Alex Boyd with his portable camera, Downpatrick Head, Ireland

For several years now I’ve been working as a photographer specialising in historic processes such as wet-plate collodion. This is one of the earliest ways of making images and was first invented in 1851 by Frederick Scott Archer.

Den Bruiste Sea Stack, County Mayo, Ireland

This process has the slight downfall that it requires you take your studio with you, with enough chemicals, supplies, water and materials to make images wherever you are working.

Alex’s portable studio

It currently takes a car to move my studio from one location to another, with little room left once the camera and my darkbox are packed alongside me. If I’m working inside, in a dedicated studio space, or an improvised one such as the vaults of Stirling Castle, then making images is fairly straightforward, as long as there is an ample supply of light and water, and the chemicals such as silver nitrate are behaving themselves.

Inside the darkbox, portrait on tintype

Louise Boyd

Working outside in the landscape however brings a whole new set of challenges, difficulties and frustrations, however it is probably where I most enjoy working with this process. Setting up my portable darkroom, in effect a large wooden box in which I can work in the field, I need to contend with high winds, rain, snow and intense heat and in the case of a residency on the Atlantic coast of Ireland I undertook earlier this year, all of these within a matter of hours. Difficult locations also mean that you have to drag all the gear to where you want to make images, sometimes a back-breaking and laborious task.

Alex’s studio, WW2 bunker, Downpatrick Head, County Mayo, Ireland

Scottish artist Hugh Loney

To date I’ve worked across Ireland, Scotland and England with my darkbox, everywhere from Rannoch Moor up in the Highlands, to the ruins of several Second World War clifftop bunkers in County Mayo in Ireland. Working in this way allows me to completely immerse myself in each location, due to the slow and methodical approach to image making, with each plate taking 15 minutes from the moment I pour collodion on the glass, to the final development using potassium cyanide.

Darkbox, camera and chemicals in studio

I’ve been asked many times why I persevere with collodion photography, especially given the difficulties in producing images using chemicals and the need to bring so much equipment with me. The answer is a straightforward one – it perfectly complements the way I make images. I found that with film and digital my approach was slowing down and becoming more contemplative, and that I was investing more time into each individual shot. This of course does change with the subject, however for landscapes I would say that my pace at the moment is fairly glacial.

Cashlanicrobin Rock, County Mayo, Ireland

The approach also produces distinct images. Aside from collodion’s unique aesthetic, each image is a moment in time recorded on glass, not just the scene before me, but every flaw and imperfection which goes into making that image. This can range from chemicals producing chaotic and unexpected results, to blades of grass from the side of Loch N-achlaise or midges from Glen Etive trapped forever in the collodion like amber. The corner of every image also contains my fingerprint from where I held it during its creation, a marker which signifies that I was there.

The Old Tree Graveyard, Ballycastle, Ireland

Alex Boyd is currently the RSA Artist in Residence at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig in Skye.

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‘Where I Make’ invites readers behind the scenes of artists from many disciplines to share photographs and a little insight about where they create their masterpieces. See more from the series here.

So. I make here. It looks small when captured like this, almost cornered. My first admission is that I used this as an excuse to tidy the maelstrom driven mess it had become. An image of the Victorian terraced house I live in in Leith may be more appropriate as I inhabit the house with the full-time full-throttle artistic-endeavour that drives so many of us: the house is my place of work, not just this studio. I drift through the house, switching switches and drinking coffee, making cake and kneading bread, thinking. When I do sit in this space, it is with such focus and drive that the work comes fast. I edit, cut and write here. My films come to life here and settle here; still images taken on film or glass or tin come into focus here.

The wall behind us is a window to a Victorian cottage garden, sun dripped or rain drenched, it accepts the extremeness of Edinburgh’s weathers and refuses to stop propagating. The other wall is the wall of objects, it suffuses my influences. The opposite wall is blank, white, a nothing, a space to stare at.

So what can you see? All present and correct: a MBP, some Swedish furniture, a Super 8 camera. The intertwined glass and metal objects are from a residency I completed at North Lands Creative Glass in Lybster in May this year where I cast glass: this sea-worn wrapped-steel loop comes from the beach at Whaligoe in Caithness; I cast it in glass whole, the result the yellow and black piece on the left.

With regard to photography, I mostly don’t exhibit digital, I dance around the fringes of fine art photography, of analogue photography, of making images not taking them. Having said that, in Lybster I pursued my interest in Collodion wet plate photography, developing a kilned ambrotype process, which I will pursue further this year with the aid of a formative influence, Carl Radford. What I mean by kilned ambrotype is that we spent careful time preparing glass photographic plates using a Victorian technology and then I threw them into a kiln at 600 degrees. The results were astonishing, delicate and amber-bright.

My most recent exhibition of fine art photography, Analogue Decay, was shown at the Howden for a month over Easter; it is a collection of new analogue work, celebrating the disintegration and imperfections of this near obsolete process and the unique painterly images it can produce. The pieces are not digitally manipulated and were shown at full negative ratio. The best I can hope is that this is seen as honest work.

My room is now a midden again. I love it.

Currently, Alastair has a series of 12 short films in the Edinburgh Festival, as part of Kevin Williamson’s Robert Burns project, Not In My Name. The films intersperse with Kevin’s rote recital of Burns more radical, untagged poems. The second part of its run in the Edinburgh Fringe is from the 24th – 28th August 2011 at the National Library of Scotland, at 7pm each evening.

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‘Where I Make’ invites readers behind the scenes of artists from many disciplines to share photographs and a little insight about where they create their masterpieces. See more from the series here.