ETA: Two Weeks from now

Yeah, we made it! ETA for Anna is two weeks from now, and I was a little worried that we might run out of time. But she is a very patient baby. She was getting a little excited when mommy was prettying up for the shoot, but seemed to like the studio flashes going off. At least she was not complaining, and we all had a ball in the studio.

I can’t wait to see the little lady for her second portraiture session, this time outside of mommy’s belly.

The long way ... oder: Omi wäre stolz

About a year ago when I was visiting my parents, I found my grandmother’s camera in the attic. She had bought the camera – an AGFA Billy Compur - when my mother was born in 39, and I have quite a few photographs that were taken with it.



Soon I learned that the lubricant that had once made for smooth turning of the rings had – over the many years – turned into solid glue and the shutter and the focusing where frozen. It took me several attempts but finally I found someone who could fix it: Zacks Camera Repair in Providence, RI did a wonderful job. Three weeks ago I loaded my first roll, and Billy and I traveled to Ireland.



We still have to get used to each other. Billy is all about manual everything … exposure and focusing. (He made me dig out my light meter). I love the 6x9 cm format of the negative, but I hate that I only get 8 shots out of a roll. And he has to stop sheading dust from inside his leather bellows and tossing it on the film. Or at least I suspect that he doing that. Like I said, we have to get used to each other. We have an exciting way ahead of us. I wonder how he feels about trying out a roll of modern Kodak Portra 400 …

Across the Atlantic ... to see Family

TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND

DANCE there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water's roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool's triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)