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Life Update
Stability often seems like a figment of our imagination, especially when we attempt to establish any kind of routine or long-term plan. My intentions to diligently update the blog and encapsulate the beautiful world through my lens for the next magazine issue were thwarted by the indiscriminate whims of life.
Last week’s agenda was teeming with prospective posts and exploratory jaunts into the wild to capture those frozen moments in time. However, fate took an unexpected turn.
On the preceding Friday, as if on cue from an unwelcome script, a virulent sickness took hold of me. At that time, the nature of my malady was a mystery, but its impact was immediate and undeniable. I heeded my body’s distress signals, retreating early to seek the comfort of my bed’s embrace, where I lingered through the dark hours.
As Saturday dawned, I found myself no better off, wrestling with the relentless clutches of my unseen adversary. Yet, by sheer force of will on Sunday, Deana and I ventured out, attempting to bask in the revelry of Saint Patrick’s Day and to grasp at the slipping sands of my birthday celebration under the specter of my illness.
It wasn’t until Tuesday that clarity was afforded to me by a visit to the doctor. Their diagnosis? The formidable Flu, Type A. At 52, while not resigning to antiquity, I felt besieged as never before. The objective clause of the line made famous by Oppenheimer, “I’ve become death…”—resonated with me as I grappled with this unwelcome guest.
This ordeal wasn’t a mere skirmish but a prolonged siege—the kind that batters the gates with relentless ferocity from daybreak to nightfall. The flu typically embarks on its course with the unpredictability of a tempest, its rampage abating within a matter of days. Contrarily, this strain has held me captive in its tumultuous embrace, relenting only on its own enigmatic terms.
The manifestations of my ailment are numerous, an anthology of discomfort I wish not to impart in full detail. However, the most punishing of its arsenal has undoubtedly been the ceaseless coughing that steals the very air from my lungs.
The simple act of communication has been usurped by this viral scourge, leaving me unable to host Instagram live sessions without succumbing to fits of coughing that drain my strength and disrupt the dialogue.
In this taxing time, my wife, Deana, has been stoically by my side. She is the anchor in my storm, nurturing and understanding, even as she recovers from her bout of illness that seems to have found renewed vigor.
Rest assured, the rhythms of the blog shall find their tempo once again in the coming week. There is much on the horizon that I am eager to share, and my work on the website continues unabated. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to all for your patience and understanding during this unforeseen intermission. Thank you.
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The First Issue of Purblind Illumination
The arrival of the inaugural issue of “Purblind Illumination” in my mailbox was like a shaft of light piercing through the morning mist, courtesy of the diligent postman. The anticipation gave way to sheer delight as I admired the impressive tactile quality of the paper – its thickness, shadow detail, and the subtle sheen that seemed to caress each image.
Crafting this initial publication, I was intensely focused on the content as much as the aesthetics. The thickness and quality of the paper were not incidental. They were deliberate choices designed to showcase the photographs to their utmost potential. Each page was intended to be so much more than simply a part of a magazine—it was an individual frame-worthy print. It was essential that the visual stories I was telling appeared as I intended, fully embodying the narrative captured in that frozen moment of time.
Limited to 24 pages, the decision on brevity was as much an economic one as it was a qualitative one. Priced at an accessible $10 each, these pages are not merely to be flipped through, but to be pondered over, potentially even adorning the walls of those who appreciate the imagery as much as I do. To own a piece of “Purblind Illumination” is to possess a slice of artistic vision, one that could easily be mistaken for a standalone photograph in a frame.
Looking ahead, I envisage the evolution of subsequent issues. The current brevity will give way to a more elaborate narrative, where the imagery is complemented with background stories—texts that give insight into the captured moment. I aim to share the contemplations that preceded the click of the shutter, the accidental or painstakingly planned events that led to the final composition. This additional context will enrich the visual experience, providing a depth that completes the story each photograph intends to tell.
However, the crux of this venture battles against financial constraints. Maintaining affordability while producing a product of such high quality is a juggling act of sorts, with the commitment to keep the price below $20 an issue. This is not a lucrative endeavor; rather, it is one of passion and gratitude. Each magazine sold isn’t just a transaction; it is a meaningful exchange, support for my vision and lack thereof—quite literally—as I navigate the reality of my impending blindness.
I have previously confided about my vision; time is becoming a precious commodity, a dwindling resource. As I continue to document the world through my unique perspective, I will be seizing life, moment by moment, distilling it into a still image. The prognosis gives me a finite window of around two years of sight, during which I intend to pour my heart into this project.
While the future may see subtle tweaks to the format of “Purblind Illumination,” these changes will be inconsequential compared to the core of what the magazine represents—my lasting visual legacy, a testament to the beauty and poignancy of life as seen through my lens.
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Industrial Line
Reflecting on the photograph I captured of the former industrial railroad line, it resonates on multiple levels, both in terms of aesthetic and historic significance. The textures and leading lines don’t just converge to create a beautiful image; they tell the story of transformation and change.
