Steve's Photo Site

Part 5: Hanging the Exhibition

by Steve Wells

In which the priorities for the exhibition are debated and in which a stranger enters photographs into the exhibition; not all of which are to the taste of all members.

-o-O-o-

Snow was in the air when the Falling Plate Camera Club met in the old stables to hang the exhibition. Everyone was present. Josiah was, as usual, talking about the good old days and exhibitions he remembered from the past. He claimed to have met Fox Talbot years ago. But he always said that.

Henry took charge of the boxes of prints, while Quinton helped to check off the titles against the entry forms. It has to be said that the addition of a glass of sherry added a little ribaldry to the proceedings. First to be opened was Alan's box. I'd seen him all the previous week trying to get new prints made by sunlight. but what with the rain and the generally overcast conditions he wasn't too successful.

"Oh my" said Quinton. "A study in mud number 1..."

Alan tried to smile.

"...and number 2.. and 3.

Josiah turned to Quinton and pointed out that his, Quinton's, box was yet to be opened. Quinton fell silent.

Henry suggested that while the prints were a little flat. they were certainly not to be written off and suggested hanging them in the light by the window where they could be seen easily.

"Will they fade?" asked Alan.

"Not if you've fixed them", said Josiah kindly. I thought this a little out of character until I recalled that Alan had been trying to make the prints by sunlight - not with one of these artificial enlargers. It must have appealed to the old man.

The next box was from Emily. Everyone was a little surprised that there were only a couple of prints in the box. Henry, was particularly surprised, telling everyone that she had been working in the darkroom for hours on end.

"Well". said Emily. "I wasn't really satisfied with the others. I only brought the ones I was pleased with."

"Fair enough". said Quinton.

Alan commented that he was sure all the pictures she had made were wonderful and that he'd like to see them. Henry stared hard at him.

Quinton's box contained pictures of components of machines. Henry was perplexed and couldn't work out which way up to hang them.

"This spout thing", asked Henry. "at the top?"

"At the top". confirmed Quinton.

My own box of photographs was fairly conventional. You know the kind of thing... landscapes with a cartwheel in the foreground, portraits taken next to a broken off classical column. Nothing with any machines in it... and all sepia toned. Then we unpacked Henry's box which contained his usual collection of random chemical stains. One box remained.

"But", said Henry, "we've opened all our boxes. Whose is this?"

"Far be it from me to make suggestions but you could read the label", suggested Josiah.

Henry bent down "Ellis Bronte" he read. "Who's Ellis Bronte?"

"Dunno. Lets talk a look at the pictures."

Inside the box was an entry form correctly filled out, and a small purse containing the correct entry fee. The pictures were all portraits. Well taken, not flashy but getting to the heart of the subjects. I recognised a number of locally famous personalities including the wife of the Mayor who was to open the exhibition.

"Well". said Josiah. "lt looks to me as if this Ellis Bronte has being trying to copy Julia Margaret Cameron. Do you remember that exhibition we went to in London? This picture of Councillor Evans could be a straight copy of that picture of Herschel."

"Yes", said Henry, "but this one's sharper. I think I prefer it."

Throughout this conversation Quinton had been going slowly red and then purple. Finally he exploded and, jumping up and down while his arms flailed, he expressed the opinion that it was all derivative rubbish and that if Mr Bronte did not even have the decency to deliver his pictures in person. they should be thrown into the gutter where the belonged. Henry held onto the table to ensure that it didn't get knocked over, Alan held onto Emily.

Eventually; he calmed down, but the fun had gone out of the evening and it was in silence that the final hanging plan was achieved. I was pleased to note that the portraits by the the unknown Mr Bronte had somehow, with Josiah's connivance, achieved a prime location where all passers-by would see them.

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