Saturday, September 24, 2016

Seattle Mini Maker Faire EMAIL BLAST

Hello Makers, Photographers, and the Curious!

Thank you for your interest in my 3D Printed Pinhole Cameras and photography!  Thank you also for trusting me with your private email address so that I may continue our wonderful conversation from last weekend.  I will not be sending out any other mass emails after this one. However, PLEASE feel free to reply with questions, thoughts, or suggestions!   I am delighted to share my projects, and welcome your emails.  Please, also feel free to share this email with people who may be interested. 

First things first: I may not have mentioned it, but everyone who gave me an email address (86!) was entered into a drawing for one of my latest cameras, the ACME.  The ACME has fewer parts, NO FASTENERS, and is very easy to 3D Print. You can find more information here:

Without further ado, the ACME now belongs to: bgadekenXX@XXXXXXXXXX.XXX

(bgadekenXX, I will be emailing you separately to arrange delivery)

-------- Schlaboratory 3D Printed Pinhole Cameras
For review: I design, 3Dprint, and shoot pinhole cameras. 

Before I was 3D printing pinhole cameras, I was building them out of wood and cardboard. I learned a lot about camera design and construction, but it was impossible to share my camera designs and improvements required time and carpentry. After I built my first 3D printer, I quickly tired of printing other peoples' stuff and wondered if I could 3D print a pinhole camera. The PINHE4D used 35mm film, was ghastly to look at, but made real photographs, and worked better than my wooden cameras ever did. 3D printing allowed me to quickly iterate the fit of parts and improvements to the design, and - more importantly - lets people all over the world download, print, and shoot my cameras. 

All of my designs are freely available for download: 

They are licensed  Creative Commons - Attribution - Non-CommercialThat means you can print them, modify them, share them, but you must attribute the original designer(s), and you can't sell them or use them for commercial purposes. I struggle with the non-commercial aspect, but I don't want to see poorly-made cameras on eBay with my name on them. If you have interest in using my cameras in a project, the license allows for exceptions. 

Most of my camera designs have basic instructions for printing and assembly, as well as related comments and questions from users.  I am always available for help and explanation. 

NOTE: You must use an OPAQUE filament when 3D printing cameras!

-------- Pinhole Cameras
A pinhole camera is essentially a light-proof box with a tiny hole and a shutter. An image is projected into the box when the shutter is opened and if there is a photo-sensitive medium (film, paper, digital sensor) in the box, a photograph may be made. 

A lensed camera focuses light by refracting it with a lens (or lenses). The pinhole is much smaller than the aperture of a lensed camera and the image is projected from that small aperture. The combination of aperture size and distance from the medium dictates the "speed" of a camera (how much light hits the medium) represented as an f/number. A lensed camera may have as small an f/number as f/22, but a pinhole camera may be much smaller, f/135, f/180, f/256. With less light hitting the film, the exposures are longer, possibly very much longer than with a lens. 

The pinhole, itself, is actually not as critical as you might think. Good enough is definitely good enough. Because I tout my cameras as working tools, I am diligent in my process and precision. I make my own pinholes using this methodology: 
Additionally, I check my pinholes for diameter and roundness with a digital microscope, but that is probably entirely unnecessary. 

Attached to this email, find a mini zine titled Pinhole Photography Short & Sweet (PPS&S.PDF). You can print this out (100% size) and fold it into a tiny booklet. The zine explains the basics of exposure for pinhole photography. Making photographs with a pinhole camera is the essence of photography and will improve all of the photographs you make. 

