Hiding on the backs of some long-forgotten photographs are ghost images, unintentional traces of other pictures left pressed against the surface for decades. Often barely visible but on occasion startlingly clear, these apparitions are in fact a chemical reaction caused by platinum photographs. Under the right conditions — a potent platinum print stacked for decades against an agreeable paper — a mirror image appears. Although still considered the most permanent of all photographic processes, platinum photography fell out of use in the lead up to World War I because platinum was needed as a catalyst in explosives. We now know this catalytic ability also produces ghost images. With each lingering imprint, it seems the medium itself is issuing a reminder that photographs have powers beyond our control.
Amazed to stumble upon this special type of picture, I have spent several years ghost hunting. They are somewhat rare, but if you are willing to paw through enough old photos in dusty antique stores, sometimes there is a reward. When I finally find a one, I rephotograph it lit from the side to increase visibility. I then create a large negative and finally a contact platinum print. This process is important because it returns the found image back to its original material — platinum — making it permanent and offering it yet another chance to reproduce.
Looking at photographs, it is natural to wonder about the identities of the subjects. But because ghost images are untethered from their source, this is impossible. Still, we imagine, we make up stories, we project ourselves onto them. I am forever drawn to their unique presences — how the figures land askew on the page, where they intersect with graphics or text, the layered multiple "exposures" from movement over time — indeed, ghost images might be the longest exposures in the history of photography. But above all, I am captivated by the idea that, while no one is looking, the photographs are reproducing themselves.
