PLATINUM TOUCH

It is a process that commences rather than ends with the click of a camera. For the photographer who takes the unusual route of printing his work in platinum there follows a time consuming - and sometimes, highly nerve-wracking - procedure that may result in only one final print.

Just as platinum is the most precious of metals, that one platinum print is, however, prized above all others as the ultimate expression of the photographer's art. As Ansel Adams wrote, "the negative is the score, the print is the performance".

That view is shared by Bermudian photographer and platinum printer J.A. Mark Emmerson, who adds: "It's not enough to take the picture. The beginning of your creation should not be left to someone else's interpretation to finish."

This particular interpretation, viewed by some as "photography for the connoisseur" doesn't come cheap: the rarity and expense of platinum (about $700 an ounce) and high-quality paper - to say nothing of the man-hours involved in producing each one-of-a-kind print - means that a platinum print is costly and correspondingly unfeasible for commercial photographic printing.

Easily distinguishable by its pristine clarity and fine gradations of tonal textures that embrace a wide range and painterly quality of light, the platinum print retains its unique sense of immediacy for centuries. This archival quality has made it an attractive - and potentially lucrative - prospect for the collector. Too, besides requiring a creative, even 'poetic' eye, platinum printing also demands the hands of a craftsman and the analytical mind of the chemist. This latter attribute causes Emmerson a degree of wry amusement: "I received a mark of five out of 100 for my last chemistry exam at school."

Such was his fascination with the possibilities of platinum, however, that, in 1980, Emmerson purchased the array of chemicals required and began, through tortuous trials and many tribulations, to teach himself how to print his photographic work in this exacting medium.

It is a highly complicated procedure which has its origins back in the 1830's when early experimenters became aware that the non-reactive properties of platinum offered greater permanence than silver-based compounds. Because of that non-reactivity it was also realized, however, that the creation of photo-sensitive platinum process would also be far more complex. It was not until 1873 that an Englishman, William Willis, obtained the first patent for a workable platinum print process - and another 20 years before he was able to come up with printing paper worthy of the precious metal.

By the end of the 19th century, the 'Platinotype' was the preferred medium for 'pictorialist' or 'fine art' photographers. One of these was Alfred Stieglitz who, perhaps more than anyone on New York's avant garde art scene in the early part of this century, revolutionized the concept of the photographic image as an independent art form.

At the turn of the century, platinum paper was not particularly expensive. What has been termed 'the Golden Age' of platinum printing ended with the First World War when it was discovered that platinum could be - and was - used in the production of explosives. Its price soared and the manufacture of platinum paper stopped. Although interest in platinum printing never died out completely, Emmerson says "it survived only as what I see as a very weak 'flame' in a universe of darkness."

Fortunately, this began to change in the 1960's and early 1970's with a growing number of American photographers returning to the classic platinum print as their primary medium.

The printing process begins, Emmerson explains, by hand-mixing platinum compounds and light-sensitive solution. The mixture is brushed on to art paper selected for its archival qualities, colour, surface and sizing, which is then exposed with the negative to the sun. The exposed paper is then placed in a developing solution, followed by a series of clearing bathes. Particles of the metal are, he adds, literally embedded in the fibres of the paper: "This gives the print a 'physical presence' that's strikingly different from any other kind of photographic print."

Noting that the chemicals have to be carefully weighed on scales, Emmerson says that an added complication is that the negative has to be the same size as the print. He paints the solution on the rag-art paper - and dries it with a hair dryer. Placing the negative on the paper under a plate of glass, it is left in the sun for perhaps 20 minutes to one hour. "I do have a 'light table', so that I can use ultra violet rays when the sun is misbehaving, but the table up to six times slower than the sun. I try to 'tweak' my method of 'painting' to help the viewer 'feel' a subject - you wouldn't want to make a print of a child, for instance, look dark and foreboding. Even the paper you select is part of subconsciously 'teasing' out of the viewer a certain response to what they see."

