Silverbased

Projects and ponderings for film photographers

Archive for the ‘D.I.Y.’


101: What Do I Need to Develop Film?

Lately I encounter more and more folks who got into photography via digital cameras, but who’ve become intrigued about shooting film too. Given the laughably inexpensive prices of fine film cameras these days, that makes a lot of sense.

But recent photography magazines and books offer little help at giving these “switchers” an introduction to film basics—one of the reasons I began this blog. So today’s column is a welcome to all those total film beginners out there. Hi!

You’ve probably discovered that getting film developed today can become a headache —whether due to a shortage of local labs, unreliable service, or high prices. That’s particularly true for folks using 120 film (for example, in a Holga or Diana+). So you may have heard the advice, “just develop it yourself!”

But what’s involved in doing that—and is it expensive? This post will talk about the supplies you need for developing film at home. To do your own negatives, all you need is this:

B&W Film Developing Kit

Developing tank, measuring graduate, funnel, thermometer, stirrer. Developer, stopbath, fixer, and Photo-Flo

The good news:

You do not need a darkroom to develop negatives. You only need darkness briefly, to load the film onto the reel of the developing tank. The tank is lightproof, so after loading it you can do the all the other steps in a day-lit kitchen or bathroom. (Darkrooms are for making prints.)

The cost of the chemicals is much cheaper than commercial developing. You don’t need to drive anywhere, and you can control the process to your own tastes. The developing steps are not any harder than following a cooking recipe.

There is a very plentiful supply of used developing gear today, since so many photographers have gone entirely digital. If you start asking around, you might find that an acquaintance or family member has old equipment they’d be happy to give away (don’t trust any old already-mixed solutions, though). Even buying everything new should not cost you more than $50.

And the bad news?

We are talking about developing traditional black & white film here, not color. It is possible for amateurs to develop color at home, but the chemistry is not so beginner-friendly. But black & white has a certain timeless beauty, so you may discover new creative directions if you’ve never tried that before.

Okay, once you have the negatives—what do you do with them? Well today it’s quite common to scan them, then work with the computer file just as you would with any digital-camera shot. For US readers, a great source of inexpensive film scanners is the refurbished “PHOTO” models from Epson’s online store. Schools & universities may have scanners available for their students—or traditional darkrooms too, if you choose to learn that craft.

Photo chemicals are no more toxic than household cleaners; but you’ll want to take care to avoid inhaling any dust if you mix your solutions from powders. And the chemicals can sometimes smell funny.

I’m going to talk about which supplies you’ll need—not give full step-by-step instructions how to develop film. But there are many other descriptions of the steps on the web. (For example here; or with more photos here, or in this 200kB PDF from Ilford.)

As seen above, you’re going to need a few quart/liter bottles, some kind of graduated measuring vessel, and it’s helpful to have a funnel. These don’t need to be “official” photography supplies. But if you improvise using things found around the kitchen, be sure to label them clearly as for photo-chemical use only.

The first piece of dedicated equipment you’ll need is a developing tank. There are several types, each with its own minor advantages and disadvantages. But all will work fine.

Paterson Developing Tank
The tank shown here is an older style Paterson System 4. These were extremely popular with 1970s/1980s amateurs, inspiring several lookalike imitators. You will still find many of these floating around.

The current Paterson style is similar, but with a redesigned wide-mouth top (if you google for more information, note that the company name has only one “t.”) The reel flanges twist apart to adjust to different film widths—the 35mm spacing is shown above.

Beginners often find the most daunting part of developing film is getting the strip loaded onto the reel (remember this must be done blind, or light would fog the film).

Paterson reels have little ball-bearing widgets which help push the film onto the flanges, using a back-and-forth twisting motion. My experience is that beginners find this style easiest to learn; the minuses of the Paterson-style tank are minor in comparison. (One tip is that the reels must be absolutely dry before loading.)

Developers

First-timers often ask for advice in online forums about which developer to buy—then get overwhelmed by all the passionately conflicting suggestions. I think the most important thing say is, don’t worry about it! The difference in image properties between developers is not large; and if you end up scanning your negatives anyway, that stage has a much greater effect on the tonality of the image.

Having said that, Kodak’s D-76 is considered a classic, an excellent all-round developer. It’s a perfectly fine place to start. (Other developers are more “specialists”—e.g. increasing apparent sharpness, but at the cost of greater graininess, etc.)

