There’s been something missing in my life that I have been in denial about for a very long time. Something so important to my inner artist that I haven’t felt whole. I have dreams about it weekly. I sometimes daydream about all the possibilities, everything I could accomplish. And yet, due to circumstances and a whole lot of fear, I’ve resigned myself to being without it.
What I’m talking about is darkroom photography. I won’t go into the whole thing, because it’s a long story (you can read about it here) but I’ll give you the quick-and-dirty version, emphasis on the dirty. I started studying b&w and darkroom photography after meeting my fiance from college. He was into it and had a home darkroom. From the first moment I spent in his darkroom, I had been in love. It was amazing, and I came to find out later that my grandfather, unbeknownst to me, took pictures and had his own darkroom. That was such an unexpected thing to learn, and fitting. So I took as many photography classes as I could at college along with my Journalism major, thinking it would help my job prospects. And I ended up learning –and loving — b&w and darkroom photography.
Fast forward two years. I graduated and lost access to the college darkroom, so I decided to build my own. Lots of blood, sweat, and money later, I had a beautiful, very basic but functional darkroom which is still there to this day. At first, I practically lived in there. I created so much, taught myself other things, and experimented like hell. So much fun! But then I got married to my ex, and things took a downward turn. There just wasn’t enough time, or energy to spend time in there. My time in my darkroom dwindled down to almost nothing and then became nonexistent. My poor health was a huge factor in this. And I hated it, but I never did anything about it, believing it was for the best.
But inside, I suffered. All those pictures not taken, those negatives left to wither. All the ideas and concepts shucked to the furthest corners of my mind, for when the time was “right.” Well, I discovered something. The time was NEVER right. It would never BE right. I’m not getting any younger, and let’s face facts: My health sucks. It may or may not always be this way. I had to look beyond the fear and get past it to action. What am I afraid of? Hurting myself physically. Discovering that I’m no longer able to develop and enlarge negatives (stupid, but it’s true). I’m afraid I’ll fail. My logical mind says no way can I fail if I try, but my heart says I can’t afford to lose anything else. And truly, I’m very worried about my back. I’m in physical therapy for it now, but progress has been slow and I wonder if darkroom will equal lots of pain.
Would I give it up if it did? Probably not, but I worry. Oh, and money — the cost of replacing my chemicals. The cost of buying film and photo paper. I’m not rich by any means. But hey, I can do this a little bit at a time. Don’t need to buy everything at once and have this big bill staring back at me. I can go slow, take it a step at a time, rest when needed. I can set small goals for myself and try to meet them. I can get my 35mm automatic camera fixed. I can read up on things I’m fuzzy on.
I can do this. It’ll take a lot of work (both physical and mental), but I believe it will be so worth it. I’ve given myself a deadline. My birthday is in March. So by my birthday, I want to have something done on it, be it cleaning, dusting, inventory. Organization. Whatever. Something has to be done. That’s six months. Surely I can make some progress, right?
I want it badly enough to get past the fear. That’s the first step. And every step I take is one more step toward reclaiming my darkroom — and my inner artist. She needs to see the light. And never let it die.