Paul Chambers

 Catching Light & Time: In the Shadow of Renoir

“A lot of work you say? Absolutely, this process isn’t for people who desire the comfort of a Herman Miller chair and Adobe Photoshop, the physical work is part of what makes it special.” - Quinn Jacobson

2023 was an extraordinary year for Chambers. After serving his apprenticeship in 2021 and 2022 under the watchful gaze of revered collodion artist Dave Shrimpton, Paul, thanks especially to David Ummels and Art for Guernsey, embarked on a wetplate journey, the likes one only dreams of - Catching Light and Time: In the Shadow of Renoir.

Artists have long been captivated by Moulin Huet, since the light has a particular quality. Renoir felt challenged by the emergence of photography: whilst the Impressionists were at the cutting edge of painting, this novel medium was making an impact on the art world. He was sure, however, that one thing that photographers could not capture was the movement of the light.

And so it was that over a number of cups of coffee akin to the one Tom Waits took with Iggy Pop, three ragamuffins, David Ummels, Jock Pettit and and Local photographer Paul Chambers, agreed that to accompany the returning of 15 Renoir masterpieces painted during his visit 140 years ago in 1883, it would be a playfully creative idea to try and prove Renoir wrong. So, armed with photographic equipment that would have been available in the 19th century, Chambers took up the challenge of achieving what Renoir thought to be impossible.

Process: The Journey of capturing the light.

Let's imagine that you're taking a cliff walk with friends to the valley of Moulin Huet and you'd like to capture the advennture. Today, you would just need carry along a small camera or mobile phone; the kind that you can instantly replay back with all the immediacy of the digital world. But what about in times past? If you went back, to, say, 1883, the time of Pierre-Auguste Renoir, the story would be quite different.

For one thing, you'd be dealing with heavy glass plates. The camera, too, would be heavy, as well as bulky. And chances are you'd be working with wet-collodion plates, which would mean that (in addition to your camera and glass plates), you would also need to carry on your back a complete darkroom, with all its chemicals, and in your head a fairly in-depth knowledge of chemistry.

As if all of that wasn't enough, every time you decided to take a picture, you'd have to set up your darkroom tent, prepare a glass plate, then expose and develop the plate while it was still wet.

Step by step, this is what I did, each day in the valley:

Each plate needs to be fully coated with Collodion; a mixture of raw cotton (which has been treated with nitric and sulphuric acids) dissolved in ether and alcohol, with a little iodide and bromide mixed in before it is immersed in a bath of Silver Nitrate in the darkroom, which in my case was a dark tent!

Whilst still in the dark room, with dim red light, I place the plate into a light-proof case.

Back in the light, I exposed the plate, allowing the light to enter the camera and strike the light-sensitive collodion.

Then follows a rather ‘urgent’ quick step to take the plate (still in its holder) back to the dark tent where, under the same dim red light as before, the plate is developed. And this is where the magic begins; in the dark red glow, a negative image begins to appear after a few seconds. 

The plate then has to be washed thoroughly, in the dark, before coming back into the light for fixing. 

The fixing is the part of the process that most people love - to the eye, it’s magic, photographic sorcery. As the plate is placed into the fix bath the negative image on the plate goes through a transformation before it appears as a positive image and I begin to see what the angels of light have allowed my camera to capture.

A personal Reflection:

For me, the wet plate collodion process is the logical return to the origins of photography. It slows down the creation of the photograph and forces me to work with concentration and intent. Unlike with digital photography and its incessant need for sharpness, the images are imperfect, unpredictable, unrepeatable and unique with a highly personal characteristic. It is hard to be involved with this process without being deeply moved.

Heading into the valley that clear but cold January morning in 2023, with the camera over my shoulder, for the first time was like recalling the memory of a dream. For months it had felt that Renoir and I had been communing through time itself. I’d been enamoured, pulled in to his story, his reasons for sailing to these shores to find his earthly paradise, to find himself even. This resonated deeply with me. I felt a kinship with this romantic impressionist of the 19th century. Could I somehow capture the ghost of Pierre August in his quest to capture the movement of this heavenly light as I prayed for the Angel of uncertainty during the seconds of exposure? Sally Mann puts it, “like all photographers, I depend on serendipity for what might be referred to as the angel of chance”.

I stood where Renoir had stood and I felt the weight of the presence of those who had gone before and the task of trying to catch the movement of light through a piece of curved glass and a wooden box.

As the weeks and months went by though, I learned to let go. To sit down and simply watch the landscape and let it speak to me. 

Sally Mann also suggests that, in a way, photography robs us of our memory. That the final image can drive us away from the original impressions and experiences.

What I love about the wet plate image is that it never seems final. And time in the valley seems to still somewhat. It seems to still enough for the air to be resonant with those who have gone before and by the time I photographed Saints View, I felt there was an invitation from the past where the spirits still roamed the landscape and were brought alive in the fragile, flawed collodion mix.

In the American Civil War, collodion was used to bind wounds and as the final image came through the fog of the fix, I wondered if the magic of is alchemy might just have done the same.  I've come to believe that this technique is the most beautiful and (im)perfect way of releasing the vision of a camera catching the movement of light.