Chapter 2856: Coconut Grove Photo Studio

The moment Senator Huang took charge of the photo studio project, he threw himself into it with absolute dedication—organizing everything on a grand scale. He selected a location on a quiet side street in Bairen Town, not far from the bustling main thoroughfare yet removed enough from its noise. Unlike other trades, photo studios depended less on impulse purchases and more on word-of-mouth reputation. Still, the location couldn't be too remote; if customers struggled to find the place, they'd lose considerable walk-in business.

In the old timeline, marketing channels like the internet and television meant a photo studio's location mattered less. Strong customer outreach could make an office building or commercial center work just as well. But in this timeline, a commercial district location with a prominent storefront remained essential.

As a former television worker who had once traveled for shoots every few days, Huang Yaomin had moonlighted in wedding videography and private photography, gaining intimate familiarity with the industry. He applied all that knowledge to his site selection.

The photo studio's frontage wasn't large—only two bays. One served as the main entrance, while the other held a display window showcasing various "sample photos." This followed the traditional photo studio model. Given the limitations of equipment, film, and personnel, wedding photography and artistic portraits couldn't yet achieve anything too elaborate. Marketing had to focus on everyday life instead—commemorative photos and candid shots.

Without the need for fancy wedding photography or art portraits, there was no call for extensive sets and props, keeping the studio's scale modest.

The ground floor housed the business hall and a small photography room for routine projects. The second floor, however, was more refined—and the centerpiece of Senator Huang's marketing strategy.

To capture maximum attention, he adopted a greenhouse design for the upper level, carving out a terrace that occupied two-thirds of the floor space. Apart from a small open-air section, this expansive terrace featured glass panels set into iron frames, stretching from the roof down to the walls.

Such a design was rather bold for Lingao. After all, the region's high average temperatures would likely turn the greenhouse into a hothouse most of the time. Yet Huang Yaomin's motivation wasn't purely aesthetic impact—it was primarily about satisfying photography's lighting requirements.

The Senate's lighting industry could now mass-produce various fixtures: kerosene lamps, gas lamps, carbide lamps, carbon arc lamps, and the carbon filament bulbs that had emerged in recent years. Some produced considerable lumen output. However, in Senator Huang's judgment, most were unsuitable for indoor studio lighting and posed certain safety concerns. There was also a measure of personal aesthetic preference involved.

So he decided to rely on natural light as much as possible. The greenhouse studio embodied this philosophy. Due to the shortage of lighting equipment, the Senate had invested considerable research into maximizing natural light, developing a sophisticated shading system of curtains, blinds, tracks, and reflectors. Coconut Grove Photo Studio incorporated this system, personally installed by Lin Hanlong, head of the Optical Factory. Through careful adjustment, the system could deliver satisfactory illumination under virtually any weather condition.

This technology wasn't an original Senate creation. Leonardo da Vinci had written about similar concepts in the sixteenth century—how to construct a venue with optimal lighting for portrait painting, how to arrange the distance between model and painter in varying weather, and a technique closely related to photography: the camera obscura projection.

Lin Hanlong's system was ingeniously designed. It came with a specialized manual, and a technician had been dispatched specifically to train the photo studio staff.

Given the substantial investment in the lighting system, the second-floor studio naturally needed to generate high-value products to recoup costs. It would cater primarily to mid-to-high-end clientele. Although color photography remained beyond reach, there was no harm in preparing props and costumes in advance. To that end, Senator Huang had commissioned an array of premium garments from Wanzi Pavilion.

Photography was still a novelty, and most common people had no conception of it. Aside from naturalized citizens who required photos for identification documents and employment files, ordinary folk had neither experience with nor demand for photographs. This meant the trade had to cultivate consumer habits from the ground up.

Fortunately, once the industrial sector could reliably produce photography consumables, the Senate began implementing an identification photo system. With the rollout of identity documents across the entire population, Coconut Grove Photo Studio would never lack for business.

Yet Senator Huang looked down on business that merely rode the coattails of administrative policy. Ambitious by nature, he intended to develop additional revenue streams.

Tracing the life cycle of photo studios from the old timeline, the industry had begun with its introduction during the late Qing Dynasty, when it was initially viewed as "soul-stealing sorcery." By the 1920s, the public gradually accepted photography and commercial studios appeared. After the 1930s, having one's photograph taken became fashionable. The industry popularized through the 1950s, wedding photography surged in the 1990s, and digital cameras eventually brought decline in the early twenty-first century. Most of Hainan Island currently occupied something like the "1920s" phase—common people no longer treated photography as witchcraft. Guangzhou, however, still lingered at the late Qing level.