-------- 3D printing
A 3D printer can be thought of as a tiny glue gun, attached to 3-D Etch-A-Sketch, controlled by a computer, following a set of instructions like a player-piano.  There are other kinds of 3D printers, but most consumer/educational machines are "Fused Deposition Modeling":

To 3D print a camera:
1. I first design the parts using simple Computer-Aided Design (CAD) tools
2. Save the design in a file format that numerically describes their shape and volume in space (.STL)
3. The STL file is processed with a "Slicer", a bit of software that creates layered tool-pathing for the 3D printer from the original design. The Slicer is configured specifically for the printer and the filament being used. 
4. The resulting instructions (GCODE) are fed into the 3D printer in real time by a controller connected to a computer or reading the GCODE from a memory card. 
5. The 3D printer "draws" the first layer with molten plastic (remember, like a tiny glue gun), first the outline, and then filling in interior spaces. The plastic is precisely fed into the  "extruder" (the tiny glue gun) as a thin filament from a spool. Large volumes of plastic needn't be solid, "infill" is a variable parameter.
6. After the first layer is drawn, the extruder is lifted a tiny bit, and the next layer is drawn on top of the first. And so on. The layer height can vary - I use 0.25mm for my prints, but most printers are capable of finer resolution, at the expense of print time. 

Despite the details and complexity of my cameras, I use very simple, FREE design software:

Here's a video of my first printer, a Printrbot Plus, 3D printing a 3D printer part:

Attached, also find a poster (how-3d-printing-works.pdf) from the fine people at Lulzbot explaining the process of 3D printing. 

I started with a laser-cut plywood Printrbot Plus kit from:
I used that to print the parts to two RepRap 3D printers:
but I mostly use a Lulzbot Taz 4 these days:

-------- My photography
I share every photograph I make with my cameras. Pinhole photography needn't be an unpredictable process with "happy accidents". If you understand your camera, film, and exposure, you will create the photographs you imagine in the scenes you see. 

My photos are grouped by camera or subject and should be in reverse chronological order:

-------- Links / Resources
Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day is the last Sunday of April

I organize regular pinhole photography meetups in the Seattle area, the Seattle Camera Obscura Photography Enthusiasts Society: 

Mr. Pinhole Pinhole Photography and Camera Design Calculators 

PinholeDesigner 2.0, a Windows application for pinhole camera design (runs great under WINE)

I sell my cameras through Tindie. If you are interested in purchasing an assembled camera, let me know. I only have a couple of designs posted, but I can sell you anything.

I recently shared my pinhole photography with Alex Yates, on

I was selected as MatterHackers' "Hacker of the Month" for Sept 2016

The Schlaboratory has a Facebook page:

I was named one of MAKE: magazine's 100 Makers to Follow on Twitter:

I have a blog about my pinhole photography:

I wrote an article for MAKE: Magazine no. 41 on how to build one of my early cameras, the P6*6:

My first photo books is available on Amazon:

Saturday, August 13, 2016

SEPT 17 & 18
At the Experience Music Project

Join me on September 17-18 for the Seattle Mini Maker Faire! This family-friendly festival of invention and creativity offers tech enthusiasts, crafters, homesteaders, scientists, and garage tinkerers of all ages and backgrounds a public platform to show off their passion projects. Come see all the awesome creations!

photo credit: Evan Van Otten

@MakerFaireSEA is setting up shop @EMPMuseum 9/17 & 9/18! 
Come see hundreds of amazing creations. #MakerFaireSEA 

Monday, August 8, 2016

Here, in the Schlaboratory, our scientists are slaving over simple CAD programs, with the goal of designing the best-shootin', easiest-to-assemble 3D printed pinhole cameras possible.  With that in mind, the new terraPin ACME utilizes snap-together assembly, and bolt-free loading. In early trials, the slide-lock lid is light-tight and easy to use.  

At this time, the camera works best with the terraPin consumer winders (in nylon or metal), and off-the-shelf instrument knobs (1/4-inch shaft). Expect a revised winder-knob design suitable for FDM 3Dprinting soon. 

This last photo is a composite of two exposures, inside and outside, at the back of the moving train. The outside exposure was quick - a second or two, while the inside exposure took several minutes. I used GIMP software to stitch the two resulting photographs together. No other post-processing or exposure adjustments were made. 