Explaining that most people work in palladium, a cheaper cousin of platinum, Emmerson adds that some photographers compromise with a mixture of the two. "It's almost impossible to work purely in platinum, but that's what I do. Or, sometimes, try to do! If I do add anything to the mixture, it is gold. I have to tear up a lot of my prints, which is one of the reasons that makes it so expensive. It can be a very lonely process - sometimes, it seems like a cry in the wilderness. It was years before I met anyone who 'knew' someone who had done it. Its was over ten years before I actually saw an original platinum print - apart from my own, that is. But," he concedes, "that can also be good, because you have to find your own way; you develop your own distinctive style, without conscious or sub-conscious influence from others."

Today, Mark Emmerson's work may be found in major collections in the Americas, Europe, Australia and Israel. Best of all, after 35 years of endeavour, Emmerson has finally reached the point where he no longer has to accept commercial photographic assignments. Instead, he is pursuing his long-held dream of concentrating solely on art photography and platinum printing. He sees this as a privilege made largely possible by the steadfast support of his wife Rhona, well-known as the president and art director of AAC, Bermuda's largest advertising agency.

His path to success was not an easy, nor an orthodox one. "I was not a good lad," he reveals with a rueful smile. Having earned the unusual double distinction of "failing" kindergarten, he was then expelled, along with his brother, from his first school, Gilbert Institute. The divorce of his parents split Emmerson from his brother, who was cared for by his father, with Granny coming out from England to take charge of the rebellious young Mark. At the age of only eight, he and his brother were bundled off to boarding school in England: "It was just after the end of the Second World War, and rationing was still very much a part of every day life. What a culture shock that was! The uniform, the strictness, the loneliness - what a nightmare. I remember one occasion when I was beaten three times in the course on one night. Not that I didn't deserve it, you understand."

Mark returned to Bermuda when he was fourteen, and spent a few years a Saltus Grammar School. "After College in Canada - which I never finished; one weekend I packed my bags and left on the bus out of there first thing Monday morning - they might still be looking for me, for all I know - I got a job as a make up artist at the Island Press. There wasn't much work during one period and I became intrigued with the Bermuda Sun photographer going in and out of his darkroom. I asked if I could watch what was going on in that little magic room, and spent more and more time there. One day, Donald French told me I was fired so I asked the newspaper photographer to hire me to make the prints while he was out on assignments. In quarter of an hour I had another job - and I moved all of about 20 yards, from my desk to the cubby-hole darkroom. This did not please Mr. French at all. In fact he was livid. But that's how I got started and I have to say that photography saved my life. I was always in some sort of 'mischief' before I got hooked on photography."

Prospects looked up when John Weatherill hired him at the Bermuda News Bureau (forerunner of Bermuda's Tourism Department) where he worked along side talented photographers like Roland Skinner, Butch and Gene Ray. "They taught me one hell of a lot and I stayed there six years."

After time off to travel and work in Ireland and France, he returned to Bermuda in the early 1970's where he took over a photographic business Skinner and Butch Ray had started. Eventually, a photographic assignment came up that was to change his life. A certain Miss Rhona Campbell hired him to take pictures for Mount St. Agnes's Yearbook. Four years later they were married in Ireland, and today, they 'bask' in the light of their three very artistic and talented children. Hannah, 23 years old, Joshua (Gordon), 20, and Joshua, 16.

Before wedding bells were heard though, disaster struck, when Mark was seriously injured in a road accident. After a long spell in hospital and with no insurance to cover the costs, Emmerson found himself working at Stuart's and then the Camera Store to pay off his hospital bills.

Having saved up to buy a Hasselblad camera, Mark rented a "tiny closet" and started his photographic career anew and in 1980 the platinum experiments began. "I believe you are born to love black and white photography," he proclaims.

Over the years he was experienced considerable commercial success and a growing reputation in the photographic world. One of his most memorable images was his panoramic shot of a white, wooden chair perched on top of a cliff with the cerulean Bermuda sea beyond; an advertisement for the Bank of Bermuda, it won him the prestigious Gold Award of Canada.

"As of last year," reveals Emmerson, "I smashed most of my equipment and decided to concentrate on art photography and give up commercial work completely. 'She Who Must Be Obeyed' is supporting me in my efforts. Oh yes, sometimes it all seems difficult but when a print 'works' there is no feeling in the world like it. Mind you," the perfectionist adds hastily, "there is no such thing as the perfect print. You always see something that could be done a little differently."

For an artist of his undoubted stature, this kind of sentiment comes as no surprise.

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