Records of time
found in photograms.
In October 2018 my husband and I spent a week in New York City. Because it was our first trip to NYC, there were lots of the typical must-sees on our list: MoMA, Brooklyn Bridge, World Trade Center, Central Park, you name it. But there was also a small exhibition of camera-less photography I wanted to see. It was shown at the New York Library in Bryant Park. Tucked away in a hallway on one of the upper floors and a little bit hard to find, there were artworks by four photographers on display.
Three of them were showing cyanotypes and the fourth artist something rather unusual and surprising: plain sheets of photographic paper in different hues of whites, browns and greys. The artist had arranged the small sheets of paper in groups which made them look more like collages than anything photographic. It was so different from the blue-coloured works of her colleagues in that exhibition and so different from any other photographic work I had seen.
There was a little plate on the side of the artworks, which said:
“Alison Rossiter (American, b. 1953)
COMPENDIA, processed 2018
Gelatin silver prints
At the turn of the 20th century, photographic companies offered a remarkably wide rang of photographic papers, with each using its own formula of chemical sensitisers. Alison Rossiter has become a connoisseur of these old, expired papers, determined to tell their latent stories. Thus for Compendia, she has processed -with no direct exposure to light- the oldest papers in her collection that were made in the United States with known years of manufacture. She likens her collecting of papers to Anna Atkins’s gathering of specimen. The resulting works reveal the subtle tonalities caused by differences in the chemical makeup. The appearance also reflect years of storage under varying conditions of light, temperature, and humidity. Rossiter’s chronological compendium presents a fascinating timeline that ends during the years of the First World War.”
In 2007 when American photographer Alison Rossiter bought a box filled with smaller packages of light-sensitive photo papers on eBay with the plan to make photograms. Some of these papers in that haul had already expired in the 1950’s. To find out if the paper was still usable, she made a few test prints in her darkroom. If the light-sensitive emulsion on the paper hadn’t been exposed to light, the paper should remain white during the development which meant the paper was still good for its intended purpose of making photographic prints.
But instead of spotless white paper, Rossiter did get what she describes as “found photograms”. In the development in the photochemistry beautiful latent marks and different tones became visible on the paper. During its life, the paper had reacted to the different conditions it was kept in, and all this came to light: light leaks, mold, oxidation, and human interaction.
But instead of seeing these papers as malfunctioning and disposable, Rossiter saw great potential in them: Time and circumstances had left their marks on the paper and created something beautiful and unique. Excited by her discoveries, Rossiter decided to make these marks her subject matter. In the following years, she grew an impressive collection of old, expired photo papers, giving these papers a new purpose and life by revealing and displaying these records of time.
“I don’t make these prints. Time does.” - Alison Rossiter
Being someone who likes to experiment in the darkroom, I never get tired of the moment the paper comes in contact with the developer and slowly starts to reveal the image. Although it all can be explained, it always is a magical moment for me when a photograph comes to life. I can only imagine how Rossiter must have felt when she saw the marks appearing in front of her eyes for the first time. Although I share her excitement about these findings, I don’t think I would seen the full potential she saw in these old papers. But I am thankful she did. I love looking at her book1, studying all the colours and textures and admiring for her vision.
That’s it from me today.
Thank you for being here and for reading this week’s newsletter. It means a lot to me!
X,
Susanne
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“Compendium“ by Alison Rossiter, Radius Books - Yossi Milo, 2020.
Channelling both the art of Rothko and memories of long ago. Happy. Sad.
Beautiful work. Thanks for pointing this artist to us, Susanne