James Fee: Darkroom Odyssey
I’ve decided to take this blog in a little different direction with this post. A bit further back in the past, to be precise. I conducted this interview with the late James Fee in 1994 for Camera & Darkroom magazine, where I worked as Managing Editor. It was the first installment of “In the Darkroom,” a department I initiated in which noted photographers like Fee, George Krause and Thomas Barrow discussed their developing and printing methods in relation to their work’s thematic implications. At the time, Fee was beginning to earn widespread acclaim for his “Photographs of America” series, which chronicled a country in decline through haunting images of abandoned factories, hardscrabble towns and neglected cultural icons. Fee was also a darkroom virtuoso, one whose Gothic visual style inspired many imitators but no equals. While it may seem somewhat perverse in this digital age to post an interview focusing on silver-gelatin processes, I like the insights Fee provides on how the time and effort required by traditional materials enriches the finished work. This conversation is definitely for old school photographers, but even digital diehards should find food for thought.


James Fee

What kind of negative do you aim for?
This may sound like a contradiction, but I try for a contrasty/soft negative. I filter in the camera to create a certain kind of contrast. Then, in the development, I knock that contrast down a bit. This achieves what a red filter does, but not so intensely. It doesn’t give me a bulletproof negative, as it’s a little on the thin side, but it still has contrast. I print almost exclusively on No. 4 paper, so my negatives need to be a little bit thin. If I had a heavier negative, I couldn’t use No. 4 paper, which accepts toner better than softer grades. Also, a heavier negative tends to block the whites. There are many times when I wish there were a No. 31/2 Agfa, because the 3 is too flat for me and the 4 is sometimes too contrasty. The photo of Ethiopian model Sahi Kadne from “The Bower Suite” series is a good example. It’s a very thin negative, one that’s right on the border of a 4 or 5 grade of paper. Grade 5 would actually be too much; it would have blown out the detail on the fingertips. I used a Grade 4 and then burned in the corners to create decent blacks.

What film do you typically use?
Tri-X 120 or 220. I like it because it’s a very versatile film. I like to have a slight grain structure in my prints, and you can get that to any degree you want with Tri-X. You can get a lot or a little, or you can get none. It’s probably the most versatile film in achieving a grain structure without changing the quality of the film, meaning the contrast. I give it a standard rating of 320, and tend to overexpose and underdevelop a little bit. I pre-rinse my film; I don’t really soak it for any length of time. I process in HC-110, which still gives you a little bit of grain. I use the straight Dilution B, with no additives. If I want more contrast, I’ll just agitate a bit more or bump the temperature up a little. My standard temperature is 70°, and I process for about five to seven minutes, depending on the lighting during the shoot. If there’s bright sun or mixed sunlight, I’ll develop for five to six minutes; it it’s overcast or I shot in the shade, then I’ll go the full seven minutes.


Sahi Kadne

How much and what kind of agitation do you use?
This is going to sound a little abstract, but when I’m developing my film, I try to think back to what kind of contrast was available at the shoot. If I think I need to bump the contrast up more, I’ll agitate a lot more—pretty aggressive up-and-down agitation. If it’s a normal shoot, I’ll just agitate through inversion every 30 seconds.

Can you take me through the other film-processing stages?
After development, I use a water rinse (instead of stop bath), followed by Clayton rapid fixer, the same as used for prints. I use hardener in my film fixer but not my print fixer, because I tone afterwards. I use hypo-clear and then wash the film for about 20 minutes.

Do you ever intensify your negatives?
I’ve tried just about every means of intensifying negatives, including the standard method of using selenium toner on them, and none of them have worked for me. I believe that’s a photographic fallacy; I think that maybe somebody played a dirty trick on us. I’ve never known anyone who’s had any luck with selenium toner. Chromium intensifier does work, but it creates a strange sort of grime on the negatives that I find really bothersome. Maybe I just haven’t used it right. Anyway, I have just about given up on overly thin negatives. I just get No. 5 paper and try to save them that way.

Plastic or steel reels?
I use steel. I don’t think there’s any difference, except that room temperature affects metal more than the plastic. For instance, if your room is very cold and you load your film in a steel reel and tank, then put 70° developer in it, the room temperature will probably knock your developer down to 65° real quick. That doesn’t happen with plastic.

How do you store your negatives?
I cut my negatives individually and throw away all the reject frames. If out of three rolls of shooting I have just one negative that I like, that’s the only one I’ll keep. I’ll cut it out and put it in a 4x5 Mylar folding enclosure, then put the Mylar in a 4x5 envelope. All Light Impressions stuff.


Westside Highway, New York City, NY 1995

Let’s move on the printing stage. How often do you print?
At least once a week. For about two days in a row I’ll go in and print, and that’s all I’ll do. I’ll try and mark out time when I think I won’t be bothered, because I think darkroom work requires a lot of attention and a lot of quiet time by yourself when you won’t be interrupted. Otherwise, you’re not going to do it right. I don’t believe in doing a little darkroom work, then running out and doing something else, and then going back into the darkroom. You just lose all concentration on whatever it is that you’re doing. I even lock the phone in the closet. Darkroom work is like Zen: You need to have a clearness of mind to go in and concentrate on it and it alone. I think with the way the world is today, with television and phone calls and everything, we live a very fragmented life. We’re constantly used to being interrupted, and I think that has a lot to do with how we function in the darkroom. It’s very hard to block out that time and concentrate on only that.

What are your favorite and least favorite aspects of printing?
Certainly the developer is a very exciting step. I think everybody’s favorite time is printing a new negative that they are really excited about. It’s kind of a high when you see it come up in the developer and it’s something that you know is going to be a great print; you know it’s an image that you’re really excited about seeing. With those kinds of images, the entire process, all the way down to toning, is very exciting. Regarding my least favorite aspect of darkroom work, it gets to be harder and harder to go back and print negatives that you’ve printed before. You just stop wanting to see that image again, because you’ve printed it so many times.

What enlarger do you use?
A Beseler 23C. There’s no specific reason why I use that model. In fact, I’ve had a lot of problems keeping it in alignment. I guess I’m kind of stubborn; I like to keep the equipment that I have. I don’t like to make changes. These things become like old friends. You get so used to working with them, you don’t want to get rid of them. Plus, I simply like condenser enlargers. I like everything they do, even when they’re not working. I like imperfections in optics. The whole idea of cold light or diffusion enlarging...I just don’t like the prints I get from them. I like the contrast of condensers and the ability to control the contrast.


