Wild Horses of Missouri
For the last two years, I have been trying to understand why I am often more moved by my handmade calotype paper negatives than by the positive images made from them.
At first, I thought the calotype was only part of the process. It was the handmade paper negative I needed before making a salt print. That is the expected way to think about it. The negative comes first. The print comes later. The print is supposed to be the finished artwork.
But over time, that idea started to feel incomplete.
This plate belongs to Pictorial Whispers, my ongoing body of work using flowers, natural light, a vintage window, and 19th-century photographic processes to speak about grief, memory, endurance, and healing.
As I move deeper into making my own silver gelatin emulsions and paper negatives, I keep coming back to one question: if paper negatives were lighter, easier to carry, and less fragile than glass, why did they remain such a small part of photographic history?
This plate belongs to Pictorial Whispers, my ongoing body of work using flowers, natural light, a vintage window, and 19th-century photographic processes to speak about grief, memory, endurance, and healing.
A family member recently asked me why I spend so much time doing photography.
At first, I gave the question the respect it deserved. I did not want to answer too quickly. Some questions deserve more than a clever sentence or a passing remark. They deserve stillness, reflection, and honesty.
This plate belongs to Pictorial Whispers, my ongoing body of work using flowers, natural light, a vintage window, and 19th-century photographic processes to speak about grief, memory, endurance, and healing.
One of the smartest upgrades I can make in my silver gelatin emulsion workflow is better control.
When I add silver nitrate into salted gelatin, the rate of that addition matters. It is not just a convenience issue. It is a chemistry issue. That is why I decided to start working with a peristaltic pump. It gives me a way to make the silver addition more steady, more repeatable, and easier to test.
This plate belongs to Pictorial Whispers, my ongoing body of work using flowers, natural light, a vintage window, and 19th-century photographic processes to speak about grief, memory, endurance, and healing.
I am not going deep into silver gelatin emulsion chemistry and theory just to collect old formulas or satisfy technical curiosity.
I am going deep because my vision demands it.
The body of work I want to make is not built around modern sharpness, technical perfection, or speed. I am drawn instead to photographs that feel atmospheric, handmade, and deeply personal. I want them to carry softness, presence, and mystery. I want them to stand one step away from sharp reality so they can feel more interpretive, more emotional, and more alive. What matters to me is not perfect description, but resonance.
That is why the chemistry matters so much.
I do not want a workflow where the most important material decisions have already been made for me. I want to control and influence every step I can. For this body of work, it must be fully analog and fully hands-on. I am not searching for a faster method or a more efficient solution. I am searching for a process that feels honest.
My subject matter is part of this same vision. I have always been drawn to flowers and to lone trees, especially winter trees. For me, they are not just things to photograph. They are metaphorical forms that speak about beauty, fragility, endurance, loss, renewal, and the passing of time. At this stage of my life, I want to stay close to home, close to the darkroom, and work slowly with the quiet forms of the Ozarks.
The tools and materials follow directly from that vision. Whole plate is the right format for my eye. Soft-focus vintage large format lenses are the right optics. Handmade silver gelatin paper negatives are the path I want to pursue, and I want to pair them with handmade potassium chloride gaslight printing paper so I can shape the final print from warm and creamy to quiet neutral through paper and chemistry. In other words, this series is not just about chemistry. It is about building a complete photographic language from the ground up.
That is the spirit behind these articles. I am studying emulsion chemistry and emulsion theory because I want to understand the material deeply enough to shape it toward my own artistic ends. I do not want to merely follow recipes. I want to understand why an emulsion behaves the way it does, what each variable changes, and how the negative and print can be designed together to support the kind of image I am trying to make.
I am not going deep into silver gelatin emulsion chemistry and theory just to collect old formulas or satisfy technical curiosity. I am going deep because my vision demands it. The body of work I want to make is not built around modern sharpness, technical perfection, or speed. I am drawn instead to photographs thatContinue reading “What Baker Understood About Emulsions in 1941 That Still Matters Today”