Here's what happens when you sit for an old-timey photo over Zoom

Leah Collins and Lise Hosein are Stuck at Home. Different homes. And while they're holed up in their respective Toronto apartments, they'll be trying some of the most inventive arts and culture they've discovered online. The world doesn't look the same right now. Neither does art. Join them and see how COVID-19 is changing how we consume all kinds of culture.

A full day of back-to-back Zoom calls. By pandemic standards, nothing could be more ordinary — except that 90 per cent of the time, Robert Canali is talking with total strangers. 

In mid-April, Canali began working on Screen Time, a conceptual art project that he's been documenting on Instagram. It starts with a 45-minute Zoom session. (Participation's free, and anyone can sign up here.) Over the course of the chat, Canali gets to know the other caller as he poses a few questions about life in isolation. After the conversation's done, and a few quarantine confessions have surely been spilled, they'll collaborate on making an image. An iPad's involved, but the result's not digital. Instead, Canali produces an analog print, captured in real time through an old-school, camera-free photo process. 

It's a shared moment that truly is an exercise in trust for both me, the artist, and you, the subject.- Robert Canali, artist

Typically, Canali would usually be working out of his studio in San Francisco. But sheltering at home, the Canadian artist's been forced to take stock of the supplies he has around the house — which includes an ample stash of photo paper. After some experimentation, he discovered a tablet gives off enough light to produce a lumen print.

To really work, though, the subject needs to freeze their pose for 15 minutes. Canali asks sitters to prepare a playlist in advance, which helps the time pass. While the photo paper's exposed to the image, they listen to music, and if you think of it that way, the resulting print's an extra special memento of the call — locking the full length of their experience onto one sheet of paper.  

"The real core of [Screen Time] all comes down to those 10 to 15 minutes of uninterrupted shared time," he says. "It's a shared moment that truly is an exercise in trust for both me, the artist, and you, the subject."

"There's so much unknown that we're both embracing in that. I have no idea if the paper is going to act as I hope, or if I can trust your stillness, or if you can trust that your stillness and patience will not be in vain."

"And that's exactly what we're all doing," he continues. "We're all patiently waiting for this unknown return date to the world — and that world, in itself, will be unknown in many ways, and quite different than its former self." 

We signed up to try it ourselves. Here's what happened.

Leah Collins: What were your thoughts when you first stumbled on this project? Personally, I've come across a bunch of photographers who've started offering at-home portrait sessions over Zoom, but this is different. The pictures have way more aesthetic impact than an ordinary screengrab, obviously, but he's doing something beyond running a virtual photo studio. The blend of analog and digital got my attention. There's something cool, I think, about producing a physical object out of a video chat — this weird, intangible way that we connect with people right now.

Lise Hosein: The project appealed to me for a few reasons. First, it's enacted in real time. Also, it's sort of photographer-less, and the results look like a combo of Gerhard Richter paintings and Daguerreotypes.

LC: That first thing you mentioned: why did you like the fact that it's time-based?

LH: Because it forces you to just sit. I wasn't sure if I could do that (I'm bad at meditating) but I liked the idea of holding a pose or using movement to create a different kind of image.

LC: Ha! And here I thought all these weeks of isolation had made you philosophical. (Time is a flat circle!)

How did your call go? What did you talk about off the top?

LH: I was jealous of his sun. (He was calling from San Francisco.)

LC: I know, right?! A glimpse of California was enough to make the experience worth it. Also, nothing in my apartment is as photogenic as his "Zoom" set. All-white minimalism! Incredible house plants! 

LH: Don't make me cry, Leah.

But his questions did make me reflect for a (focused) moment on isolation. He asked what I had lost (my answer: geographical freedom, a.k.a. wandering) and what I'd gained (stillness). And he asked something about what I hoped would change after isolation (acting with more intention; going a little slower; being kinder). I guess that San Francisco sun had an effect on me.

LC: No chit chat, huh? I got a full crash course in old-timey photography before our session began, AND he gave me a peek at the stack of prints he's already made. What you see on Instagram is just a tiny taste, and some of the poses in his stash of unpublished photos are impressive. It's been less than a month since he started this, and there are already more than 100 prints. I was No. 112!

LH: Yeah, the process itself is fascinating. I would never have thought that a tablet generated enough light (or enough of the right kind of light) to make a lumen print.

LC: I want to loop back to what you were saying about the interview portion of the call, it being an important ingredient to the whole process and all that. Sounds like we were asked the same things, though Rob told me he switches up the questions. He wasn't recording the call, which is a massive relief. Self-isolation is making me supremely corny, Lise. I was blathering about feeling less lonely in isolation than I did before, and I actually said that I'd regained some faith in humanity. The clichés kept coming. I don't know what I was saying! Still, the conversation was plenty relaxed and responsive, so by the time we got to the photo session, the whole thing felt very collaborative. 

