In Parts

West Texas is just far — far from perfect — far from over — far from anywhere.

I think a 35mm lens asks us to select a subject in the scene, while a 50mm lens lets us point the camera anywhere, allowing the entire image to become the thing.

The 50mm feels closer to how my eyes scan; it’s just there with me, not asking much.

The 50mm made me feel a part of something larger in vast places — normal equivalents in large format: 150mm (4×5) and 300mm (8×10).

Large format taught me that I really needed to walk, scout, and sit with what’s there. Sometimes the image wouldn’t show up until I was almost done setting up, leaving me to wonder, what was that? How did that happen? And then, with the slower process, I had to live with each image through developing, printing, and scanning.

The view camera is a great tool because you spend most of your time beside it, fidgeting with it, assembling it, and unfolding it. You have to compose the frame without looking through the camera, merely using the ground glass to focus and fine tune, and then when tripping the shutter, you stand beside the camera, locking eyes with the landscape. Nothing else comes close — maybe a rangefinder.

When you have a view camera, you have to stick to the basics because the whole thing weighs a ton. A 50mm lens on a modern mirrorless lightens the load while honoring all that I love about large format.

I never set out to be a monochrome photographer — I just periodically found it as a workaround for a camera limitations.

We’re each creative, you’ve just got to do the work — what’s there will reveal itself — sit and watch.