Pinhole Photos

About 10 years ago, I participated in a pinhole photography workshop, sparking an ongoing investigation into this simple but challenging and exciting medium. 

Even though I have a BA in Computer Science, I tend to be drawn to creative pursuits that involve very little technology. I create pinhole photographs using cameras I make from materials salvaged from the recycle bin, or rescued from a thrift store. The ‘camera’ is any container (old box or cookie tin) that I can make light-proof, and that I can open to load and unload the ‘film’. My film is photographic paper that I develop in our basement bathroom. 

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Despite the crude equipment, pinhole photographs can be surprisingly sophisticated and rewarding. I welcome the element of surprise that results from this low-tech process. Pinhole cameras have no viewfinder or light meter. I guess at the exposure by looking at the available light, and how much squinting I need to do. My ‘shutter’ is a piece of tape. Nevertheless, I am enthralled with how this simple activity can capture more (and sometimes less) than expected. Unlike taking a photograph with a typical lens-based camera, taking a pinhole photograph requires a long exposure time (from 30 seconds to an hour or more, depending on the light level). As a result, the image captures the passage of time, not just a split-second. Like abstract passages in a painting, the inexactness of the process can lead to a more authentic and exciting image. 

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One of my favourite subjects is a large crowd, such as James Street North during Supercrawl. Because my cameras are small cardboard boxes or metal tins, individuals are usually not aware that I am taking a photograph. This allows me to document a scene unnoticed, without subjects becoming self-conscious or guarded. Also, due to the long exposure, the slightest movement causes distortion and blurring. As a result, individuals are unrecognizable, which adds a generic quality that I find visually interesting. 

Many of my smaller pinhole photographs are contact prints, printed directly from the paper negative, and developed in the darkroom. When exposing these I can manipulate the image, manually playing with light as it hits the paper. When I was a child, my father taught me how to make prints in our basement bathroom-darkroom, showing me how to ‘burn’ and ‘dodge’ to enhance a photograph. These skills lay dormant for years, until I discovered my passion for pinhole photography. 

Art Auction!

You are invited! Art Auction in support of Camp Mi-A-Kon-Da's Campership Fund

Join Camp Mi-A-Kon-Da on Sunday November 3, 2019 from 3pm to 5pm at Leaside Gardens in Toronto for an Art Auction & Open House in support of their Campership Fund. All welcome!

As the Featured Artist, I will be presenting a series titled Summer of over 20 paintings depicting Camp Mi-A-Kon-Da and Birch Island. 

The Art Auction will also include work by Susan Friedman, Samantha Gaetz, Anne Potter, Jessica Vergeer, Gary Jacobson, Tina Jacobson, Janus Pilon and Brandon Smith.

Proceeds go towards the artists and the Campership Fund which gives Mi-A-Kon-Da the opportunity to sponsor families in need, giving their daughters the chance to experience the magic of Camp Mi-A-Kon-Da.

Come bid on art, and help send a girl to camp!

My goal with this series was to capture the Camp Mi-A-Kon-Da experience - the natural beauty of the land and lake, but also camp life, friends and activities.  I’m drawn to the reflections and distortions caused by water and refracted sunlight, and Birch Island and Lake Wah Wash Kesh provided ample source material - light bouncing off the water, the sun breaking through the trees, the glow of a sunlit tent in the forest. 

As an impressionist painter, I try to create a work that is realistic and recognizable, but also loose and expressive.  I’m interested in painting more--and sometimes less--than what presents itself.  The paint itself is part of the story, with visible brush strokes, drips, scumbled layers of broken colour and abstract passages.  

Camp Mi-A-Kon-Da is a magical place, and I am excited to be able to help build their Campership Fund through my art.  

www.francescockburn.com/art-auction

Click here for event details and directions

Painting flowers

Every year, some time between mid-January and mid-March, I get the urge to paint flowers. This feeling last weeks, even a month or longer. Winter in Ontario can drag on, with grey days that just don't want to end. I know, I shouldn't complain - I live in a pretty moderate climate, and don't get nasty, snow-filled winters. But maybe this lack of snow just adds to the greyness. There's no white ground to reflect the sun.