Crossed Wires, Staten Island, NY 1998

Which papers do you prefer?
Over the years I’ve used several different papers, because papers come and go. Whether or not the manufacturers like to admit it, papers go bad. I use Agfa Insignia for almost everything that I do. I like the Grade 4, double-weight glossy surface. I like the “photographic” look of glossy paper. I don’t jump around to a lot of films, even. I started out using Tri-X in high school in the 1960s, and I still do. I guess when I feel I’ve fully explored a paper or a film’s potential, then I’ll stop using it and go on to something else. I haven’t done that with Insignia. I develop my prints for about a minute and a half in Clayton P-20M, which is a concentrate and can be mixed in a lot of different dilutions. It’s a warm-tone developer for the most part. If I want a particular print a little warmer and softer, then I’ll mix in a little Selectol with the P-20. I’ll also overexpose in the enlarger and pull the print a little quick, and that will bring the contrast down a bit.

I use all Clayton chemistry for my printing. I like chemicals, papers and films that are open-ended enough so that I can adapt them to what I want them to do. Just as I’ve found that Tri-X is the most adaptable film in as many different situations as I want to use it for, so too is Clayton chemistry. On some of the portrait work I do, I’ve been using a new paper—Sterling—which I’ve found to be an exceptionally good variable-contrast paper that’s made in India. I was kind of amazed at how good it was. One of the reasons I like it so much is that it accepts toner incredibly well. I had been using Ilford Multigrade for commercial purposes, but for everything I liked about Ilford, it had some things that I didn’t like. Mainly, it didn’t selenium-tone very well. Not only does Sterling accept toner very well, but it also holds the whites really well, even if you’re using a brown toner, which normally cuts your whites down a bit. You can tell that their production isn’t as sophisticated as other paper manufacturers—sometimes you’ll get a few sheets that are bent, and the boxes are not particularly sturdy, but the paper itself is really high-grade, and it’s very reasonably priced.


Broken Span, New York City, NY 1992

How much Selectol do you add to the P-20?
It’s pretty intuitive, based on the picture I’m printing at the time. It’s usually a 2/3 to 1/3 ratio. I’ll use 2/3 P-20 working solution and 1/3 Selectol working solution. I’ve never been one for following charts or development times. I kind of bend everything to what I like to see. I’ve never wanted to be burdened by charts. Charts and rules just get in the way. For instance, if you use Tri-X all the time, you know what it does and you know when to put a filter on to increase the contrast, and you know what that filter is going to cost you in ASA. Photography is very technical, but if you know what type of photographer you are, you can learn what you need to know very quickly and then make it do what you want it to. And then all of a sudden a lot of those rules don’t apply to you anymore, because you’ve developed your own work habits.

Do you make many test strips?
Not really. I just put a strip of paper across the crucial areas that I want to expose for. Since I do a lot of commercial portrait photography, that’s generally the face. I know that the first print is not going to be the print that I’m going to use, so I use a test strip to get the first ballpark exposure on the face, and then I’ll make a straight print without any burning and dodging and let everything else do what it needs to do. After that I usually do quite a bit of manipulating. I shoot with the idea of that manipulation. I know that when I get in the darkroom, I’m going to change a lot through burning and dodging. I also keep in mind the fact that selenium toner changes the print quite a bit. You can do a lot with selenium toning as far as controlling contrast.


Harrisburgh Storage, Harrisburgh, PA 1992

Do you tone all your prints?
Pretty much everything, even my commercial magazine work. Very rarely do you get asked for a straight print. The only client I have that always asks for a straight print is Vanity Fair. They always say not to tone the prints, though I’m not sure why. But I tone most everything, which also increases the contrast and luster of the prints. I do a lot of experimenting with toning. I’ve used a lot of different toners and have combined them with concoctions of my own. What I’ve found works well with the Sterling paper is a combination of Kodak selenium and Kodak brown toner. This tends to exhaust the brown toner rather quickly for some reason. It works real well for the first bunch of prints, but I can’t reuse it and get the same results. The brown aspects seem to go away quickly.

Do you put any additives in the developer?
No. If I want stronger blacks, it’s usually in one area of the picture, so I’ll usually burn that in on the print. That way I can keep the tonal range the same. I burn and dodge a lot on most everything, because there’s always stuff in the picture I don’t want there. Sometimes there are whole areas I want to take out, so I burn them down to black. I did a lot of burning-in on the Edmund Teske portrait. I didn’t like the pattern on his jacket, which I thought distracted attention from his face and hand, so I burned the lower-right corner below his hand quite a bit. I also burned the upper-left corner.

Do you print with the dry-down effect in mind?
I print a little bit lighter because of the selenium toning, but I don’t really notice a big dry-down difference. It’s a pretty miniscule amount.


Edmund Teske

Any differences in how you print your commercial portraiture and fine art work?
No. I basically print the same. These days, almost all black-and-white is color separated in the magazines, so you can get away with a really gutsy print.

How many prints will you make during an average printing session?
I end up making about 40 prints in four hours to get 20 good prints. That’s not counting the ones I throw away in the darkroom. I’ll usually try to print a double amount, just because when it gets down to finishing everything, there will always be some problems. A lot of times you can have damaged prints in the washing or toning, for example. Also, I think I have a lot of failures in my prints because of what I try to do with them. I try to push the negatives a lot further.

W. Eugene Smith would sometimes print for hours to get one print he could live with.
It’s funny you should mention him, because his work was really instrumental in me spending so much time in the darkroom. You can see that he worked very hard on his prints. I like to see prints that have a lot of work put into them. I can tell when a print’s been made quickly and when it hasn’t. There’s a certain amount of love that goes into a print, and it takes a lot of failures to get the right one. I completely understand his dedication. I don’t understand people who don’t put that amount of energy into their prints.


White Mound, Gary, IN 1992

Do you ever bleach your prints?
I used to ferrocyanide my prints, and it almost cost me a friendship. I used to print the whites down dark and then ferrocyanide them back up, but I underestimated the wash time for that process. I traded a print with another photographer, and mine is disappearing on his wall now. So I think that’s a pretty dangerous practice. I really like the effect, but I don’t know how permanent it is.

Do you print certain negatives differently now than in the past?
I think you do whether you like it or not, especially when you do so much manipulating, like I do, on the negative—the images are not always consistent with the original image. It doesn’t bother me, but it bothers galleries. My dealer in Chicago, Catherine Edelman, is very fanatical with me on this point. I think my prints are consistent, but one of the things I like about printing is that it isn’t a totally consistent process. I also think that the first print has something special to it—something that later prints, after the negative has been printed a lot, don’t have. That may sound a little mystical, but I think something happens when you’re printing the image close to when it was shot. Maybe you get too good at printing that negative later; maybe that’s what I don’t like.