All photos made with Fujifilm Velvia 50 slide film.  The optical vignetting is prominent in some of these shots due to the limited exposure latitude of this film. Black and white or color negative films may have less of this vignetting.  

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

terraPin Prime 3Dprinted Pinhole Camera

In a quest for an easy-to-print and -assemble pinhole camera design, I present the terraPin Prime. There are only four parts to the body, plus the winders (many options for this), using gaffer tape for some tasks. The only fasteners are the fixing bolt for the cap and the pivot for the shutter.  Easy-Squeezy!  (Make sure you are using absolutely opaque filament!)

Like all my camera designs, I have posted ALL THE PHOTOS I have made with the Prime.

The source file to 3D Print are freely available for DOWNLOAD

I am working on a revision of this design, called the ACME, which HAS NO FASTENERS! Purely snap-together assembly!  Stay tuned, kids.

Monday, July 18, 2016


Saturday, July 9, 2016

RECTILINEAR Turista Photo Book Available for Download

I haven't been posting much lately because I have been working, among other things, on my photo book!  The eBook version of RECTILINEAR Turista is hammered out and available for download.  There was a defect in the form of a rotated photos, but that has been resolved. I used Bookwright by Blurb to create this, and it's a solid tool for making a nicely formatted book.  

When I discovered the problem with the photos, I contacted customer support. I am sorry to report that I could not get any help until I used Twitter to publicly call out Blurb for ignoring my incident.  Seemed to work and somebody fixed the glitch in the matrix.  The tech couldn't tell me exactly what happened, but assured me that it wasn't in the printed editions I ordered for preview.  

You can download the eBook HERE.  

Watch this space for more information about print editions of RECTILINEAR Turista

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

The River

When I was a kid, the time between holidays and birthdays elapsed at a glacial pace – except for summer. Summer surged and heaved, a torrent, suddenly evaporating on Labor Day, leaving me stranded in a new classroom, confused and anxious, in my newest clothes. I have a whole catalog of sensations, mostly olfactory, that will instantly conjure my back-to-school apprehensions. Souring fallen leaves, linoleum, dew-dappled spiderwebs, a cool morning and the tang of an oil furnace… These memories are hard-wired into my brain and I fully expect them to surface in my doddering years. I may some day forget my caregiver’s name, but never the smell of a new spelling book.

As I’ve grown older, and have fewer years ahead of me, I have observed an unfortunate paradox regarding the experience of passing time. Those twenty-five weeks from Christmas to the fourth of July, that seemed a full eon in my youth, are gone in a flash. Indeed, even birthdays occur so rapidly that I’ve had to pause to calculate my age. Ten years have gone by and so fast... a lifetime for a fourth grader.

I’m not alone in this observation, and many people have mused on specific whys and how-comes. I used to wonder if our expanding Universe was shrinking the fabric of time like a clothes dryer, in some cruel cosmic equilibrium. Objective measurements of space-time, by genuine and lettered scientists, do not support my wild suppositions, however. The two most compelling explanations are “time ratios” and “novelty”.

The “time ratios” explanation, first couched by French psychologist Pierre Janet, dates back to 1877. Simply put, as you get older, a year is a smaller percentage of your age. The human brain apparently marks time on a relative scale. A single year for a ten year-old is equivalent to five years when he is fifty years old. I haven’t done the math, but a logarithmic calendar seems unworkable for planning even a cocktail party, when everyone lives at a different point on their time curve.

Amazingly, novelty – specifically unique life experiences – seems to slow the objective experience of passing time. Think back to that first day of school. Remember all the new faces, the new classroom, your new shoes, and the new expectations. The next day, it was still new. By the time you were comfortable with addition, what’s this? Multiplication? And so on. In an unfamiliar environment, everything is alien, and your brain is hyper-alert, actively engaged in making sense of your new surroundings. This necessary mindfulness packs your cerebellum with useful memories and connections to weigh and analyze every waking moment. No wonder Christmas takes so long to arrive.

