Autochrome

Originally Posted Sunday, August 18, 2013

As beautiful as my photographs are (eh-hem), all I've ever wanted to do was shoot autochromes.  I've argued with photographers about this process.  I say that it is lost, that nobody on the planet knows how to make one.  I argued with the photo archivist in the bowels of the National Geographic headquarters in Washington D.C. where I was viewing some of theirs from the early 20th century.  They are, without a doubt, the most beautiful photo images you can ever see.  They were made with potato starch particles dyed red, green, and blue varnished onto a glass plate.  They were produced commercially by the Lumiere Brothers until films like Kodachrome came into the marketplace.  How in the heck the formula for making them disappeared. . . well, it is like Polaroid, I guess.  Nobody can tell us how the freaking film was made.  People have come up with different versions, but nothing comes close to the beauty of Polacolor.  And now, Kodachrome, which was the king of color film, is gone, too.  And so we are left to struggle to make something beautiful with what we have.  Pixels and inkjet droplets that I try my dumbfounded hardest to turn into something else. 

I am in touch with many of the people inventing new films today, and nobody knows how to make an autochrome.  People know the ingredients that go into making it, but nobody has the equipment or knows the precise process.  The archivist at N.G. said there were people who knew how to make autochromes.  I asked him, "who."  He acted like he was in the Masonic order, and indeed the National Geographic headquarters had a bit of that feel to it.  How had I gotten as far as I had into the bowels of the place?  It wasn't long before the vaulted door unlocked.  When it opened, security guards were there to see me out. 

AT the Guggenheim once, I saw two small oil paintings done on glass by. . . who was it?  Jesus, they were the most beautiful things the artist had ever done.  Who?  They were made early in his career.  They were small, perhaps 4x5, and I couldn't drag myself away.  Too bad I can't remember. . . Who?  I want to say Edvard Munch. 

I have seen hand colored ambrotypes that have a clever beauty, and perhaps I should explore that.  I have an idea that might, perhaps, work. 

It is Sunday, and I will make it a day of rest.  I am tired.  I wake in the middle of the night, even last night after taking a Xanax.  But this time, I remembered my dreams, and I realize I've been dreaming the same dream all week.  I am going to be arrested in the dream.  It has been happening, and last night, I was being processed for jail.  It was all very sad, and when I saw my mother, she was thirty years younger and getting ready to give an interview to the press.  She seemed quite pleased to do it, really.  It was haunting. 

I saw "Blue Jasmine" last night.  I thought to write about it this morning, but I am still processing what I watched.  I'll do it, perhaps tonight, and maybe post it in the morning.  You will be waiting with baited/bated/abated breath(s).