we have to get past the wow and ask ourselves, is this any good?
Some days, I pick up one of the color cameras and anticipate the richness after days and weeks of nothing but black and white. Often, I put the color back down and grab the Monochrom, knowing I’m about to go somewhere bold that is known for its colors. Regardless, you still have to think about where you’re standing, close or far, above or below, eye level with babies and doggies, careful of background elements that grow out of people’s heads, making them look like they’ve grown antlers.
The world was once pure black and white, and we barely recall how fully immersed we were. In the distance, a craftsman with precision tools transforms a block of metal and polished glass. We bathe in brilliant rainbows, deceptively beautiful and intricate. Still, we yearn for the simplicity of a black and white photo that really isn’t quite so simple when we take a closer look. I grab for my Monochrom, knowing I’ll be face to face with gorgeous reds, blues, and yellows I’ll see inside my head but remember as the richest shades of gray that a machinist, carving a block of metal, miraculously transformed into this edifice of imagery. To be worthy, I must bring the best of my effort and talent, typically falling short. Mono, ah mono, you truly are much deeper than I could ever hope to dive.
