What I do is a weird concept to grasp. I shoot people, drag them into the darkroom, and blow them up… That’s right I’m a photographer. Being in a photography class is a painstaking yet strangely fun class, if you’re doing it right.
Spending hours on end, taking photos of what you see, and letting people know your vision on a concept. Stepping onto YOUR set, bright lights and backdrops, it’s your playground and your rules, and no one can tell you differently. You control the lighting, the subject matter, everything is in the palm of your hands.
You prove your dedication for your passion with your actions. The countless hours on end in the darkroom. It is just you, your enlarger, red lights, and the cat-piss odor of the chemicals. I had spent the last two years of my life in this room; developing film, making chemicals, enlarging my photos, focusing, and zooming, filtering and exposing. This room all of a sudden becomes a time chamber, and I don’t regret a minute of it.
Once you find your style, this becomes your sanctuary. That’s right, nothing more satisfying than 2 peaceful hours in this glorified panic room. Getting that feeling of completeness from knowing, “sweet jesus! I’m actually getting so much work done!” or, “I’m gonna be so a head of the game!” In this room you find the true reward of great craftsmanship, and a hard days work.
Then again some people didn't find it as great as I did though. I could tell that from the tweets and notifications on my news feeds mid-class. While I worked hard and made a name for myself in the class; others would be arm deep in a bag of Cheetos, or by coincidence would contract a bladder infection the second they enter the classroom. It really didn't matter; I found it humorous come critique day when two others and I would have incredible shots.
In the process of getting this talent; I had found that I wouldn’t be anywhere close to my potential without my mentor… I sold my soul, to learn the skills that would make me who I am today, the day I signed up for Visual Arts I my freshmen year. Her cruel, yet inspiring criticism made me the artist and person I am today. She wasn’t easy on me and was always straight forward, even when the truth sucked. Thanks to that I now always work to my true potential.
Darkroom time was scarce, but when you finally get that glimpse of the aura from the red lights you feel the anxiety lift off your shoulders. Making your way through the light trap running your hands along the rigged brick walls, it’s like the passage to Narnia. Nothing is more stress relieving than when you get into that room. You get so into your art that you lose track of time and nothing else matters than what happens right there in that moment.
Amongst all the things I could do and all the places I could be. This is my wonderland. The only place that gives me purpose, the strength, and makes me feel like I’m good for something. Out of all the places I've been there’s no place I’d rather be than in front of my enlarger doing what I love in the time chamber that makes me feel at home.