As an adult, your life is probably fairly stable and routine. Everything has a predictable rhythm and weeks, months can go by without any noteworthy events. The wide, calm river of time carries you without a ripple, nothing breaks the glassy surface.

People who have been in traumatic car collisions can provide vivid accounts of the sound of the impact, what they saw in the moment, the smells of anti-freeze, gasoline. They describe junk from the floor adrift in the passenger compartment. An airbag blocks their vision and suddenly everything is quiet. An event that happened in a couple of seconds is magnified, unfolded in the brain and remembered in endless fractal detail.

I don’t want to crash my car to expand time. There are innumerable ways to add novelty to one’s life. Career changes, divorce, a new home, anybody’s basic list of stressful life events will do. Novelty needn’t be harrowing nor grim, it can arise naturally and easily through travel to a new or foreign destination.

A week spent in an unknown city will seem, in hindsight, a dilated temporal extravaganza. The food, language, public transit, are all nuts to be cracked, with wit, will, and wisdom. Waking hours packed with adventure and exploration harken back to kindergarten, when the world was bigger and brighter. It can be exhausting, but I promise your memories will be rich and plentiful. A week spent elsewhere will overshadow your routine daily existence, and for many years to come.

And this can be done at home, too. Seek out the new, the unknown. See your city, your hometown, like a tourist. Find the things that make visitors gasp. Take your normal weekly routine and pull it tight across a new landscape. It will stretch and the months of your year with it.

The river of time will ebb in its progress, not as a languid delta of featureless mud, but like a playful mountain stream. Your hours will tumble across the slope, bubbling and dancing over boulders, under and through log jams, eddying in tranquil leafy pools. No two rapids will be the same, there may be a waterfall occasionally, but you will catch your breath in the bracing spume for a moment before riding a rocky chute to another crystalline pool. And you will never forget.

Saturday, July 2, 2016

Aunt Sally

A long time ago, when I was a kid, I remember being forced to sit through my aunt Sally’s vacation slides. We’d be at her house for a holiday of some sort, having stuffed ourselves on roasted turkey or pot roast, with side dishes like gratin potatoes and green beans. I might be poking at the remnants of my third helping of yams. My sister and my cousin would be huddled in a corner, animating their dolls. The adults, stuporous, languished at the table, sipping canned coffee and painting their plates with the palette of desserts from the kitchen counter.

My aunt would slap her thighs and spring up. The table would suddenly be cleared, the dishes hastily stacked by the sink, and we’d all be ushered through the sliding door, into the paneled den. A folding screen would come out of a closet, the slide projector produced, like a magician’s rabbit, from a suitcase-sized box. A carousel of slides would be plucked from a stack of identical boxes.

I sat on the floor, in the dark, soaking in gorgeous Kodachrome, as my aunt extolled the pleasures of their latest (seventh?) visit to Disneyland. As an eleven year-old who had never been to Disneyland, I was carried aloft in a swirling hormonal storm of envy, longing, anger, curiosity, and awe. I wanted to get up and leave, but I didn’t want to might miss anything.

More than fifteen years elapsed before I was able to find my own way to Disneyland. Of course many things had changed, but much was the same. I vividly remembered my aunt’s photos of Main Street USA, and Small World, and Frontierland. I strolled around the park, waited in lines, rode the rides, and marveled at the animatronics. Everything was exactly what I expected but so much better. I was a pilgrim finally visiting holy ground.

I was riding the small gauge steam train that circles the park, reveling in the intoxicating incense of bunker oil and creosote, the rhythm of steel wheels on rails, when I understood why my aunt implored us to sit in her darkened family room and submit to her photography. I had always suspected that the trays of slides were a boastful artifice, collected and curated to elicit precisely the jealousy and humility I had felt. As that powerless eleven year-old, I had never expected that I might travel the 1200 miles to Disneyland. Yet, there I was.