Do you experiment much with alternative techniques and processes?
I do photo-illustrations as well as portraits for magazines, and when it comes to that I experiment in a lot of different ways—anything goes. But not with my personal work so much. I like the idea of pushing the image as far as I can within the constraints of what photography is. I try to start out with a kind of traditional basis. Recently I’ve been putting a lot of stains on my negatives for a series called “Photographs of America.” This involves shooting abandoned factories, military installations and the like. I’m using stains for mood and also to accentuate the “used” quality of the subject matter. As well, I’m beginning to explore the concept that stains are a natural part of the photographic process, and that sometimes you can make them work for you.


Pt. Mugu, CA 1992

You can see the stains on the Point Mugu shot from the “America” series. I achieved that by processing the film on unwashed reels. The blacks spots are due to fixer that was left on the reels and got transferred to the film during development. The thing about using dirty reels is that you never know where you’re going to get the stains, so the element of chance comes into play. I will also put ferrocyanide on negatives, but for that you need to print out your edition right away—Lord knows how long they’re going to last. They’re probably good for a couple of years, but not for too long. With ferrocyanide, though, you can pretty much control where the stains are going to go. I apply it in different ways, though mainly with my fingers. I usually work with 21/4 negatives, so a little granule of ferrocyanide appears really big once you blow the image up. I’ve ruined a lot of negatives with these processes, so I always try to make sure I’m willing to have them disappear. There’s a certain kind of excitement in thinking you might ruin your negatives. It’s kind of fun to put photography—which is a reproducible medium—into an arena where you can ruin a perfectly good image.

Describe your fixing, washing and toning.
As mentioned, I used Clayton rapid fix. I tend to over-fix and over-wash everything. After the initial print wash—before I selenium tone—I’ll let the prints sit in a balanced alkali solution in distilled water for anywhere from ten to 30 minutes. This solution seems to allow them to tone better. I’m not a chemist, but alkali seems to be important to the paper accepting the toner. After toning, I wash the prints for an hour. One final note: I mix all my chemistry with distilled water instead of tap water. I moved darkrooms once, and the place I moved into had a lot of iron in the water. I was using Agfa paper and Kodak selenium toner. This combination would tone all the dark areas, but stop at the whites. That would have been great if I were split-toning, because I could have gone back with the brown toner. But I wasn’t split-toning. The only answer I could come up with is that there was too much iron in the water. In the process of trying to nail the culprit, I started using distilled water for all my chemicals, and that cured the problem.


The Sign Says, Red Rock Lake, IA 1995

(Please visit www.jamesfee.com to see more of this amazing photographer’s work. And stay tuned to this blog for an upcoming, extensive interview I conducted with Fee—the last one he gave—just a few months before his tragic death in 2006.)

Galen Schlich: Innocence and Transition
The home page of Galen Schlich’s website features an apt quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all.” Coming from a broken home, Schlich has been trying to illuminate a personal and artistic path through a lifetime of transition. He originally sought a creative outlet through landscape photography, but didn’t discover his personal voice until he began photographing people, as well as confronting the circumstances of his childhood. His twin themes of beauty and innocence — and their sometimes disturbing intersections — resonate throughout all his bodies of work.


Galen Schlich

Describe your first attempts at photographic visual expression.
When I first began taking photographs, my primary motivation was to put my love of nature down on film. I did that for 15 years or so. At that time I very rarely photographed people — most of my work excluded the human presence. Eventually, I picked up a book by the Czech photographer Jan Saudek. I had never heard of him before, but his work was so different from what I been exposed to; it was much more personal, and was profoundly affected by his childhood. Then, while I was working in the Antarctic for the National Science Foundation, my father passed away. After my employment there was finished I traveled back to Illinois to attend to family affairs. I also reconnected with some old friends there. I had never been around children much before, and they had two girls, Brittney and Brooke, who opened my eyes to the beauty and innocence of childhood. They were for me an expression of all that is pure and good in a world that, as we know, can be very cruel. They were an emotional oasis for me during a time of confusion and loss. They very much affected my soul as well as my work. Afterward, I traveled around the world and spent some time in Paris and southern France and consumed everything about painters and photographers that I could get my hands on. I’d spend hours in dusty little bookshops in Paris looking for new inspiration and wander the floors of the museums studying paintings.

How long did it take you to develop a personal vision and style?
I think it took a lot longer for me than perhaps others simply because I hadn’t been hit over the head with the substance of it soon enough. I really hadn’t explored deeply enough. There were a lot of things I was running away from, although I didn’t know what they were and I didn’t see it as running away at the time. When that “substance” finally did hit me, I was quite unprepared for where it would take me. Nevertheless, I dove into it and pursued it with vigor. The beginnings of this personal vision emerged from beauty. Just as I had photographed the beauty of nature, now I started photographing the beauty of women and children, but clearly with more of an idea of where I wanted to take it.


Untitled

What was the biggest challenge in doing so?
Impatience. I had these feelings and ideas that I knew I wanted to express, but at the same time seemed unable to produce any material from them. I took a sketchbook everywhere and would write ideas and sketch pictures to help me visualize these ideas. I would keep postcards, brochures, tourist leaflets or any other advertising material. If it had an image on it that gave me some ideas, it was mine. Sometimes I just felt like quitting altogether; it bothered me very much that I couldn’t seem to produce anything good.

Which photographers and/or other artists have influenced you? And why?
As I’ve stated, Jan Saudek is a big influence. His photography contains elements of dreams, fantasy, beauty, ugliness, humor and juxtaposition. I like the fact that he uses symbolism in his works that often tie into other pieces, such as a window or an old rag doll. The aspect of time in his work is also fascinating — he’ll photograph a small child and years later photograph her as an adult. He is captivated by beauty, but at the same time questions it and challenges our perception of it. Robert Demachy is another influence. His eye for composition was wonderful, and his portrait and nude studies are very simple but extremely striking and emotional. He also disliked the “straight print” and preferred to add another dimension to his work through alternative processes. His work has influenced me in that I also try to achieve a different look through alternative printing methods. Joel-Peter Witkin is another photographer that has interested me. He is constantly challenging the viewer into looking at the subject of beauty, ugliness, life and death. His pictures make you ask questions or they disgust you or they make you laugh, which is what good art is all about for me.


The Falling

The ethereal, dreamlike quality to these images calls to mind the Pictorialists, yet the mood and tone feel contemporary. Is this your intent?
It is and it isn’t. I have been heavily influenced by the Pictorialists and tried to emulate that feeling in my work, but I also realized that I didn’t want to produce the exact same thing. I’m also thinking that maybe my interest in fashion portraitists, such as Paolo Roversi, may be behind the contemporary feeling in the works; possibly something is slipping in there from that influence.

