Somewhere in my mind, I had associated the darkroom with negative things. Being busy and stressed. Investing hours and hours in a handful of prints. Sharing the space with the Photo I kids who cross-contaminate the baths.
But the last few days, I’ve had the darkroom to myself. And I can’t imagine why I don’t spend more time there.
It’s quiet, and dark. Just me, my photos, and the running water. The gentle swish-swish of my photos as I rock them back and forth in the baths. The magic, every time, of watching a print emerge from the paper as it develops; as it shimmers, ghost-like, and then appears.
It doesn’t hurt, of course, that I’m getting better at reading test strips, and at taking film pictures in the first place. It doesn’t hurt at all that my prints have been coming out beautifully. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that Photo I doesn’t have midterm work due for another week.
But the darkroom and I are friends again, good friends. And it’s wonderful to be back together.
(to see some actual prints I made, check out this post from the archives with some black & white darkroom prints)