P as Photo(s)

I told already as I exchanged my collection of Tex for a Russian zoom lens that I used to print myself my photos.

image022

I bought it at Porta Portese market, in the zone next to the main road were Russian people used to sell their stuff.  50.000 lire, if I remember well.

At that time I had (I have it still) a Pentax MX bought nearby Regina Coeli (the very central penitentiary in Roma) and was quite intensively using it. 

image024

One example of output is in the heading for this blog-page.

I was not very good at it but enjoyed looking at the image composing itself progressively in the acid soup.

I took some photos during holidays and trips. In 1980 at Mirafiori, for the occupation of the FIAT

in 86 in Burkina Faso

image028

and then in Cambodia in 92 and 93

Then I passed to smaller cameras and finally to digital ones, but at that point there was less enthusiasm and I thought it was also interesting to focus on what is actually happening rather than trying to capture it into a piece of paper.

Recently a friend gave me one tool to pass old negatives to a digital format, exploitable in the computer and it was nice to see again some faces, some places.   

I am not sure if I was still using the Pentax in South Africa, for the photo of Mandela that I have already presented in a blog note

And now is mainly the telephone.  But some photos are still surprising

Advertisement

Sticky memories

Vinavil, Coccoina, Uhu, were the names of glue during my childhood.

 

Vinavil was the paste to use for our exercises with some piece of wood. In a white and red flask, ready to use.  Difficult to free your fingers from leftovers. Sometimes, we were just playing with it, without pasting anything.

 

Coccoina, in the grey pot, was the companion of primary school, to attach together paper sheets and the first collages.  Who can forget its perfume?

Uhu represented the modernity. A transparent thin torrent of stickyness coming from a yellow tube.  Not very effective, though.

 NB I was so absorbed into reminiscences that I missed my train.  The force of memory ……