Your photographs are very sensual, yet they also project innocence, which creates a certain energy and contrast.
Yes, that’s true. I think my focus in many of the pictures was to create something very simple for the eye and at the same time very sensual. The subject of innocence is very obvious in my work because it has always captivated me. It’s a question for me, and also something that goes hand in hand with beauty in children. The innocence of a child combined with beauty is magical for me, but that innocence is fleeting, like the blossoming of spring flowers; you know that in the not too far-off future that bloom will be over. Children live in the moment and, unlike many adults, are constantly dreaming and questioning things, however simple. For me, it’s nice to be a part of that simplicity and innocence. I believe that beauty and innocence are two of the aspects that compel me in most of my work.

My initial read on many of your photographs is that they’re meditations on the transition from childhood to adulthood. For example, you have an image of a ballerina that's cropped so that the position of the hands and arms is that of a pregnant woman cradling her belly, yet the subject seems to be an adolescent.
They could very well be looked at in that light. Yes, the ballerina picture does specifically play with the idea of transition. When I started exploring the themes of youth, innocence and beauty these naturally brought up questions for me about time, birth, aging and death. Even the young girl in the image “The Dreamer” evokes the idea of life and death. On one hand we see a beautiful girl who looks as if she’s asleep, and on the other hand one may also perceive her as being dead.


The Dreamer

Your image of a young girl’s legs — bare, ghostly white, smudged and cropped at the knees, seemingly suspended in midair — has a disturbing elegance and surreal intensity that reminds me of similar imagery in some of Luis Buñuel films. Do you recognize this affinity?
Yes, this is one of my favorite photos. Although I’ve only viewed one of his films, there is definitely that surrealist element that I relate with. Your expression, “disturbing elegance” is exactly what I was trying to represent with this image. I like that it leaves the mind to wander a bit about what is happening here. It’s not so clear-cut to the viewer and yet it’s not an overly complicated picture.

The still life of the dead birds and fruit and the double-exposure portrait “Natalie Two” also project a subtle surrealism. Is this planned, or is it a spontaneous result?
Yes and no. The double exposure was shot on an 8x10 camera and I forgot to flip the film plate, thus the double exposure. When I exposed the negative and printed it, it became apparent that this was a far more interesting composition than it would have been had I not made the error. With the “Still Life with Dead Birds” I planned this to have the surrealist element. I wanted to override the traditional “still life” with something that would breath new life (or death) into it, something completely out of place. I messed around all evening with different variations of these birds, and the one I eventually came up with seemed to show a mixture of tranquility, the nice peaceful arrangement of fruit and wine, overlapped by the tragedy of these birds that look as if they had just dropped out of the sky onto this table. Sketching ideas onto paper is very important to me in the visualization of planned shots such as this. I can be spontaneous, but I find that if I already have an idea to work from, spontaneity becomes much easier.


Still Life with Dead Birds

Looking at the portraits on your website, I get the impression of very concentrated, intense shooting sessions, and of a sense of collaboration with your subjects. They seem to be full and equal participants in the process, at least in terms of their emotional involvement.
Participation is the one thing that I require. If the subject doesn’t understand my work or at least what I am trying to capture, then oftentimes the end result doesn’t work. I try and involve the subject into being an active participant in the creative process. I explain what I am trying to capture, be it mood, feeling, et cetera. I often find that the second shoot with a person is much better than the first, because they’ve had a chance to see the results and have a better understanding of what I’m looking for. The exchange between subject and photographer is paramount to realization. When everything fits there seems to be a unique stillness and unspoken conversation between us. I find this very calming; it’s like someone telling you a bedtime story when you’re a child. For most of my portraits I use an 8x10 bellows camera. This slows everything down and allows for that space to emerge. I try and set an atmosphere of tranquility and work slowly so there’s a very tangible calmness when it comes time for exposure. Children are wonderful to work with — anything that involves attention and imagination seems to compel them, although sometimes it’s hard getting them to be still for long.

It seems that portraiture is your preferred genre. Do you find it more expressive than, say, landscapes or documentary?
I find that portraiture is much more expressive for me. I mentioned that years ago I only shot landscapes. That fulfilled something in me at the time, but even then I felt there was something missing, and that basically I was just composing another “pretty picture.” I like the truthfulness and reality of reportage, but I have never been able to express myself or my vision through that facet of photography. Portraiture provides the unique opportunity to seen inside someone else, to get to know them, enjoy their beauty, and try to work together to capture that vision on film.


Natalie Two

What specific ideas, themes or attitudes do you try to express in your photographs?
I try to find beauty first and foremost. If the subject has a unique look, I might try something with a different idea in mind, such as the girl in the photo “Camille.” I wanted to capture her beauty, but also the feeling that if you stumbled upon her in the forest, your first reaction might be run away. Those piercing eyes evoke a sort of evil wood nymph image. I like to experiment with different themes in my work, so it depends on what kind of physical features my subjects possess. I like to depict children as beautiful, innocent creatures, but at the same time tip the other end of the scale and portray another side of them, which is their ability to be mischievous and sometimes downright mean. Youth is a wonderful way for me to contrast immortality. Everyone can associate with youth, the days when nothing seemed to matter. There’s something about the freshness, beauty and pureness of youth as opposed to aging and withering away of the body and mind that captivates me.

I also sense feelings of loss, regret, nostalgia.
I have also perceived that in my photos. Subconscious or not, it’s definitely a recurring element. Something that was totally unexpected for me in my photographic endeavors was that there would be questions popping up about my childhood and past in general. I come from a broken family — my father raised four boys alone. I definitely lacked a female presence in my life, being four when my mother left, and thus also lacking the nurturing and love necessary for a child at that age. My father went through an amazingly hectic life to ensure our well-being and safety, but lacked the ability to show affection. I often wonder if what comes out of my photography may in fact be tied to childhood issues. I believe that’s where some of those emotions you reference come from. I relate to the nostalgia of being a kid and feeling carefree, of yearning for an age when things weren’t necessarily easier, but simpler. Many children today have never had the chance to explore wooded areas or sit outside, stare at the stars and dream. Many can’t even see the stars because of city lights. Activities that children used to participate in and learn valuable life lessons from have been replaced by videogames, iPhones and television.


Camille

Is it fair to say your works more on emotional than intellectual levels?
Although I like to include a hint of something thought-provoking in my work, my favorite photographs and paintings have always been those that hit me emotionally first. I think a work of art should try and elicit both from a viewer, or at least attempt to.

What do you think gives your work its individuality?
I would have to say that much of it evolves from the way my images are cropped and the overall feelings associated with my subjects. One’s inclination is to photograph a whole object, or at least something the mind recognizes easily, like a face. It’s not standard to crop a visually vital element out of the picture, such as half of a person’s head. This disturbs some people, who are used to seeing the whole picture. Bu I believe this can be a positive first step for viewers to use their imaginations. In “Girl at the Gate of Time” one first wants to know what the rest of her face looks like. But as the eye wanders around the frame, the focus is soon withdrawn from her face to the other, more important aspects. Symbolically, there’s a lot happening in this photo. The cropping also draws attention to areas of interest that provoke an emotion — like the girl’s neck in “Devon.”