LH: Yeah, I'd agree. I suspect he also uses it as a way to warm up the more rigid subjects. (Points at self.) Gearing up to stare at myself for a full 15 minutes was not entirely what I wanted to be doing that night.

LC: Ha! I've never reckoned with my RBF like I did that night.

Before I ask about how the photo went, I want to talk about the questions a little more. So far, almost all of the "at-home" art projects we've tried have required a bit of introspection. And we've definitely been asked to dish on these exact same topics before. 

LH: You don't have a resting bitch face. You have a very nice face. And yes, these questions are getting pretty familiar.

LC: Is it just affirmation that we're all kind of thinking about the same things right now? Is there an appetite for this sort of conversation? Why? 

LH: I mean, these conversations are still valuable. But it's a lot of "looking at my looking," you know?  

I think we're all reflecting. I guess the questions we're getting are more clearly articulated versions of the ones on our own minds. There are only so many TV series you can binge, so the insights start coming, whether you want them or not.

LC: Yeah, I think people are still coming to terms with being alone. Maybe it's got us looking for ways to be acknowledged. 

I think, I feel, I exist! I'm here! Also, take my picture!

LH: Please see me, Leah. I need to be seen.

LC: I see you, Lise! I see that...maybe you're tired of talking about the plague?

LH: Despite my grizzled personality, these are things that I, too, am genuinely thinking about. They're important. I hope they make me a lot of money when I write my post-isolation self-help tome.

LC: So, how was your shoot? How much direction did you get?

LH: I didn't get much direction in terms of the pose, but lots in terms of process: don't move; pick a spot to stare at, maybe; blink as much as you want.

But the shoot was good! You pick four or five songs as your playlist. He says he'll be listening to them with you as you go. So I listened and stared at the area of my hair I hate the most in an effort to look angst-ridden. But when my playlist ended, these random songs started coming on and I got "this is not my music" embarrassment and had a few minutes of the feeling you get when the doctor has not come back and you're just lying on the gurney waiting. Everybody knows that feeling, right?

LC: I've never been able to outgrow my inner keener, so I was worried about screwing up the print. The. Whole. Time. 

Sitting still, you're even more aware of how nerves affect your body. I was fixated on how fast my heart was beating, how quickly I was breathing. And I picked uptempo music, which was such a bad move. 

LH: Yeah, I agree about the sitting still bit. It's like your body is a haunted house and you can hear every creak. 

I didn't pick upbeat music, so it was less challenging. But I did have to sneeze the entire time. Also, once things began, I realized I hadn't even remotely "posed," but was too scared to move a muscle. 

LC: If this project is something of a trust exercise, building a playlist kind of amps up the stakes. It asks you to be vulnerable, for sure. Is a stranger judging my taste? Are all the "isolation" references in my playlist obvious in a cringe way, not a fun way? Is he secretly putting this call on mute while the timer ticks down? 

But if I can somehow ignore a lifetime of indie record store shamings, I DO like what Rob had to say about why he asks for music. It's a nice, simple thing to share with someone new — and one of the few things you can experience with another person right now.

How did you choose your songs? Did it bring anything to the experience, do you think?

LH: I've been making playlists for my close friends, and for myself, throughout isolation. So I really just tried to hit the four corners of what I've been feeling in the past eight weeks and put those songs in the rotation. I thought maybe they'd make their way into my expression, somehow? Or at least make that 15 minutes feel like a genuine reflection on my own isolation.

And I think it worked, honestly. Maybe it doesn't show visually, but it made the experience more meaningful to me.

LC: Are you ready for the big reveal, then? 

LC: What do you think?

LH: Wait, do I look like I'm one of the Gerhard Richter portraits of members of the Baader-Meinhof Group?

LC: (Googles "Gerhard Richter" + "Baader-Meinhof Group.")

LH: I'm into it. You look AMAZING. How do you look amazing and I look like I am capable of murder? You look like you're going to a shoot-out, just saying. Or a shoot-out in your honour.

LC: I mean, obviously your theory was right. This whole experience is engineered to capture the most genuine reflection of my isolation. And I am a beautiful ghost.

LH: You ARE a beautiful ghost! Aw. I am a violent leftist.

LC: No surprise there.

LH: I mean, I wasn't going to say, but 🙂

LC: Still, you're an impossibly chic violent leftist.

Ego-fluffing aside, as a record of this strange, intangible moment, this'll do. The half-developed haze nicely captures the mystery of everything, I think — the uncertainty of what's happening right now, the uncertainty of what's to come.

What do you think? Is this an accurate portrait of Quarantine Lise?

LH: I do feel kind of hazy, and that is definitely the angle at which my head seems to have been titled for eight weeks. And, I mean, I've been wearing the same clothes every day, so...

I actually think it is. 

Follow Screen Time on Instagram, and click here for more info, including how to reserve a session.

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