In any case, come late winter, I want to inject some freshness, life and colour into our grey days, and into my painting. So I pick up some flowers, set up a still life in the studio, and paint. 

Unfortunately, floral painting sometimes gets a bad rap - I know painters who refuse to paint flowers because they don't want to be associated with making "pretty pictures". And I have to admit, I am not immune to this bias. But I try to fight it, because I hate the idea that some subjects are off-limits, simply due to pressure to be a certain type of artist. The fact is, I find flowers visually appealing. Gorgeous, even. And if I can't paint something that appeals to me because I'm worried about being pigeonholed, well, that's dumb. So I go for it.

This year, because of an art class I'm teaching, I've been rediscovering my watercolour kit. With it's fluidity and freshness, watercolour is a wonderful medium for painting flowers. So I'll explore floral still life -- grey winter and preconceived notions be damned. I'm going to paint me some spring.

Fumbling onward

When I'm painting, I often feel like I haven't a clue what I'm doing. I don't know how to proceed, or what to do next.

In progress...

In progress...

It can be scary to paint without knowing what I'm doing, feeling lost and out of control. But I just have to keep at it, and trust my intuition. I try to accept that I won't always 'know' what to do. I don't need to know what to do, I just need to do it.

It helps to realize that, as a fumbling artist, I'm not alone. Over the years I have heard many artists, in all sorts of disciplines, talk about being in the same situation.

In an interview, Alex Kanevsky said "The moment something works well and is under control - is the time to give it up and try something else."

Duane Kaiser has inspired thousands with his daily painting practice . Even he has moments of doubt, but he realizes that sometimes you have to just keep going. "My best painting often seems to happen when I'm lost and haven't the foggiest notion how to proceed."

Irish artist Cian McLoughlin "is invigorated by the uncertainty inherent in the creative process. Working without any prescribed vision, he embraces the challenges and impediments he encounters in his work." 

So, we fumble on, embrace the struggle, and just do something. And, if we're lucky, we might even be making art.

Lose yourself

A long time ago, in a land far away, I attended a painting residency. (It was 2003 in Pouch Cove, Newfoundland.) During the day I took my paintbox to work on location, struggling through ridiculously windy conditions, but happy to be there, focusing on my work. In the evenings I painted interiors in my studio. The studio was not visually appealing, but, back in the day, I was religious about painting from life. Since it was too dark to paint outside, I painted my surroundings - my chair, my easel, my paintbox. Not very exciting.

One evening, discouraged with the painting that was happening in the studio, I gave up and sat down to watch 8 Mile. Within two hours, my world had unexpectedly opened up. To my surprise, I was really moved by the story (Eminem? - I wasn't a fan particularly). But I was especially inspired by the look of the film. I had never thought of painting from a movie before, but I was seeing paintings in so many scenes. It was an inspirational and visual delight. I dragged the VHS player into my studio, hit play (then pause), and started to paint. After a few minutes the movie would automatically resume playing. So I'd grab the remote, rewind, find my frame, hit pause, and paint. Then repeat: paint, play, pause, rewind, play, pause, paint...It was pretty comical. (If you're old enough, you'll remember that VHS players automatically resumed so as not to stretch or burn the tape. When I got home I switched to a DVD player, which made this process much easier!)

This one movie sustained me for a long time, and opened me up to painting from video stills and photographs. It truly changed my world: art inspiring art.

Here is one of my paintings that came out of 8 Mile:

Trailer Park, 2004, from 8 Mile Series SOLD

Trailer Park, 2004, from 8 Mile Series SOLD

Painting from video

It boggles my mind to think of all the still images in one movie. Endless possibilities! When I'm shooting source material for later painting, I sometimes shoot video instead of still shots. If the subject is moving, at all, it gives me so much more to work from when I'm back in the studio. Subtle differences in a slight tilt of the head, or the relationship between a car and a lightpost, or the placement of clouds in the sky.

Movies also provide a ton of reference material for painting. This painting was inspired by a movie shot partly in Hamilton. I'm not concerned with capturing exact likeness, so you probably won't recognize the location -- but if you do, please let me know -- post a comment!

Red Building, 2014, 8" x 10", oil on panel

Red Building, 2014, 8" x 10", oil on panel