Has your approach to photography changed through the years?
Dramatically. I see photography as an avenue to express my ideas and myself, whereas before I wanted so bad to just make that “pretty picture” that would make it in a magazine? Photography, like any other art form, should try and raise questions and emotions, not just feelings of joy at something pretty to look at. The aim of art is to challenge. If one isn’t challenged, then one stagnates. I want to create images that one can’t pass by, but are forced to take a second and third look because they contain elements that won’t leave you alone.


Girl at the Gate of Time

(I wrote about Galen Schlich for issue 54 of Black & White magazine. Spend some time with his work at: www.galenschlich.com)

Jeff Alu: Desert Dreams
Jeff Alu is a freelance digital artist and photographer who spends most of his free time roaming California's desert areas in an open-ended journey of personal and visual exploration. His black-and-white photographs play with lighting, scale and perspective to transform the mundane into something ominous and alien. Visual equilibrium becomes a tenuous concept, as the viewer tends to feel trapped between dimensions of reality and surreality. Yet no matter how unbalanced things become, one is invariably seduced by the dark poetry of Alu’s post-apocalyptic visions.


Jeff Alu

You studied to be a musician, but began taking photographs in 2000. What drew you to the medium?
I’ve always been attracted to photography, and even entered a few competitions in junior high school, but I was much more interested time in music at that time, so that’s where I concentrated most of my efforts. I’ve always loved the desert and hiking in remote areas. I bought a digital camera in 2000 to document some of my hikes, without any real intention of breaking into fine art. It was only after playing with some of these images in Photoshop that my love for black and white was reborn. And from there I just couldn’t stop.

People are largely absent from your work, with the exception of a couple of series. Are you more comfortable photographing unpopulated locations, or is this more of an artistic/philosophic choice?
I also do commercial work, which always features people. But for my fine art work, it’s true, I’m much more interested in shots without people, even when I photograph in densely populated areas like New York City. I try to project human emotions and feelings onto inanimate objects; I’ve done that ever since I was a kid. So when I come across a small bush or rock in the middle of nowhere, I feel like it’s trying to say something to me, like it wants to be photographed, to be noticed. I don’t hear an actual voice, of course, I just get a feeling that the scene has something to say and needs to be recorded.


Hill

You seem most at home in desert locations. Why do these kinds of locations speak to you more than other kinds of landscapes? Your bio references an absence of complexity. What else?
I think it also has to do with the difficulty in finding subjects in the desert. It’s not like the city, where everything is close together. I like to have to work for what I find, which turns it into an adventure. I think maybe it goes back to the work I used to do at the Jet Propulsion Lab, hunting for comets and asteroids. It took lots of time and patience, but when I found something, it was well worth the effort. I no longer do that kind of work, but my desert trips are a continuance of that mindset. It’s really all about discovery. Although, I must say, I’ve found city photography to be equally as rewarding.

You’ve written on your website that you now see the desert in a new way since you began taking photographs. What exactly do you mean?
Well, it’s not just the desert, but everywhere. Doing photography has taught me how to see in 2D. We’re used to walking around, seeing everything in 3D. Everything looks great in 3D. But stop walking and look at the same scene, from the point of view of a camera. It can become less interesting when seen that way. So, doing photography has really taught me to notice interesting compositions that I would normally just walk past. And these compositions are available to us all the time, everywhere. You just have to stop and look. Otherwise they fly on by unnoticed.


Floater

The digital manipulations you perform look as if they could conceivably have been performed in the darkroom. In other words, your photographs have a more organic feel to them than most digital images. Do such distinctions matter to you?
There’s no doubt that I look for ways to create an organic, and even traditional, feel to my images. My processing techniques in Photoshop are very basic, converting to black and white, using the dodge and burn brush, a little sharpening here, some blur there. I don’t work in layers when processing, I just do everything to the original image layer. I like to keep it basic. I think I would probably be doing the same kinds of things if I were working in a traditional darkroom.

Have you ever worked with traditional photographic materials and methods?
Back in junior high school was the first time. Just your normal photography class. The second time was while I was working at the Jet Propulsion Lab, We would go up to Palomar Observatory and use the 18” Schmidt Camera and make images of the sky. There was no room at all for art; everything in the darkroom was very procedural. I spent many hours in there processing those films, and listening to music was the only thing that got me through it. After that, I had no desire to go back into the darkroom, so the digital age is what brought me back into photography.

There’s a kind of artificial quality to many (but not all) of your photographs in that they look more like tabletop dioramas than actual locations, giving them a surreal aspect. Do you recognize this quality and, if so, is this intentional?
The tilt-shift style of focus that I use in some of my images brings that about. I was attracted to that effect ever since I first saw it, and I think using this technique is yet another way to isolate subjects, making them appear to be hidden away within something.


Come Out and Play

Surrealism is, of course, a route to the unconscious. Does your photography tap into submerged feelings and ideas that you’re perhaps not fully aware of?
I don’t believe that I have a full grasp of why I create the images that I do. I’m not exactly sure where my desire to create these kinds of images comes from. But honestly, I try not to think about it too much. I just go with the flow. I know that when I’m most happy with the way an image turns out, it usually means that I feel I’ve created something from a different point of view from which I’m used to seeing it, and that I’ve given it a new meaning of some kind. But what that meaning is exactly, is not always clear to me.

Your images tend towards harsh contrast. Why do you print this way? Is it to enhance the abstraction of the images?
I’ve always used the word “impact.” Not to be trite, but I think this gives the images more impact, at least for the kinds of things I’m trying to express. Indeed, it does enhance the abstraction as well, which helps to take the viewer out of reality, at least a little.

According to your bio, you don’t set out to photograph with a particular theme in mind. Do you sometimes unravel the meaning of your images after you have manipulated them digitally?
I generally take and image because I see “potential” in it. Sometimes it’s very obvious when I take the shot. Other times, I don’t see it until I actually start playing with the image. Many times, I don’t actually process the image until a couple of years later. I have a huge backlog of images, and every once in a while I revisit images which at first didn’t mean much to me, but only after a time have become important.


Sensuality

What kind of statement(s) do you want your photographs to make?
In my 3D animation work, everything is created from scratch. I can create anything that’s in my mind, even though it doesn’t exist in the real world. But actually, I’m much more interested in finding interesting, surreal scenes that are in the real world. Almost like they could have been created from scratch with a computer, but are in fact, real. I guess I’m interested in showing the kinds of fantastic things that do exist in the real world, that are often overlooked. Art is everywhere.