You mix up 1 liter of D-76 stock solution according to the package directions, but must let it cool before using. I suggest not re-using that same stock solution over and over (allowing it to become exhausted). Instead, use it diluted 1:1 with water—mixing just enough to cover your reel(s) before use, and then discarding after. Note that development times for the 1:1 dilution are longer, and will be listed separately from the “straight” D-76 times.

My personal favorite developer is Kodak’s HC-110, a thick syrup concentrate. HC-110 yields image properties similar to D-76. With HC-110, I also mix up just enough solution for each film right before use. But the syrup is so concentrated that I must use a 12ml syringe to measure it (no needle, though!).

After opening the bottle, the syrup will stay fresh for more than a year. The only downside for the occasional user is that one bottle can develop 50+ rolls; and if it takes you several years to get through that, you might have a problem.

Thermometers

Spec sheets usually specify development times at a temperature of 68°F/20°C . The rate of development increases with temperature, so you will need an accurate thermometer to measure this. The traditional darkroom thermometer has a big glow-in-the-dark dial; but if you have trouble locating one, it’s fine to pick up a cheap digital kitchen thermometer instead.

After the emulsion of your film has been wetted, it’s rather tender; so it’s important not to shock it with any sudden changes in temperature. You also use your thermometer to insure that the successive steps remain within a few degrees of the developer’s temperature. I usually fill the pink plastic tub seen above with tap water at 68°F/20°C, then set the stop and fix bottles in it for an hour or so before starting. Afterwards, that water can be re-used for the first few rinse baths.

“Stop bath” is a weak acid solution. It does not have any effect on the image itself—it’s simply a rinse, which halts the developing action very quickly and uniformly. The traditional stop bath had a distinct vinegar smell (which is essentially what it’s made from); many folks substitute a plain water rinse instead, with (apparently) no ill effects. Stop bath is so cheap that I’ve always used it, however.

Film Fixer

It does not matter in the slightest which brand of fixer you use: You can choose entirely based on whichever is available and convenient for you.

I prefer the liquid-concentrate fixers; but my local stores have stopped stocking them, so it’s back to powder for now.

What you do need to understand is that different types of fixers work at different rates; and furthermore different emulsion types fix at different speeds. The general rule is to open the tank lid at 1 minute and observe how long it takes until all the cloudy, milky haze disappears from the film; then continue fixing until twice this time has elapsed.

The final step of developing is rinsing the film and hanging it up to dry. If your tap water temperature is too cold, it won’t be effective at rinsing away the fixer residue (which then could form brown stains). It can take a bit of fiddling with the taps to get them flowing at a constant 68°F/20°C temperature. But don’t blast the film with hot water or the emulsion will go all wrinkly!

If your tap water contains a lot of minerals, drying water droplets can leave white, crusty rings on your negatives. So one optional final step is to end with a rinse of distilled water; or use a wetting agent (such as Kodak’s “Photo Flo”) to help water sheet off the negatives. Shedding water more quickly helps the negatives dry faster, too.

I did not show the weighted metal clips which many people use to hang up their wet film; they aim to minimize curling as the emulsion dries. But that’s something you can easily improvise with clothespins, binder clips, etc.

What is most important is that you find a sheltered location to hang your film, where air currents won’t be wafting dust and lint onto your damp, sticky emulsion. And even though you will certainly be dying to peek at how your first negatives came out, be patient! The tender emulsion needs to dry completely before you start handling it.

Good luck!

Mercury Battery Replacements?

In the 1960s and 1970s, there were millions of lovely cameras and handheld light meters manufactured—many of which remain perfectly usable today. Except for one little problem. Their light-measuring circuits were designed to be powered using a mercury battery.

What made mercury button cells so appealing was that their voltage stayed absolutely ruler-flat, until the last of the chemicals were depleted. After that, the battery quickly died. Most camera makers omitted any voltage compensation in their meter circuits, and simply used the battery itself as a voltage reference.

Mercury PX-13 Camera Battery

Mercury PX-13 battery, curse of vintage camera-dom

By far the most common size used in older cameras was the PX-13 or PX-625 type. Its case had a raised shoulder around its minus end, making it look vaguely muffin-like.

