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When I pulled this image’s negative from the tank and held it in front of the bathroom light fixture, I was pleased. Not because I thought it was a great shot worthy of sharing and would deliver me “likes” and beaucoup bucks via print sales—nah, it was merely proof I momentarily overcame my lack of large-format experience to mostly accomplish what I set out to do: alter the focal plane via manipulating the lens board on my Pacemaker Speed Graphic to highlight the platform area of an abandoned train station. A bit o’ tilt shift, or as the large-format practitioners who like to over-share their technical knowledge call it, practicing the Scheimpflug principle.
It’s the thing that some use to change the focal plane to produce an effect that renders certain objects like toys within a distorted or out-of-focus background—usually via a tilt-shift lens on a camera body (or a tilt-shift effect/filter in an app or photo-editing software). Or, as landscape and architecture photographers would use the process with a view or field camera, allowing tilt and swing movements with the front (lens) and rear (film) standards of the camera, to render an entire scene in sharp focus, front to back, top to bottom, and, in the case of a tall building, without distortion.
In my case, I wanted a narrow line of focus through the negative, from close distance to far. I wasn’t sure if that was possible, in part because of the limited movements of my Speed Graphic, and because this was the first time I chose to try fiddling with the front standard. Process-wise, don’t let anyone tell you it’s “difficult.” What you need, however, is patience, an expectation of failure (at first) and a loupe or magnifying glass to aid with the ground-glass focussing. That’s it. Oh, did I mention practice? That would be something I still need.
Anyhoo. This photograph has grown on me. I find my eyes sticking to it as I scroll through images. It relaxes me, which is a strange thing to consider, because the photo doesn’t make me feel particularly “good.” I caught the scene in June of 2020, when we were getting out of the house after the first months of pandemic, and the first weeks of good weather after a long winter and spring.
At the time scientists were figuring out that group activities outside were considerably less risky (to the point of almost nil) than inside. I am reminded of that because, while I was setting up for my station shots, an aerobics class had started in an adjacent abandoned parking lot. Now that would have been a worthy shot for the times, but, would a group of women, finally out of the house, in an area they thought far from prying eyes, would appreciate a middle-aged man setting up a large camera on a tripod—unannounced—to document the scene?
Um, no. Then I thought of a spot on a bridge a short distance away, where the figures would be sufficiently an anonymous, and the spread of the abandoned property would lend something to the moment in history, but, I forgot on my way out.
So. Back to the photo. Another reason it gives me pause is it’s a reminder of our overall stupidity as a planning species. Perhaps it’s a particular American trait, as we tend to abandon things that fall out of fashion even for a moment. This particular station was built in 1978, as St. Paul closed down service at its historic Union Depot (built in 1881, destroyed by fire in 1913, and rebuilt in 1917), located in its historic Lowertown neighborhood adjacent to the Mississippi River. That area of St. Paul (and a lot of downtown, for that matter) was neglected and large, brick and stone warehouses abandoned.
The phenomenon wasn’t unusual, as many cities across the country suffered for decades as people (read, mostly white folks) and businesses left for the suburbs—it was a process that started not long after WWII. And in the 1950s, many cities across the country ripped out street car rail lines as the automobile industry forced its powerful hand to become the primary transportation method—in town and for cross-country road trips. Throw in air travel becoming more affordable, and passenger rail service across the spectrum declined, and rail stations from the single forlorn stop in the small town to larger hubs in cities were neglected and abandoned.
Then people, perhaps with time on their hands stuck in traffic, realized that abandoning rail as transport wasn’t wise. Now cities are back laying track. And trains, especially for regional travel, suddenly make sense again with airport delays due to security checks and cancellations. Heck, we might even catch up to the rest of the world and build some high-speed rail.
There was also the general sense that our urban cores should not be abandoned. In St. Paul that meant drawing people back to the city to live. With that, came a restoration—and reuse—of historic, functional properties. The Union Depot was restored, with a station for the new light rail line plunked in front, Amtrak returned, and also Greyhound opened a new station within.
When Union Depot reopened in 2014, the “new” station, the one I was photographing that day in 2020 in the middle of an industrial park, was shut down.
I did photograph the terminal building of that vacant station itself, but, not in any great detail. It resembles any lame, late-‘70s/early-‘80s building: a box with a boxy overhang as a sort of awning. Peeking through a window I saw (predictably) a hung-ceiling collapsing with the weight of water damage, old carpet stained beneath as if a giant lost bladder control. Absolutely nothing interesting remained as far as signage or furniture. Maybe all that’s interesting in itself, but I wasn’t feeling it at that moment. Perhaps one day I’ll wander back to reconsider.
But this photo—that one up there—I like it.
Camera: 1948 Pacemaker Speed Graphic 4×5
Film: Ilford HP5
Lens: Kodak Ektar 127mm