Photography seems to be a way for you to filter out the extraneous baggage of urban life and pressure, practiced in a kind of Zen manner in which you’re completely open to chance. Is that an accurate read?
Yes and no. That is to say in the final product, yes. But in going out and gathering my photos, even though in the case of the desert it’s an escape of sorts, it isn’t always especially relaxing. I usually like to photograph in extreme heat. I’m constantly worried about my Jeep breaking down, etc. The part about chance is right on. I usually photograph very quickly, and I don’t hang around in one location for very long. I find that the more I think about things, the less interesting the photographs become. Or the more I know about a location ahead of time, the less interested I am in photographing there. I like to “discover” as I photograph, and that’s when I take my best shots.


Border

Is mood always more important to you than subject? To paraphrase Marshall McLuhan, is the mood the message?
Hmm, great question! Mood is certainly part of it. A big part of it. But I can’t create the mood without the subject. That is, it’s the subject that attracts me in the first place. The subject dictates the mood. I’m going to have to go with 50-50 on this one.

The mood your pictures evoke is typically dark and brooding, even Gothic, yet it’s also strangely inviting. Do you strive for this duality?
I don’t think I strive to make things inviting, but I always strive to make things interesting, if possible. It’s true, many of my images are dark. I think the darkness comes more from my interest in extremes, rather than my interest in creating a dark, gothic style. I’m just trying to create a more powerful image, and darkness sometimes solves this problem for me. Plus, darkness is a great way of getting rid of extraneous parts of an image and homing in on what I feel is important.

There’s a mesmerizing quality to many of the images. Do you find yourself in a kind of trance-like state when you make the exposure?
Sometimes I do. I have a certain way of putting myself into this state. Very little sleep the night before, very little food the day of, lots of caffeine, and lots of sun. Crazy as this sounds, it can get me into this mood. I’ve done this a few times when shooting in the desert, but in fact, I don’t find that I come back with better photographs. I haven’t done this in a while. I think when I’m shooting, it’s all about the potential I see in the image, and I don’t need to be in that actual state at the time of the exposure.


Neurons

Are you satisfied with your command of the medium, or do you feel like you can improve your technique?
My technique always evolves. If you look at the shots in “g1” on my site, and then “g13” you can see an evolution of sorts. Back in the beginning, my shots were cropped, sharpened, with perfectly straight horizon lines, and I was striving for “perfect” compositions. Now, I often use tilts, blurs, and I usually don’t crop at all. I find that without cropping, I sometimes discover interesting compositions. Just when I think I’ve found the perfect technique, I discover new methods. So yes, I’m always finding ways of improving or changing techniques, it’s all very organic. My actual shooting technique has always been the same though: default settings on the camera, no tripod, shoot quickly and move on, using $300.00 digital cameras. Basically point and shoot.

Your images leave lots of room for interpretation. Is this something you strive for? What kind of reactions does your work elicit?
I think that is something I strive for. I don’t want my shots to be too “obvious,” as in, “Oh, there’s a picture of a rock.” I want to try to give that rock some kind of alternate life, to make it more than just a rock, if possible. So when the viewer looks at the photo, they have to process it a little and think about it, and hopefully, that will bring them back to look again at a later time. As far as reactions to my work, they really have a wide span. From the very same image, I’ve gotten reactions such as “turbulent,” “calming,” “apocalyptic,” “inspirational.” I’m always glad when I create a photograph that brings out these kinds of diverse reactions, because I think then I’ve done my job.


Structure

This comment from your blog seems relevant here: “My idea of a gallery show is to hang the images on the outside of my jeep, drive at least 100 mph, and require the visitors to drive along side me to see the images. Then they would better understand my mindset.” Does the traditional gallery setting somehow impede full understanding of your imagery?
I don’t think it impedes understanding of the final product, but I do think it might impede understanding of my methods of getting these images into my camera, which I suppose, really isn’t all that important in the end. It’s just funny to me how these images can have such rough-and-tumble beginnings, and then end up quietly hanging on a wall in a nice air-conditioned room.

I like how you play with perspective to lend element of unreality. It’s somewhat akin to Bill Brandt’s approach to landscape. And the contrast and abstraction call to mind Brett Weston. What photographers in fact have inspired or influenced you?
Wow, lots, I think. Way too many to mention. I’m not one who dwells on a particular photo for too long, but I’m always looking at other photographers’ work. One influence was my friend and fellow photographer Greg Fisch. The first time he showed me his portfolio was a real inspiration. Another influence in the beginning was the work of David Fokos. His use of minimalism really opened my eyes to what can be done with incredibly simple subjects. Another has been Keith Carter, with his amazing way of defocusing his images. So many others.


Poles

Who or what else do you derive inspiration from?
My mother’s art has been a major inspiration. I grew up watching her paint in a mostly abstract style, and that really taught me to see differently than I would have otherwise. Cinematography is also a big influence. I’m a huge fan of black-and-white movies, Italian neorealism, etc., those old gritty movies that were filmed under harsh conditions with minimal equipment. I try to put some of that grittiness into my images. Modern cinematographic techniques have really influenced me as far as tilting the camera, and thinking in terms of my images being a single frame from a moving sequence. I really hope to break into cinematography at some point. And then there’s music. The expansiveness of the music of Sibelius, Bruckner, many others, has had a huge influence on my way of seeing, and has pushed me to see on a larger scale.

(You can see more of Jeff's unique work at his website: http://www.jeffalu.com.)

Don Bartletti: Spotlight on Immigration
Los Angeles Times photojournalist Don Bartletti (a San Diego native) began taking pictures of undocumented Mexican immigrants towards the end of the 1970s, well before illegal immigration became a high-profile, hot button issue. He eventually expanded his focus to include immigrants from Central American and other countries. Bartletti’s tough, poetic images both comment upon and transcend the myriad social and political ramifications of immigration. His fundamental concern is to depict with unflinching honesty the basic humanity of individuals who feel compelled to leave their homelands in search of a better life in the United States.