The Doodle Line‘s transformation into the Doodle Trail exemplifies a wider trend of repurposing old industrial spaces to fit contemporary needs. This concept of adaptive reuse not only preserves a slice of history but also breathes new life into areas that once hummed with the industrial activity of a bygone era.
The photograph elegantly captures the dichotomy between the bygone era of cotton and paper mills—a time when these lines were the arteries pumping the lifeblood of Southern industry—and their present state, being overtaken by nature’s relentless advance. This is emblematic of economic shifts where the old is giving way to new realities, quite visibly with the mills morphing into modern apartments.
The picture provides a commentary on the passage of time. The fact that the rails leading to the mill, now modernized into apartments, are slowly disappearing beneath grasses is a poetic representation of the relentless march of time and nature’s capacity for reclaiming. Yet, in the background, the mill stands as a haunting reminder of the past, bridging the historical divide.
Photographs play a crucial role in documenting these transitions. They offer more than just a visual treat; they invite contemplation and open dialogues about our collective history and future. They remind us that while places may change their skin, their bones remain steeped in the stories and memories of those who remember them as they once were.
The use of the Lerouge 135L to capture this image expands the narrative by giving a wider perspective. Not only does it allow more of the rustic scene to be included, but it also provides space within the frame to consider the old alongside the new, the industrial heritage juxtaposed with its future.
There is also a metaphorical aspect to consider—the rusting rails leading to repurposed mills serve as a symbol. They represent the inevitable evolution of industry and society, but also the way we lay tracks for the future while never really erasing the routes of our past. In essence, this photograph isn’t just a static image; it is a visual story unfolding, rich with texture, depth, and meaning.
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Day One
What activities do you lose yourself in?
Capturing our world in photographs.
A beautiful Pentax Spotmatic F https://www.instagram.com/jeffersondavis12?igsh=MWJ3cWsxcHVtb2E0MQ%3D%3D&utm_source=qr
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Minolta SR-7 Comprehensive Review
In the vibrant and ever-evolving world of photography, it is not uncommon for enthusiasts to come across a piece of technology that stands the test of time. Such is the case of the magnificent Minolta SR-7, a camera that I reviewed back in July of 2023, which you can read about in my previous post. Since my initial review, my journey with the SR-7 has progressed, leading me to replace the deteriorating light seals—a small price to pay for the consistent performance of this vintage treasure.
The Minolta SR-7 is far more than just a camera—it’s a historical artifact. Cast yourself back to the year 1962, a period charged with the excitement of space exploration and the Kennedy administration, the SR-7 was introduced as the first 35mm SLR camera with a built-in CdS light meter, a feature that significantly simplified photography for professionals and hobbyists alike. Before the advent of integrated light meters, photographers relied on external devices, which they would have to purchase, frequently from local drugstores along with their film.
The significance of the SR-7’s contribution to photography is remarkable. It stands among influential models like the Pentax Spotmatic and other Canon and Nikon contemporaries, all of which played a role in the eventual demise of the standalone light meter market. Yet, companies like Sekonic persevered, carving out a niche that persists among certain professional and amateur photographers who seek the precision that these standalone devices offer.
Reflecting on my personal experience, acquiring the SR-7 was akin to unearthing hidden treasure. Its initial condition was far from immaculate—dirty, grimy, and non-functional. However, with some dedication and time spent on sprucing up the exterior, addressing the aged internal lubricant, and restoring the battery contacts, the camera sprang back to life. It was a humble yet deeply satisfying renaissance.
Equipped with the esteemed Minolta 58mm Rokkor-PF f/1.4 lens, a classic known for its exceptional sharpness at wide open apertures, the SR-7 doesn’t merely compete with modern lenses but may exceed many, thanks to the relative simplicity of its optical design. Below, I invite you to peruse a gallery showcasing shots from my inaugural roll of Kentmere 100 film taken through this lens.
The act of shooting with this camera in downtown Easley, near where I reside, was profoundly different from any digital experience. The SR-7 requires you to absorb the moment, peer down at the exposure meter, and make careful considerations before finalizing the composition and taking the photograph. This approach imparts a sense of mindfulness to the practice of photography—slowing down, contemplating, measuring, and then capturing the moment. It’s this deliberate pace that reshapes one’s perspective on photography.
Onlookers often approach me, their curiosity piqued by the distinct, vintage aesthetic of the camera that undoubtedly carries an “alien” appearance in contrast to modern devices. Using the SR-7 has been an immensely gratifying process, bathing in the nostalgia of the 1960s while creating timeless images.
For those who cherish the art of photography, who revel in the opportunity to try different angles and perspectives, securing a Minolta SR-7 on platforms like eBay or Etsy comes highly recommended. Owning this historic piece of photography is not just about owning a tool for image creation; it’s a journey through time, a homage to the craft, and a commitment to preserving and appreciating the feats of innovation that laid the groundwork for the luxuries of modern photography. It’s a decision I’ve made and not for a moment have I looked back in regret. The SR-7 not only deserves celebration; it demands to be used and prized.
