017-Back to the Darkroom
Monday Updates: Working from a photo darkroom in Brooklyn
I awoke this morning in Brooklyn with a knot in my stomach that guided my hands to shut off my phone alarm. I sat in bed for a few moments and stared at the bare ceiling. It had been so many months of not working in the darkroom, and I was nervous. After a few shallow breaths, the nagging sensation had been released from my mind and was replaced with a sense of mission.
The night before I had prepared my negatives optimistically. The last time I worked, I was able to produce quite a few prints—prints I liked as well—and I naively assumed I would resume a similar pace.
There is something about the darkroom that is thrilling. The necessary mechanisms are so different from my natural disposition, and I can’t help but find myself in a state of awe while watching them being carried out—almost like observing someone perform surgery.
I am not a technical photographer. I did not enter this career because I loved cameras or the mechanical aspect. Throughout the years of chitchatting with other photographers, I have managed to slip by the jargon, defaulting to nodding and humming in agreement when the vernacular choked the discussion.
For me, I always weighed heavy on the dedication to the emotional aspect of photography. The constant exposing of oneself and the demand to connect emotions to the image itself, and vice versa. The release of the inner sense of angst. The metaphorical lightening of the load by giving heavier feelings a different body to live in: The photo.
Despite the imbalance, I found myself curious about film photography, and the secret work of the darkroom. In this hidden room, where touch, muscle memory, and awareness are key, I discovered a desire for the technical. Without it, no images could be made properly.
I worked out of PhotoLab NYC, a stunning and organized darkroom. It was a working, physical body, with enlargers for organs, chemicals for blood, and film negatives for bones. The first time I visited last week, I felt an affinity with the space, with how it was spaced. I could see myself working here.
With an important combination of professionalism and warmth, the photographers running the space guided me throughout every step, answering all my questions with patience and grace.
Other photographers were working alongside me. “When you start coming here regularly, always be sure to choose the same room,” one of them told me as I passed, “The rooms are all different, so I recommend you pick one to get used to.” I was in Room 1.
Coming into the space, there were many minute differences from what I had experienced in Japan. “What does this dial do?” I pointed to a grey switch on the top of the enlarger. “You flip it up when you’re printing, and down when you’re examining the light.” I took note.
I pelted them with at least twenty more questions before I could fully get my session started. I was slow in getting used to the pace of this particular darkroom, but I was also delighted that there were other artists to talk to. In Japan, it was a completely solitary experience—alone in the dark and also alone in the light.
The joy of peeking into a community like this is the humanity within the experience. I felt an elation in error and the inevitability of human mistakes. While we all strive for technical perfection, the breadcrumbs that lead to the human soul are within these innate flaws. During the short three hours I visited, I would hear a veteran of the darkroom yell “Fuck!” and rush to a side room. I saw people drop their negatives, and I heard hushed groans after pulling prints from the paper processor, “Why did it come out like that?” The darkroom is special: This is where artists become scientists. Part of the science is trying to understand what the fuck happened.
I walked home with an excess and combination of emotions. All I can do is continue. To push, and push, and push, and push. In any attempt to pursue excellence, the first step is to run towards what one loves and to not resist the blunders. It can transform if one is willing. Not too dissimilar to the darkroom itself. The darkness is where beauty is created, after all.
FIND ME ON
Monday Updates is a section of this blog where I’m letting my hair down, figuratively. I am often preoccupied with getting things perfect, rather than simply sharing and enjoying the process while talking about life. Instead of the tradition of hating Mondays, I’m going to try to associate them with creative freedom and allow myself to speak my mind without the worry that a perfectionist usually has. Things here may be a bit disjointed, incomplete, and occasionally nonsensical, but they may also be playful, curious, and whimsical. I will do my best to make it more of the latter.
Beautiful words of a beautiful process