I ached to freeze that perfect blissful instant, aboard that clacking little steam train, that I might later relive, savor, and share it. Kodachrome might have come close. All I have from that day are memories. They are excellent memories, but I wonder if a thousand words can match the pictures in my head.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

"A Sandbox For The Subconscious Mind"

Adventure is where you find it.

I have said this since I was a kid. I believe that adventure can be found anywhere!  Adventure is something you can cultivate during a visit to a neighborhood park or travelling to a distant, exotic destination.  Adventure often finds you when you dare to break out and try something new and unknown. 

Beehive and I were in Barcelona for Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day last April, meeting up with more than 30 (pinhole) photographers from around the world.  Having never been to Barcelona, we took every opportunity to strike out and explore new corners of the city.  We typically took the subway to an distant destination, and then made the long walk back to our flat. 

On this particular day, we had taken the train to the Montserrat Monastery and on our return trip decided we were not quite ready to call it a day.  We got off the train at Espanya Station and rather than catch a subway connection, we climbed from the depths of the city to find ourselves in a new landscape, Plaça d'Espanya

Like spokes in a wheel, surface avenues and boulevards intersect at this point, while underground, subways and distant-service train lines converge. Arranged around the monuments and fountains in the center of the roundabout are all manner of interesting architecture. A former bullring loomed to the north, now a shopping mall. Beyond that, Miró's Dona i Ocell (Woman and bird) rose like a technicolor giantess from a park bearing the artist's name. Behind a chain link fence, we wished we could get closer.

We walked a little further, and found a modern fire station at the edge of the park. It was late in the afternoon and no activity was to be seen Probably still siesta time. I really wanted a Barcelona fire department t-shirt, but I didn't want to disturb anybody. 

Bombers de Barcelona (Barcelona Firefighters)  
At this point, I am tired, hungry, and my feet ache. Beehive, inspired by Miró's Dona i Ocell and the relative proximity of the Miró museum, makes a case for walking up and through the Montjuïc to the museum. The Montjuïc, a low hill rising over the south end of Barcelona, has played a role in defining Barcelona culture for centuries. Several venues were built here for the 1992 Olympic games. Castles, fortifications, arenas, and museums are clustered on this mound.

It's not a high hill, but the steps seem endless (there are actually escalators, but they weren't working) as you climb from the plain of Barcelona's streets and avenues.  We paused to catch our breath and look out over the glorious city, and I shot this urn in the clouds.

An Urn With A View
My comfort and mood were both eroding as we continued to climb the hill, navigating toward the Miró museum using Google maps on my phone.  By the time we arrived, I was sweaty, crabby, hungry, and tired. Of course, the museum closed in forty five minutes and I would have to check my camera bag. At least no one insisted on x-raying my film again.  I kept one of my pinhole cameras in my hand, fully intending to exact a pinhole photographic revenge on the museum. 

Miró had an agenda of turning art on its ear and achieving an "assassination of painting", in the interest of promoting contemporaneous socio-political issues. In the context of his world, Miró was punk. He challenged accepted norms concerning art, design, and composition.  He painted huge canvases with extremely subtle and fine linework in the interest of communicating his distress over Spanish politics. I sat for eight minutes, mulling his commitment, while my shutter was open. 

Miró Tryptich: ""Painting on white background for the cell of a recluse"
lines on essentially blank canvases. 

Miró was connected to his contemporary surrealist/abstract artist friends and Alexander Calder has a couple of sculptures represented at the museum. The Mercury Fountain is an amazing monument to the mines at Almadén, Spain, which produced some 250,000 metric tons of mercury over nearly two millennia of operation.

The Mercury Fountain, Calder
As I wandered the halls of the museum, basking in the genius of Miró, I felt my hostility and agitation melt away.  As often happens, closing time loomed and we began to hurry from one exhibit to another.  An outside terrace beckoned, primary colors screaming for attention in the fading light. We stepped outside. 

