In junior high, I was a book thief.

The school library had checkout limits, and I wanted more photography books than I was allowed to bring home. So I slipped the books in my backpack, then left the library through a second door we weren’t supposed to use. I always returned the books when I was done, and I was never caught.

The library was full of photography books from the 1960s and 70s. I asked one of the art teachers why all the books were “so old,” and he explained that photography had been quite popular during that time. (I can’t remember the art teacher’s name, but I remember he let me do photography instead of painting for some of the assignments, which I thought was awesome!)

These books discussed film processing and printing in depth; they made me want a darkroom so I could have some more control over my photos. The books also discussed all sorts of experimental ways to “do” photography. I read about sponge printing photos to get added texture, avoiding or creating reticulated negatives, and solarizing prints.

I also read a lot about pinhole photography. I found the idea of using a coffee can or shoe box as a camera intriguing, and I was interested in the bizarre photos people managed to take. (Pinhole photographers seem very interested in taking photos up their nostrils and from inside their mouths—even better if they show teeth.)

One of the books briefly discussed a tennis ball pinhole camera; I’ve thought about that camera for decades.

An At-Home Artist Residency

A few months ago, I signed up for my first workshop through the Surface Design Association. This three-session workshop, facilitated by Christy Strickler, was about creating an at-home artist residency.

I thought we would discuss how to block off time to escape the house—you know, take a week off, hole yourself up in a studio or hotel room, and plow through art. Instead, it was about carving out a residency amongst one’s regular life. As part of this, we created frameworks to help us focus on a certain artistic practice, project, aspect of art, etc for a self-determined period of time.

I admit, my immediate thought was I do not have time for this with the 209 Weeks project. But I can’t have the 209 Weeks project be the only sort of artistic thing I do for the next [whatever number of] weeks.

I thought for a few days came to the idea of doing a pinhole camera residency. I decided to make three pinhole cameras: one film camera from a kit, one paper-negative pinhole camera in a traditional boxy shape, and one pinhole camera out of unusual materials (not sure what material or what type of negative).

Like many traditional artist residencies, we were tasked with drafting a schedule and a budget. I settled on four months (March 1st–June 30th); I selected a fairly short time frame because I knew if I made it longer (such as through the end of the summer), I’d put off getting started.

The budget was tricky. I have a lot of materials at home (film, paper, black duct tape, black flat paint—although it may have dried up), but I also didn’t have any idea what the extra materials would cost. I knew if I set the budget too high, I’d just end up buying books. I decided on a budget of $100, with a note to use interlibrary loan to check out books before actually buying them.

With that decided, I started creating my first little pinhole camera. I’ve long outgrown my book thief days, but I still turned to a book to help me out!