Don Bartletti

This body of work originated as a series for the Los Angeles Times, but beyond the imperatives of the assignment, what initially drew you to this subject? And what compelled you to keep expanding it?
As a photojournalist, my job falls somewhere between a scavenger hunt and cultural anthropology. The hunt has taken me to wars, wildfires, earthquakes, funerals and rock concerts. Deadline images are important to provide something for the newspaper reader to appreciate every day. But even the big news events fade away to be replaced by the next buzz-weirdo event. By contrast, the cultural significance of immigration never fades away. It’s everywhere, it’s accumulative and it’s endlessly relevant. Foreigners are the seeds of societal evolution. Through my viewfinder, I’m showing newcomers as they assimilate, segregate, succeed and struggle. The steady exodus from failed Latin America nations is changing the face of America. Frame by frame, my picture stories are additional pages in the photo album of the United States. Although I now photograph foreign workers around the world, 30 years ago I didn’t have to go far to observe subtle beginnings of the greatest influx of foreigners in this nation since the era of Ellis Island. In the late 1970s I recorded undocumented Mexican immigrants on Tri-X film and fiber-based paper. I filed every negative with IDs and notes about the clandestine encampments in the hills around my hometown in northern San Diego County. It was an astonishing subculture of migrant farm workers living in handmade shacks without running water, electricity or sanitation practically in the shadow of wealthy suburbia. Over the years I concentrated on individuals who eventually crawled out of those farm camps to better jobs and, for one man, the road to American citizenship.

Is this an ongoing series?
Yes. One of my goals is to reveal the consequences of illegal migration. It’s not just the “theater” of people jumping over the border fence. For example, I’ve been photographing Willie Ramirez for 17 years. I first met Willie and his dad in 1989. Two weeks after they snuck across the border, they were living next to a tomato field in a hovel made of plastic sheeting and camouflaged with brush. In spite of their hapless circumstances, they were gentlemen. Every year or two I’d catch up with them, make new photographs and hand out prints. My wife Diana and I went to their pueblo in Oaxaca when they were visiting their family back home. After Willie got his papers through an amnesty program, his life changed dramatically. He learned English, became a foreman for a roofing company, and built a little house in Tijuana. In March of 2006 I was with him when he took the oath of U.S. citizenship. I wrote a cover story for the L.A. Times Sunday Magazine, accompanied by photographs from his 17 years of hope, loneliness, determination and, finally, rejoicing.


Underground House, Vista, California - 1991

Do you consider these images all one big series, or several discrete series linked thematically?
The body of work is countless individual pictures and essays that tell the larger story. “The Roads Most Traveled—Photographs of Migration” is a solo exhibit that was curated by Carol McCusker at the Museum of Photographic Arts in San Diego. Ninety-seven images became a photographic narrative in three parts: "Between Two Worlds"—chaos at the border and farm worker living conditions in San Diego. "Bound To El Nórte"—Central Americans en route to the U.S. atop freight trains through "Mexico: A Global Perspective"—six photo essays from a dozen countries around the world.

It can’t be easy eliciting the trust and cooperation of your subjects. What’s your approach?
With cameras dangling around my neck, I don’t blend in. Nevertheless, I choose to be in close with my subjects and working with wide-angle lenses. To those I’m interested in I usually say something like this: “Hello, I’m Don Bartletti, a photographer from a big American newspaper. I appreciate that your dream of a better life is important to you. It’s also important to the people in my country. If you’ll allow me watch, I won’t stop you from doing anything, but I can’t help you in any way either. I want Americans to see and understand your struggle.”

Do your subjects understand and/or appreciate what you are trying to accomplish?
Some walk away, some beg, others sense my sincerity and share their experience. One Honduran migrant on a freight train in Mexico was more revealing than most. He told me, “Usually the only ones who pay attention to us are police and priests. The police hurt us and priests help us.”

Can you relate some of the hazards and difficulties you’ve experienced over the years?
I set a tripod on the U.S. side of the 10-ft-high border fence with Tijuana. Through slits in the steel planks I bantered with men who admitted they would jump over when the moment was right. I stepped away for a few minutes when a passing Border Patrol stopped nearby. When I returned to the tripod 10 minutes later, the camera was gone. “Chingaderas,” I yelled through the cracks. “I can’t believe you guys would do this! You’ve taken my heart, my soul, my livelihood!” “We didn’t see who did it,” they said. “Okay,” I argued, “Keep the camera, just give me the film.” “We don’t know who did it.” God, I was frustrated. I offered one guy $10 bucks to help me. He countered with $40. “Olvida te!” I said. Forget it! Then I countered with $15. We settled on $20. In a few minutes, an arm appeared through the iron barrier with my Nikon FM2. As I grasped the camera I considered keeping the $20 bill. In spite of my humiliation, I passed the money through, preferring to end the standoff on a positive note. I ditched the tripod but hung around. At 1am the time was right and I made the image titled, “Too Hungry To Knock” with the same camera.


Too Hungry to Knock, San Ysidro, California - 1992

Have you ever run afoul of the border authorities?
In the late ’70s and ’80s the U.S. Border Patrol loathed the media. It took weeks to get approval for a daytime ride along. Night ops? “Too dangerous,” they’d say. Nighttime was anarchy. Legions of illegal migrants usually overwhelmed the B.P. and the agents weren’t proud of it. My reporter Pat McDonnell and I wanted to observe this for ourselves. Around sundown one day we went to the infamous “Soccer Field,” a no-man’s land on the Tijuana border where smugglers sold their “guide” services to migrants. We crossed the borderline and walked with a group of young men, a family with two children and three mariachi musicians lugging their guitars. The smuggler was suspicious, so we quipped, in broken Spanish, “We’re Polish.” After a mile walking on trails through the scrub, we crested a ridge overlooking the San Diego town of San Ysidro. Out of nowhere a helicopter roared overhead with a bright spotlight. The young men and the family froze. The musicians disappeared back south. When ground agents careened up in a Bronco they cursed at the migrants and demanded they lay down in the dirt. The little girl wet her pants. A young agent spotted me shooting photos of people illuminated by the spotlight. He went nuts. “Who the hell are you? Stop taking pictures! You can’t be here! You’re in violation of….” and such and such. I asserted my rights as U.S. citizen and a credentialed journalist. We raised our voices above the noise of the helicopter. Clearly the officers were dumbfounded by our presence in no man’s land. The next day the Border Patrol called a press conference, admonishing the media about a reckless and foolish “reporter and his photographer” who risked their lives among bandits and thieves and interfered with law enforcement officials. But they admitted we had the right to be there after all.

How have your photographs been received in Mexico? Have reactions there differed from how your work is perceived in America?
The Mexican council in San Diego lavished praise on me for telling the saga of his people. Emigration has become an inextricable part of Mexican life. During a series of lectures I gave in California farm worker communities, laborers and their U.S.-born children told me they appreciated seeing the things that have become legend in the history of their families. “The pictures were about my life,” one man said.


Interstate Pedestrians, San Ysidro, California - 1990

Can you share some of your personal motivations in taking these pictures?
I have no idealistic notion that my photographs can change the world. At the very least they present evidence of these turbulent days of anti-immigrant hate and pro-immigrant sympathy. I want my pictures to be evidence that the U.S. can be a tolerant nation in a world that often greets illegal immigrants with the muzzle of a gun. I look to show that immigrants are individuals capable of being just like us—some contribute mightily, others are a burden.