"Girl Escaping", Miró 1967
"The Carress of a Bird" Miró 1967 (handheld)
I balanced my pinhole camera on a handy surface to capture one sculpture, while choosing to hand-hold my camera for a different sculptural work.  I worried that I might incur the wrath of the surly staff for using a camera in the museum.  We tried to visit the gift shop, but were told that it was closed because the museum was closing in 15 minutes.  I am positively certain that I could find whatever I wanted to purchase in 15 minutes, but it seemed to be a consistent theme for our visit to the Fundacio Joan Miró. I felt my mellowing mood skewing toward agitation again.

Outside the museum, a characteristically red sculpture by Calder beckoned and I opened my shutter once again, this time on a proper tripod, seeking the contours and rivets that are common in his work. My mood eased and I felt at peace again.  

4 Wings by Alexander Calder

We walked a little a little further and stumbled upon the funicular railroad that would take us down to the waterfront and from where we would continue our amble back to the flat. 

Here's some more information about the works at the Fundacio Joan Miró.

ARTSY has a very informative page on Alexander Calder.  Their mission is to make all the world's art accessible to anyone with an Internet connection. 

All photos made with the terraPin Prime 3Dprinted pinhole camera
Shot on Fujichrome Velvia 50 film

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Pinhole Photography Short & Sweet, a Mini Zine

I have my friend Hank to thank for the Body Snatcher idea of Zines, innocently planted in my brain during a recent breakfast. I've since been thinking a lot about a small run of a photo zine, featuring themed pinhole photos. This little pamphlet is the first of such things to be spawned by Hank's inspiration. I plan to include it with pinhole cameras that I send to people.  It assumes some ignorance, and isn't really meant for experienced pinhole photographers. I like the idea of some small color photos printed on the reverse side. Stay tuned!

Here is the PDF of my minizine, Pinhole Photography Short & Sweet.  For proper formatting, print the PDF at 100%.

It probably could benefit from a critical eye. I think I caught all the spelling errors, but if you have suggestions to make this a more useful document, let's hear 'em!

Friday, May 13, 2016

We Met In Iceland: A Love Story

Two short years ago, I convinced my wife, Beehive, to join me in a grand social media experiment. The plan was to travel to Amsterdam, meet up with other pinhole photographers, and watch the awesome happen. On Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day (WPPD).

This amazing convergence was concocted largely by Alex, a self-deprecating git from Norfolk, with help from Inge, a charming photographer from Rotterdam. The idea began as an off-handed suggestion on Twitter, growing like a baby as people signed up on the Eventbrite page. This was happening before my eyes, unfolding in tweets, with perfect timing for my attendance.

I work in civil service and I pick my vacation for the coming year every December.  As luck would have it, everything - the grand scheme, the wife's support, the necessary days off - aligned like celestial orbs, portending a good trip and new friends. It felt like unstoppable destiny.

We met in Amsterdam, and, well, we had a blast. Everything was amazing - the city, the weather, the people, the food, the drink, everything! I remember it vividly, and I'd love to write more about it, but this is a love story that takes place elsewhere. 
Amsterdamp, my official entry WPPD14, P6*6, f/167, Ilford FP4, 02:00
After our adventures in the Netherlands, we took the train under the channel and had some days in London, and then off to Reykjavik, Iceland. Beehive had been to London many times, but I had only been through the airport once. So, we stayed in the Portobello Road area, and hoofed it all over town, visiting museums, the Tower, and taking in an amazing performance of Titus Andronicus at Shakespeare's Globe, on the bank of the River Thames. 

I had brought some film with me to Europe that I had never shot as pinhole before: Ilford black and white, and some Fuji Velvia 50 slide film.  The reciprocity failure corrections for different film stocks vary widely, and I rely on the collective intelligence of the Internet for that data, in lieu of testing myself. So, shooting a new film on Pinhole Day was a bit of a gamble. In England I leaned on my old friends Acros and Ektar. 

