The Photograph Considered number forty nine – Mark Darragh

Pencil Pine branchlet in ice, Walls of Jerusalem National Park. 60.9 x 76.2 cm inkjet print from 4×5 transparency.

Like many large format photographers, I love detail and the ability of large format film to record fine details as part of the wider landscape. Often, these details produce the most evocative and personal photographs of an area I visit. This is the case with Pencil Pine branchlet in ice, one of a series of close-ups from a trip to Tasmania’s Central Plateau, in early September 2014. 

When planning the walk, months before, we were hopeful of at least some snow cover. The reality when we arrived was quite different. An exceptionally fine spell of weather throughout August meant there was scarcely a snowflake left on the whole of the Central Plateau. The rest of the party was elated with clear skies and fine weather. The photographer, who is a contrary creature at the best of times, was not so impressed. Bright, cloudless days cast deep shadows that are generally too contrasty and harsh for wider landscapes. The lack of clouds also offered little interest for photography at sunrise and sunset. Still, the clear nights were very cold, and every morning, heavy frost clothed the landscape. Shallow tarns and pools were covered with delicate sheets of patterned ice. All this provided worthy subjects to photograph.

I made the Pencil Pine photograph mid-afternoon under a breathtaking stand of mature trees. The area had been in deep shade all morning, preserving some of the previous night’s freeze. Most of the ice was very thin and clear, but the texture of this particular piece caught my eye. The ice had also begun to melt around the branchlet, resulting in a silvery outline.

Finding a potential subject is one thing, photographing it can be another. I wanted to fill the frame with the Pencil Pine branchlet as much as possible but balance that with the patterned ice. A composition that was close to life-size would achieve that.

The ground around the branchlet was quite soft, and every time I moved, there was a danger that the thin ice might crack. Slow and cautious movements were the order of the day. I spent more than half an hour positioning the tripod and camera, making sure they weren’t casting a shadow or reflected in the ice.

The second challenge was bringing the composition into focus. At near 1:1, the depth of field is very limited. The ice itself was straightforward, being flat, but it was impossible to get all the branchlet in focus. As so often happens in these situations, it was a compromise. The ice and most of the branchlet are sharp, with the closest part of the branchlet slightly soft.

Time sometimes seems to move quickly when your head is under a dark cloth. By the time I felt  ready to expose some film, I was alarmed to see that the edge of the shadow had moved very close to my composition. Some of the ice beyond the edges was already beginning to melt. There certainly wasn’t time for undue delay.

When photographing in open shade, I often use an 81b or similar filter to counter the blue hue of the light. Part of what makes this photograph work is the contrast between the blue ice and the reddish-brown Pencil Pine branchlet. To preserve that, I decided not to use any filtration. Film-wise, my choices were Fujichrome Velvia RVP 50 and Provia RDP 100, my standards at the time for colour work. Working in the shade and needing to add an additional two stops to the exposure for bellows compensation would result in a long exposure. Given that I chose Provia, which requires no reciprocity compensation for exposure times up to 2 minutes.

I made two exposures of 15 seconds with an aperture of f45 using a 120mm macro lens.

Shortly after I exposed the second sheet of film, the sun finally hit the ice. And by the time I had packed the camera and tripod up, my subject was resting in a shallow pool of water.

At the time, I was hopeful of a good photograph, but there is always uncertainty: “Was the composition balanced? Did I get the focus right? Had I metered and calculated the bellows compensation correctly?” Shooting film can bring either elation or despair when the film is finally developed.

A few weeks later, when I picked up the transparencies from the lab, the image, while not without flaws, exceeded my expectations. The photograph has subsequently been printed as a 60.9 x 76.2 cm inkjet print and displayed in two exhibitions.

Before our trip to the Walls of Jerusalem, a photograph such as this was far from my mind. In retrospect, the Pencil Pine branchlet captures the essence of both time and place in a way that no wider landscape photograph could.

More photographs & articles by Mark Darragh can be seen here.