Since photography was no longer feared as sorcery, commercialization held genuine promise. But consumer habits remained undeveloped, requiring guidance and cultivation.

Fortunately, Lingao enjoyed an enormous advantage: among all territories under Senate jurisdiction, it had the deepest media industry penetration. More than twenty popular newspapers and magazines circulated here, with subscriptions reaching over forty percent of the population. Photos published in these periodicals served as advertisements, subtly weaving the concept of photography into daily life.

Of course, this alone wouldn't suffice. So Huang Yaomin had negotiated an advertising partnership with Ding Ding, arranging continuous promotions for the photo studio across major publications under the Media Group for an entire year. Beyond standard advertisements, the agreement included several soft-marketing pieces—stories, novels, and comic strips promoting concepts like "visit a photo studio for portraits," "commemorate important occasions with photographs," and "preserve your most beautiful moments."

He had also arranged cooperation with the operators of the Lattice Skirt Club. He would photograph their theatrical troupe free of charge, the portraits to be displayed on the small theater's actor wall. He promised to shoot a complimentary photo album for members once photography technology improved, in exchange for the convenience of promoting his studio within the venue.

Naturally, Guangzhou fell within Senator Huang's plans as well, but for now he couldn't attend to it. The photography resources allocated to him were simply too limited. He would develop Lingao first, familiarizing himself with the technology while training a core group of skilled personnel.

Senator Huang strolled through the photo studio, "inspecting and guiding" the work in progress. Coconut Grove Photo Studio was nearly ready to open. The hardware was essentially in place; only the "software" remained—decorations and accessories being rushed to completion. Three to five more days at most. He calculated that the studio could officially open before the next rest day arrived.

Surveying the studio he had built with his own hands, Senator Huang couldn't suppress a swell of pride. A pity he couldn't run a television station yet—otherwise he'd have insisted on being Station Chief...

Observing the bustle of work outside with nothing left requiring his guidance, he decided to take a few test photographs of his maid, checking the quality of newly delivered equipment and chemicals. Quality control issues meant each batch of consumables performed slightly differently. Only actual shooting could confirm their reliability.

He asked the maid to change clothes, then entered the darkroom himself. First he donned gloves and a mask, feeling rather like he was entering a chemical processing facility—but he had no choice. Currently assigned a wet plate camera, he had to work with the antiquated wet collodion process. Some materials in wet plate preparation were flammable and toxic; cherishing life meant starting with personal safety. He gathered distilled water, a basin, a gram scale, an alcohol lamp, beakers, stirring rods, a large funnel, test tubes, graduated cylinders, filter paper, a glass cutter, and a silver nitrate bath. Everything ready, he began.

First, he poured prepared collodion onto the glass plate, tilting it so the liquid quickly covered the entire surface, then poured the excess back into the bottle. He shook the plate gently to achieve a smooth, uniform emulsion layer. Into the silver nitrate bath it went for sensitization. After four minutes, he removed the glass plate, wiped the back clean with paper, and loaded it into the film holder.

Returning to the studio, Huang Yaomin directed the maid to sit before the blue cloth backdrop—wet plates were sensitive only to ultraviolet, blue, and portions of the visible spectrum, responding weakly to warm light. He used an iron stand to support the back of her head, holding it perfectly still. In the era when wet plates first emerged, long exposure times meant subjects had to remain absolutely motionless for five to ten seconds, not even blinking.

He arranged the gas lamps, wrapped them in white cloth, and adjusted the focus. Loading the film holder into the camera, he removed the lens cap—which served as the shutter on wet plate cameras—waited five seconds, then replaced it. He retrieved the film holder and returned to the darkroom. Pouring developer over the plate, he agitated it vigorously. An image appeared within six to eight seconds. He halted development around fifteen seconds, rinsed the plate directly with water, applied fixer after washing, and watched the image grow brighter and brighter as it dried. A final coat of varnish completed the process.

Huang Yaomin examined the finished image. Success on the first attempt—the quality was quite good. However, an Asian woman with natural makeup still wasn't quite as photogenic in black and white as a Western model. I should submit a request to the General Office for a special expense budget, he mused.

That had been merely a warm-up. Now for the real work. His gaze swept over the maid's clothing, and he signaled to her. She appeared momentarily startled, then immediately understood—she had served as Senator Huang's photography model more than once before. Even so, she still affected a show of bashfulness first. Just as she blushed and headed toward the changing room, Huang Yaomin's Little PHS rang...

(End of Chapter)