In Iceland, we rented a "three-door Jeep",  a tiny Suzuki hardtop SUV, and drove a route called the "Golden Circle". We drove through the Þingvellir national park, the geothermally active valley of Haukadalur, which contains the geysers Geysir and Strokkur, and to the Gullfoss waterfall (meaning "golden falls"). I decided to try the Velvia 50.

Gullfoss, P6*6, f/167, Velvia 50 (RVP50), 00:03
I almost didn't make this photograph of the falls. We had hiked down to the falls in the bright May sun and gotten a bit damp from the spray.  Back up in the parking lot, surrounded by the tour buses and milling Germans, the wind was chilling. The sun was bright, much brighter than I like for pinhole, meaning very fast exposures and potential for camera movement and unwanted blur. I loaded my pinhole camera with the RVP50, and screwed an ND filter onto the front. I was cold, the conditions were too bright, but I thought about how I very probably would never be here, in this amazing place, ever again. I left my wife in the Suzuki to warm up, and trudged up the path to an overlook. 

I set up my Gorillapod and metered the scene. Even with the exposure stopped down by the filter, the shutter would only be open for a few seconds. Putting a filter in front of your pinhole requires absolute cleanliness unless you want dust to be visible in your infinite depth of field.  It also prevented me from using the finger-in-front-of-the-pinhole trick to avoid disturbing the camera during shutter movement. 

When I got back to the Suzuki, I had no idea if my exposure had worked. We drove off through a landscape that looked like Hawaii, eastern Washington state, and Alaska, sometimes all at once. 

Back in Reykjavik, I continued to shoot the Velvia50, liking the slightly longer exposures in bright light.  
We walked to the highest point in town, upon which stands the Hallgrímskirkja. A towering concrete church, it took 41 years to build and is designed to look like columnar basalt formations. An elevator takes you to the top of the church, for sweeping views of Reykjavik and the mountains beyond.
Across the street from the immense church, we enjoyed coffee and the open-face sandwiches that are ubiquitous in Skandinavia.Later, that evening, I hopped in the "three-door jeep" and drove frantically around town making pinhole photos in the hours-long Icelandic twilight. We were to fly out the next day and our time in Reykjavik was far too brief.
I visited the Sun Voyager, a harbor-side sculpture evoking a Viking longboat bent on explorations and discovery.
Reykjavik is home to a world-famous hot dog stand. Dating back to 1937, Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur has repeatedly been ranked the best place to get a hot dog in Europe and the world. The customers queuing for a wiener eyed me suspiciously as I twined my Gorillapod through a chain link fence and aimed my camera. In the fading light, I "acted natural" and pretended to talk on my phone during the lengthening exposure.
HARPA is a multi-purpose concert and cultural hall on the Reykjavik waterfront. A glowing glass and steel structure, it houses both the symphony and the opera. 
Reflecting pools in front of the hall were mirror calm as the evening enfolded me.

I raced back to the top of the town, to make a photograph of the Hallgrímskirkja. I perched my pinhole camera on the base of Calder's statue of Leif Erickson, and opened the shutter for twenty-four minutes.  The light was evaporating and I decided to double the original metered exposure as the sky darkened. 

I returned to the apartment, disoriented and excited. I couldn't believe that it was almost midnight and I had been making pinhole photographs so late. 
The next morning, on our way to the airport, we scheduled a detour to the Blue Lagoon, a hydrothermal spa, conveniently situated to extract one last payment from tourists who would sip ten-dollar beers in the silica-rich water. The landscape is otherworldly, and the pool is ringed by volcanic rock that would cut your feet to ribbons if you chose to escape overland. Those same rocks hide the geothermal plant that supplies the hot water to the spa, but beneath the low clouds it was truly surreal. Again, I reminded myself that this might be a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I set up my camera before catching the bus to the airport. 

When I finally got home and had my film processed, I realized my love for Fujifilm Velvia 50.  I've been shooting it ever since.  All photos made with the P6*6 3Dprinted pinhole camera, uncropped and as scanned without alteration.