Today we recognize mercury to be a highly toxic metal; and worldwide, mercury battery production has been phased out. Any stocks of mercury batteries now remaining are from old production runs—a safe guess being from sometime in the last millennium.

If you go shopping for a PX625 today, you’ll discover lookalike replacements being sold. But they are alkaline cells, not mercury. And the problem is, a mercury cell is a 1.35 volt battery. An alkaline cell starts out at about 1.55 volts instead.

In a calculator, kitchen timer, etc., this voltage discrepancy is unimportant. But a light meter works by measuring the exact current flowing through a photocell: so the wrong voltage can wreak havoc with accurate readings. A few cameras (notably Pentax) used a meter circuit which was insensitive to voltage variations—but for most meters, wrong voltage means wrong exposure.

Worse, an alkaline battery actually drops off in voltage as it’s used, so the error is not even consistent—really you get the worst of both worlds. (The same drooping-voltage problem applies with 3-volt lithium batteries, in applications where those could be used.)

But silver-oxide batteries are widely available, and maintain a flat voltage (of about 1.58 volts) over their whole lifetime. The long life of silver-oxide cells make them the first choice anywhere it’s possible to use them.

Meter-Battery Voltage: Myths & Reality

Sometimes you read confused internet discussions about whether this o.2-volt error is important. And some rather questionable assertions get repeated. One claim is: “modern film has such wide exposure latitude that it doesn’t matter.” Another is, “you can just change the ASA setting to compensate.”

Fortunately, I am lucky to own one last genuine, mercury PX-13 cell, which still has some juice to it. So I decided to make a definitive test for myself.

I took light meter readings using two classic old-school SLRs (an Olympus OM-1 and a Canon FTb), and compared them to a known-accurate Pentax V spotmeter. Using the intended mercury battery, I got the camera and the spotmeter to agree within about 1/2 stop, over the entire range from full sun to dim indoor light.

But with the higher voltage of a silver-oxide battery, the cameras’ meters gave incorrect readings—and with a strange pattern: In bright sunlight, the indicated readings would yield two and a half stops underexposure! Yet in dim indoor light (at about the limit for handheld shooting) the meter readings were nearly correct. Between those two extremes, there was a variable amount of underexposure.

Well, this demolishes both of the internet myths I mentioned. First, 2-1/2 stops of underexposure is a terrible idea with any negative film I know of. (You’d get ugly grain and totally blank shadows.) Second, there is no simplistic way to adjust the ASA to compensate, because the error is not consistent as you go from bright to dim light.

The errors could certainly be different for other brands of cameras, using different circuit designs. There is no substitute for checking your own equipment against a known-good meter. But obviously the problem is a real one.

Frans De Gruijter has written the definitive article on this problem, along with several solutions, downloadable here (500 kB PDF). This article goes into dense technical detail; but at the very least, look at the graph he provides on page 3, showing the voltage curves for several different battery chemistries.

And there you’ll notice an intriguing possibility: Zinc-air batteries.

Zinc Air?

Zinc-air is an interesting battery chemistry, giving excellent energy density at low cost—advantages that have made them the preferred power supply for hearing aids. Happily, zinc-air cells have a voltage quite close to that of mercury cells. And this voltage stays consistent over the battery’s lifetime, just as we’d like.

Zinc-Air 675 Hearing Aid Battery

Pull the blue tab to activate the battery

Zinc-air chemistry is also the basis of the “Wein cell,” often sold in camera stores as the correct-voltage replacement for mercury photo batteries. However the cost of vanilla #675 hearing-aid batteries is much lower—about $6 for a pack of 8.

To use either of these types, you must pull off a sticky tab first, which allows air to enter pinholes in the battery case. The battery does not produce any voltage until oxygen reaches the interior. Unopened cells can be stored for many years and remain fresh.

But one downside is that the inside of a zinc cell must remain moist for the chemical reaction to work. In arid environments, the cell can dry out and stop working after just a month or two, before its electrical capacity has been used up.

Putting the sticker back over the air holes will prolong the battery’s life, if you can remember to do it. But with the low cost of hearing-aid cells you might just consider them expendable, replacing them often.

The 675 size hearing-aid battery is a little bit thinner than a PX13 mercury cell; also it lacks the “muffin” shoulder and so is smaller in diameter. Sometimes you will need to add a little spacer ring to keep it centered in the battery compartment.