What effect do you think your photographs have had here in the United States?
Through the Los Angeles Times I reach policy makers who are in position to make changes. For example, the image “Interstate Pedestrians” was the inspiration for the California Department of Transportation to create warning signs on San Diego freeways alerting motorists to groups of people who run across the freeway near the border and checkpoints farther north. Hundreds were killed and maimed. The yellow signs, drawn from several published and unpublished photos I provided, as well as billboards and posters, helped reduce the carnage.

Do you think your images have helped Americans, even those opposed to illegal immigration, view illegal immigrants with at least a modicum more compassion and understanding?
I have received hundreds of letters and email messages over my career. Most congratulate me for revealing things they didn’t know about. Some say they are writing with tears in their eyes. Others ask how they can help reduce the suffering of hapless farm workers sleeping in spider holes and plastic shacks. Some have sent me checks to give to certain people I photographed. But more than a few have damned me for the essays on Central Americans coming to the U.S. through Mexico. I’ve been accusing of giving “step-by-step lessons on how to break federal immigration laws.”

Do you find it harder for documentary work to make a social impact due to the changed nature of media and the image overload in today's society?
Overload is the operative phrase, that’s for sure. TV, radio, the Internet, podcasts, blogs, docudramas—all provide competition for the print photographer. Ironically, the press is usually the point source for the rest of the media, which lack the investigative commitment of major newspapers and freelance journalists. Busy Americans are easily placated by the truncated talking head TV version, or the car radio personality spin on serious newspaper projects. The Web is a great tool to use more photos, narration and natural sound to tell my stories. The picture that’s worth a thousand words is a rarity, but a picture plus a thousand words is priceless.


Memorial to a Slain Companion, San Ysidro, California - 1992

What makes your work resonate so powerfully for me is its objectivity. For example, one of your pictures depicts a Mexican girl trying to rip the American flag. It’s not a flattering image, but it’s a truthful one. In other words, you don’t set out to make saints of your subjects, or even martyrs, simply human beings trying to cope with difficult circumstances as best they can. Is that how you approach it?
Although I try to be objective, it’s impossible not to formulate opinions when I’m so immersed in an issue. The experience of the protesting high school teen mangling the U.S. flag as her classmates waved Mexican flags still shocks me. It’s an unguarded moment that exposes a hypocritical notion of automatic entitlement for illegal immigrants. My editors declined to run the image. Nevertheless, it’s in my archive. Another image for the photo album of this nation.

Although you have referenced the influence of Dorothea Lange regarding your work, I also sense an affinity with Josef Koudelka’s pictures of gypsies, another marginalized group. You both create images of an unflinching directness and simplicity, coupled with an objective yet poetic visual representation. What photographers besides Lange have you drawn inspiration from?
I really take inspiration from Lewis Hine, who said that when he walked out of his flat, he was determined to make a photograph that would either change something, or make it appreciated. The satisfaction I get from doing documentary photojournalism is translating universal traits that speak to those far removed from the subject. Quite often it’s an unchoreographed dance between the subject and myself. But I’m not cavorting around looking for contrived compositions or radical angles. A powerful image has two characteristics: content and style. My use of lenses, shutter speeds, angle, light and timing all contribute to enhancing a subject of relevant editorial content. Style that’s trendy or enigmatic is unnecessary.

Many of your pictures, such as “Crossing the Tijuana River,” seem to transcend their time, setting and circumstances, and resonate with a universal recognition of our shared humanity. Are you ever conscious of this when you’re photographing in the heat of the moment?
I felt it in a huge way on that particular night. As I sloshed through the fetid Tijuana river channel with the camera smashed up against my face I was shaking with anxiety, sweating, mumbling to myself about what to include and what to leave out. Activity on the borderline is like high drama. It’s infused with uncertainty and hope that “crossing over” suggests. This is where life-changing decisions are played out.


Crossing the Tijuana River, Tijuana, Mexico/San Ysidro, California - 1992

In a similar vein, how conscious are you of the visual aesthetic when you’re making these images? How important is that aspect to you, if at all?
My primary objective is to tell a story with each image. A writer uses his notes, experience, quotes and adjectives to make a point and keep the reader’s interest. The main subject in concert with the background, foreground and edges are my artistic tools. I seldom look for close-ups of faces, as I believe the dichotomy of a person and his environment is a more revealing composition. It’s a jolt when I see that through the viewfinder.

Put another way, do you try to guard against making the images that are too pleasing from an aesthetic perspective?
In a newspaper it’s tough to arrest a reader’s attention long enough to get the message across. The photograph needs to be compositionally interesting. However, I loath techniques like tilted horizons, blurry subjects that aren’t moving, silhouettes, blown-out highlights, symbolic shadows, repeated shapes, chopped-off faces, etc. Those artsy crutches do more to distinguish the photographer’s skill than the importance of the subject. The subject should be the #1 author of the photograph, not the “artiste” behind the box.

The title of your catalog, “Between Two Worlds,” refers to the physical space that constitutes the border between Mexico and America, but also, and in a larger sense, to the cultural dislocation these immigrants must feel as they cope with all the differences between their native countries and the U.S. This cultural chasm seems especially apparent in the image “Suburban Lights.” Do you think this aspect of your work has been fully recognized and understood?
Sometimes my pictures take on a life of their own. Nativists and ultra-conservatives have used “Suburban Lights” as proof that “we’re being invaded” by people from countries that don’t care about the needy. Migrant advocates and ultra-liberals took the same image to preach about San Diego’s shameful policies that neglect the needy among us. As long as we debate in a civilized manner, the truth in polarized opinions is healthy. Like Dorothea Lange said, “I want people to look at my pictures and ask, ‘How can such things be?’”


Suburban Lights, Carlsbad, California - 1988

What have you learned from the immigrants you’ve photographed?
I recognize that migration for survival is as old as humanity, as unstoppable as the wind and frequently misunderstood. I’ve seen that emigration is often the only desperate solution to unpardonable social, political and economic corruption that cripples abandoned nations.

What have you learned about yourself?
In my own community, among people who feel threatened by immigration I sense a helpless discomfort heaped upon all of us. Benjamin Franklin is known to have felt that there were too many Germans here! As a boy, I remember my parents complained about all the Puerto Ricans in south Philly. Then again, when I’m in the cities and pueblos of Latin America, on the trails of migration, or in the barrios in the U.S., I gaze upon those for whom migration is a personal struggle of unimaginable uncertainty. This is not an easy subject. Migration is seldom the easy solution for anyone, but I vow to be tolerant.

(I wrote about Don Bartletti’s work in the June 2007 issue of Black & White magazine.)