The Reassurance of Light: Lumens & Phytograms

We would sit on the front step & talk with each other & with neighbors as we pinched the ends off of an abundance of green beans. At the right time of year, we would pick pears from her tree in the backyard, or drive down the road to visit her sister. There, my great uncle who was also an artist & photographer grew vegetables; with one finger, I would gently push back the soil to see if carrots & radishes were ready to be pulled up, washed, dipped into a plate of salt & eaten. My grandmother taught me to love nature and being outside.

Once in a while, we would all go to the beach or walk in the woods. She was a source of comfort & encouragement. There was a lovely book of pressed flowers that she made as a girl. It survived long after she died. It was likely well over 100 years old. The flowers had been arranged into elaborate patterns with delicate script beneath. My aunt tried to ship it to me but it disappeared en route. 

I had been working on an indoor project, but in 2020 I found new inspiration when someone gifted me a box of vintage photographic paper. It was a blessing to receive during the height of the pandemic. Then in early 2021, I was diagnosed with an immune disorder, so I continued to feel uneasy.

Outside in the sunlight, I learned to make lumen prints. One of my early images was a triptych of my grandmother. I missed her deeply at that time. Thinking of her flower book & our times collecting food from my uncle’s garden, I began to make cameraless photographs of produce from our own garden, flowers, & even seaweed.

When I create lumen prints, I often use vintage photographic paper. There is a tenuous connection there—papers made & expired during the time my grandmother walked the earth, used today to make contemporary images.

Even with new paper, I never know the way humidity, light, heat, & plants will interact with it. I think I have it figured out & something different happens. Each print is a surprise: bright pinks, rich purples, coral, burnt sienna, and periwinkle. As the botanical life force glows onto the paper like an aura, the petals & leaves begin to wither under the sun. This combination— the emanation of the spirit of life & the gradual approach of death—is both expressionistic and documentary, both joyfully vibrant and poignant to me. Creating lumen prints has become a solace, especially at times when I am unable to be around a lot of people or if I am too busy to head out on the road to make photographs.

***Beneath the photographs, I have listed the expiration dates stamped on the original packages that contained photographic paper. Sometimes the packages were sealed & had never been opened. Other times they had been opened & those papers are occasionally stained, silvered, or have a fingerprint on them. Once in a while, I received a package of mystery paper in a black sleeve from a friend, the original envelope missing. Newer papers tend to have no expiration date listed.

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