MY STRUGGLES WITH A CAMERA.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue XIV, 8 April 1899, Page 459

MY STRUGGLES WITH A CAMERA.

‘Yes,’ I decided, after reading the florid description (in an advertisement) of the wonders accomplished by the ‘Clipper’ camera, ‘evidently the one thing needful to make existence useful, profitable, and delightful is a photographic camera.’ As with the tempting occupations which offer to either sex a rare opportunity to increase their income, ‘no previous experience is necessary,’ and unparalleled results are obtained from the trifling exertion involved in pressing a button or touching a spring. That would just suit me. ‘And there is no occasion to purchase an expensive outfit,’ I mused, ‘when such brilliant successes can be achieved by the aid of these small affairs.’

Within a few days i was the proud possessor of the ‘Clipper’ camera, with plates, slides, and other known and unknown appurtenances thereunto belonging, and was off for a holiday to the Highlands. These not altogether unknown regions should live again in the hearts of Englishmen, and be further revived and beloved, when I gave my photographs to the world. I took a long and delightful excursion—it was worth while to incur a little expense for the sake of the scene I should by this means secure —and boldly held my camera up in front of one of the biggest mountains. As 1 had omitted to ascertain the manner in which photographs are usually taken, and had, in fact, no idea of the process, it was a fine opportunity to call common sense into play. I did so, and decided, first of all, that by turning the broad end in which was the plate towards the mountain I gave the latter a much better chance of immortality than if the small lens had been pointed at it. I drew out the paper Chinese - lantern arrangement which fixed the ‘focus,’ released the spring, and the thing was done—as easy as child’s play! I ordered a meat tea instead of dinner at an early hour

that evening, so that I might devote an unclouded intellect to the science of photography. At last my arrangements were complete: the mysterious mixtures in the bottles were at hand, the ‘actinic’ light was blown out, and 1 was left by the xague illumination of the ruby lamp to explore into the recesses of my camera, take out the plate, and place it, ‘film side tipwards,’ in the dish. Then, with a beating heart, I deftly poured on the developer, and rocked the dish. I rocked assiduously, zealously. There could have been nothing more

perfect in that line had I been a paterfamilias. I kept looking, as the directions enjoined, to see ‘the image appear gradually,’ but I looked and rocked, and rocked and looked, in vain. My mountain never appeared at all. After a couple of hours of this sort of exercise I left the plate to steep in the developer, and sought relaxation.

An acquaintance to whom I casually mentioned my method of working and singular lack of success, poured out on me a vast amount of advice. It is surprising from what an elevation a six months’ possessor of a camera bestows counsel. However, I am not above accepting information, and I resolved, as my own way had failed, to give his a trial. Accordingly, I sallied forth again, and this time I attacked a loch —with the lens, instead of the shutter end directed to it, and again at night I poured on fresh developer and rocked. The result was more manifest, though scarcely more satisfactory. A heavy blackness settled on the plate, through which it was impossible to discover any ‘image’ at all, except that of darkness visible. The failure which attended the mode of procedure recommended by my friend was not such a severe blow as the failure I had experienced on my own account, and I resolved to give the theory another try. I was not going to be beaten by a machine Sin by 6in. I would try a ‘time exposure.’ I did so. I tried a short time exposure and a long time exposure—from five seconds to five minutes, and so on to half an hour. I tried indoors and out of doors, shine and shade, animate and inanimate objects, and precisely the same result followed in all cases, or, rather total lack of result. I consulted two other amateur photographers.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Amateur Number One, taking up a plate (the one which I had in desperation exposed for half an hour), and holding it with a knowing- air to the light, ‘Easy to see what is the matter here—not sufficient exposure.’ Amateur Number Two seized on another representation of darkness, blacker than I should have

supposed anything could get in five seconds —indoors, too—with, ‘By Jingo! over-exposed!’ My faith in the wisdom of my photographic friends was shaken. However, I had no objection to borrow a camera from them and to follow their advice, returning my own camera, accompanied by a letter expressing more grief than anger to the makers. I found the new camera a neat article, more important in appearance than my first experiment, and even simpler in its adjustments. A ‘fixed focus’ is warranted to take anything—exX-epit the influenza. I

carried it with me on one of those long excursions arranged in Scotland to keep you at it all day without letting you get away too far from your starting place, by coach, steamer.

train—steamer—train. coach—traits coach steamer. A charming girl displayed the utmost interest in my camera, which I exhibited to her with the confidence.

I flattered myself, of an old hand. She was charmed when I informed her that I was going to ‘take’ the Craigkilochlochkilchree Falls. ‘Oh, would I give her a photograph? She so loved those falls. They were so picturesque

and all that.’ I said I would if she would assist me in its production. (Of course, I knew she could not help me, but it sounded polite.)

She did not get so much in the way as I had feared, and after the supreme moment, about which, I verily beleive, she was as anxious as I, and that is saying a good deal, we — But this is beside the question. It made me, however, determined to succeed with this photograph. It would be a

tender and appropriate memento of the day; and what a graceful souvenir it would l>e! How tenderly I drew out the slide that evening by the nonaetinie light. She had slid the shutter that morning. 1 slid it back now; but. horror! where was the plate? I shook it. There was no answering rattle. Consternation! No plate had been inserted.

Cool reflection next morning—l am of an eminently philosophic and reasonable turn of mind—convinced me that the omission of the plate could not be ascribed as a fault of the camera, and that therefore I should—particularly as it was borrowed—give it another try. I put Miss Merridew off with vague remarks about ‘toning’ and ‘touching up' when she inquired after the Craigkiloehloehkilchree Falls, and to divert her attention 1 said 1 would photograph her. She threw herself into a. most graceful attitude, leaning against the heather covered rocks, and I could not help exclaiming that she made a charming picture. After thaj, I rocked ami developed the plate, inspired anew. Rapture! At last my efforts were to be crowned with success. Something—mysterious, vague enough, but still something—appeared. I persevered. Irregular patches

of light and shade could be descried, whilst the circle of the lens was distinctly visible. I could not discern anything definite, but, no doubt, that would come with the ‘printing’ and ‘toning.’ 1 had a vague idea that, on the negative, objects appeared the reverse to what they were. The more reverse the better. Something was bound to turn up right in that etme. I could not sleep that night. Miss Merridew must be somewhere on that slide.

Next morning I ‘printed.’ but, alas! where were the rocks, and where was Miss Merridew? A light blank was, no doubt, the water; a fiery chocolate blank was, no doubt, the grassy foreground. Was that a stone in the top left-hand corner? or could it be —yes, it was! — Miss Merridew's skirts. The remainder of Miss Merridew had got outside the ‘fixed focus’ and disappeared.

I have come to the conclusion that photography offers a larger percentage of crushing blows and humiliating experiences than any other pursuit, and yet it has a fatal fascination which allures its victims. But faint heart never won fair lady, or photo-

graphed her, and now that the makers of the ‘Clipper’ camera have sent me a new apparatus, with the explanation that a pin-prick in a vital part, had been the cause of my failures with it, I shall probably renew the attack; but this time I shall pursue my dark investigations alone and in secret, and to mortal man—least of all to woman —shall never be revealed the failures and vicissitudes which I foresee must be my lot before I burst upon an astonished and admiring world as ‘Mr Smith, the accomplished amateur photographer.’