For this, I just slice rings off the end of a piece of tubing of the proper diameter:

Spacer Rings to Keep Batteries Centered

Others have suggested getting a rubber O-ring from the hardware store; and Rick Oleson shows a neat solution using a loop of copper wire.

Now, the voltage of the zinc-air battery is not perfect—it can be a shade too high. In fact, both the Wein cell and hearing-aid solutions have some voltage quirks, which I plan to write about in another article. However let’s keep things in perspective:

Over 40 years, any light meter might drift out of calibration—even if supplied with the textbook 1.35 volts. The shutter speeds on a vintage camera could easily be out of adjustment by a half a stop or so. There can be some slop in aperture linkages, so that you aren’t getting precisely the marked f/number. Vintage cameras are not the place to look for 3-digit precision.

But my tests say that a zinc-air hearing aid battery will get you to within half a stop of the exposure reading you’d get using a mercury battery. And any error will be worst in bright sun—the one situation where it’s most reliable to trust those old “Sunny 16″ instincts.

So if all that’s stopping you from taking some nice old camera for a spin is the mercury battery issue, go with the zinc-air cells. It’ll get you out there shooting after one quick, inexpensive trip to the drugstore.

Then you can explore other, techier solutions to the problem later, if you choose to go that route.

Update: More on the quirks of zinc-air battery voltage in this follow-up post.

DIY: “Chimney” Magnifier for TLRs

I love my 1965 Minolta Autocord, a twin-lens reflex with an outstanding lens and a wonderful feeling of solidity.

Yet TLR viewing has been hard for me to get used to. The waist-level finder is great for giving an overall impression of the composition; yet the groundglass image often becomes washed out in bright ambient light. Also, at waist level it’s sometimes hard to judge whether the focus is exactly right.

Using the Autocord’s pop-up magnifier does a better job of blocking glare, and lets you focus accurately. But the view of the whole frame is not very satisfactory. It’s a slight strain to see the corners of the groundglass from so close, and this also worsens their dimness.

Folding Chimney Magnifier for TLRs

Hence I’m trying out a new solution: A homemade “chimney” magnifying hood. Besides blocking stray light, it seems to give a nice viewing compromise—large enough to focus easily, yet giving a good overall sense of the framing.

I built one earlier, failed version of this idea. It was too tall, and its rigid box construction made it unwieldy to pack along. This time I created one that unfolds, so that when flattened it can be stowed in a camera-bag side pocket. And I used a higher-magnification lens, reducing the height to only 3″taller than the TLR’s own viewing hood.

This version is just made from scrap leftover Crescent board, partly scored through its faces along the fold lines. I sprayed flat black paint onto the inner surfaces, then tacked a magnifier behind the eye hole using hot-melt glue.

Unfolded Chimney Magnifier

The rounded tab blocks light from entering the side of my eye socket. But it also has a second thickness of cardboard glued to it, under which you tuck the flap with the magnifying lens. This holds it in position when the sides are rubber-banded together.

I’m a left-eyed viewer—so naturally righties would build this so the rounded shield was on the opposite side.

Focal Lengths, Powers, and Diopters

The height of the chimney depends on the power of the magnifier you use; and it can take a little searching to find a good lens for this.

Recall that the focal length of a lens is the distance behind it where objects at infinity will come to focus. Turn the light paths around, and it’s also the distance where close objects will appear to your eye to be at infinity. For a quick check of a simple lens’s focal length, you can use the sun, measuring how far behind the glass a sharp image forms.

The lens I found had a focal length of about 165mm. In terms of magnifying “powers” this would be considered a 2.5x magnifier. I’m nearsighted—I can’t focus at infinity—so I made the chimney’s height a little shorter than the focal length.

I think a magnifier of slightly higher power, say about 140mm f.l., would work nicely and make the chimney even more compact. (But a “3x” magnifier would be 125mm f.l.)

A natural question for a photographer to ask is, “could I use a leftover close-up attachment for this?” The answer is “probably not.” Close-up lenses are specified in Diopters, and usually range from +1 to +4.

But the desired focal lengths here would translate to 6 or 7 diopters. And I don’t ever recall seeing a close-up attachment that powerful on the market.