You have to pick the places you don’t walk away from

I was 7 when I started darkroom photography. My grandfather Les, a hobbyist photographer, had just passed away, so my family and their friends had a darkroom built in his honor at my grade school. This was the place I learned how to point and shoot, to carefully wind my film onto the developing reel, mix chemicals, to see a creative idea come to fruition. It was fun and hard and the foundation of a lifelong love.

I continued to casually shoot film through high school and ended up pursuing a photography minor in college. These days I take a few rolls a year, more so shooting with a Fuji X-E2. I’ve become a hobbyist myself, not feeling forced to shoot or dependent on it to make a living. It feels a bit more like it’s a part of who I am, like a birthmark or being right-handed - it just is.

During a recent trip to my parent’s for the holidays, I found some of my original darkroom creations. Collaged Xerox transparencies that I hand-colored after printing. I think they’re hilarious and weird and definitely printed by a 7-year old (check out the little fingerprint in the corner of the crab picture or the agitation spotting).

That old darkroom is gone now, its equipment scattered and donated proving just like everything, nothing is permanent. I am very lucky to have had that place to learn and express myself and in some ways connect with my grandfather. It’s a place that I carry with me, allowing me to show at least some people how I see and feel in the world. I certainly hope that everyone has that type of place in them too.