my darkroom was perched over the top of my washing machine and depended on quiet. i had all the equipment there and i was a novice b/w photographer. it was heaven in there. i would develop my own flm, and use my enlarger after i had developed the film and then could have literally lived in my basement doing this ..my darkroom was actually a waiting room for my divorce……………away from the hustle upstairs……quietly developing ME.
Scary. I don’t think I like dark rooms. Also not very good at photography. I think this word is spelled wrong, though. Isn’t it supposed to be two words? Spoken like an English teacher. I also love dark colors like blue, black, even deep reds are pretty. Ooh a deep red room would be pretty. Why is it written in purple when that’s not really a dark color? Hmmmm…I wish it was written in black.
There’s something novel in doing something the old fashioned way. Waiting to see what develops. Stringing it all together in a crazy kind of pictographic yet linear phase, I think I’m going to open my eyes now. Because in a moment, the wait will be over. A picture? A thousand words? Oneword? Is there a difference or is it all the same?
In the darkroom, we develop. We turn what was not into something that is. And is again. There is no stopping in the darkroom. There is waiting, but not stopping. After we’re done, we go into the light.
I remember my time in middle school when I took a photography class and we would use the darkroom to develop our photos. That is when I first fell in love with photography and especially black and white photography! It was amazing seeing the transformation from nothingness to photographic art using nothing but some chemicals, some paper, and a red light. These days all my photography is digital, but I will always have fond memories of my days in the darkroom.
my place is a very lonely one. My tears fall every minute just because there´s nothing else to do. I’m not sad, or desperate, I’m just bored to be happy.
I used a darkroom in high school (I went to an arts school). We used to develop photos the old fashioned way. I still remember how the developing fluid smells. It’s a process that every photographer should take the time out to experience. There’s just something nostalgic about it all, and I’m not even a hobbyist photographer.
place, blind, nothing, intimacy, knowing someone, a place to be you, to be true to what you want to be, honesty, intregity, peace, the place to be you.
creative place that is no longer used in todays modern digital era they tried to transform the darkroom into a computer program, but it fails to provide the excitement mystery and romance of developing and shaking out your own prints when they magically appear after tedious work
Terrifying. A child’s nightmare. Sanctuary in my parent’s arms, but only if I call out. Also, photographs. High school—red lights and developing fluid, existing and flirting and uncertain.
She stood silent, the canister in hand. The bag felt warm as she slipped the canister inside to remove the film. This was the only place where she could be alone with her thoughts and make sense of the things outside.
photography is done in a darkroom. that is where i spent some of my days in high school. they remind me of lazy afternoons in the swamp. lomos, 35mm and love. darkrooms also smell of acids and potential creeping; who knows who’s lurking. i wish i was 15 or better at photography -_-
I like the idea of a darkroom because it somehow actually lights the way to creativity. The ability to develop pictures and somehow see someone’s memories come to light because of the work you’re doing. It’s like playing God with someone’s moments and experiences. Then you get to have some consensual adult fun in there if you’re lucky :)
A dark room is a place where we hide. A place with no sound. A place where we can think. Our memories become larger, our fears become smaller. The differences between a dark room and our closed eyes are not major. Think. Think dark. Think safe.
The darkroom is dark. The lights are off, no other person in sight. It is eerily quiet. You hear the harsh wind blowing against the windows outside and you get scared. You look outside and seen an owl.
where i process my photos. i was just thinking about a dark room the other day. what happened to them? it made me want to shoot with real film again. i like the rawness of it. i feel more creative when i have one shot to see what happens. when photoshop was the darkroom.
We had a darkroom in my old basement where my dad would spend time bringing his photographs to life. I had to chance to learn about the darkroom and glad I had a chance to experience it before everything became digital.
my father approaches me. i’m eight. he’s drunk. its two weeks before Christmas. mom is traveling. i hate him. he smells like Winstons. I should have stayed at my friends house tonight. christ, he’s just hovering over me. i dont want to open my eyes.
someplace to go for peace and quiet, away from the rest of the world. Just you and your photographs. It is a rabbit hole of sorts, wandering into a whole different world. A place to go for yourself and nobody else.
This dark room is empty, yet abandoned. Never to be returned or remembered. But, that is fine. Because from now on, my life shall be filled with well lit rooms. Rooms that are representative of the good times to come.
there is a light in the middle but it is turned out and i hear in the corner a scraping sound and something like breathing over the sound of developing photographs.
when the photos come clear they will show the thing that I hear but i will not be around to see it.
in the darkroom is where i discovered the strange orgs that looked like they were eating villeneuves face. i’m not sure if it had to do with ghosts or aliens or some type of free mason plot but it was very freaky.
in the darkroom all of visual thoughts come to life.. i have no way to tell verbally what i show through my lens. times change, as do opinions but pictures stay the same… will the way we interpret them change… only time will tell.. and we create time
dark rooms are scary and associated with the boogie man. No one likes the boogie man because he lives in your closet and scares you when you are least expecting.
I think of a time when i was scared to look into my closet when it was dark. I thought there were monsters and all kinds of t=other creatures inside. I don’t know why I was so scared though..
jeremy always had use of the darkroom in art class… but the teacher hated me so i dropped out of school. now i’m having an art show and she’s getting old and dying. i just stole some ear candles and tampons. i love my adderall. i love my dog. l love my apartment. i love drugs. but not too much. uncle sid is in town and the floor is the ceiling and the carpet is sliding up the walls… my muscles are like rain and cars are the shit. trails. trails in the mirror. trails from my hands. trails on the waves and trails on the trail. tile pops. corn pops. lolly pops. balloons pop. poppys. poopy. poo… poppin off.
the darkroom held the photos that I didn’t want to look at again. Those photos had been the cause of the breakup that happened between Karen and Peter that last year they were together. It had start
The room is dimly lit and I find it getting darker. I feel so alone and I know there is no light.
This is it.
AFRAID
my darkroom was perched over the top of my washing machine and depended on quiet. i had all the equipment there and i was a novice b/w photographer. it was heaven in there. i would develop my own flm, and use my enlarger after i had developed the film and then could have literally lived in my basement doing this ..my darkroom was actually a waiting room for my divorce……………away from the hustle upstairs……quietly developing ME.
Scary. I don’t think I like dark rooms. Also not very good at photography. I think this word is spelled wrong, though. Isn’t it supposed to be two words? Spoken like an English teacher. I also love dark colors like blue, black, even deep reds are pretty. Ooh a deep red room would be pretty. Why is it written in purple when that’s not really a dark color? Hmmmm…I wish it was written in black.
There’s something novel in doing something the old fashioned way. Waiting to see what develops. Stringing it all together in a crazy kind of pictographic yet linear phase, I think I’m going to open my eyes now. Because in a moment, the wait will be over. A picture? A thousand words? Oneword? Is there a difference or is it all the same?
make photos
see photos
walk in and out
dark lights almost no lights
stamping time onto metallic sheets
plastic fluid
In the darkroom, we develop. We turn what was not into something that is. And is again. There is no stopping in the darkroom. There is waiting, but not stopping. After we’re done, we go into the light.
I remember my time in middle school when I took a photography class and we would use the darkroom to develop our photos. That is when I first fell in love with photography and especially black and white photography! It was amazing seeing the transformation from nothingness to photographic art using nothing but some chemicals, some paper, and a red light. These days all my photography is digital, but I will always have fond memories of my days in the darkroom.
my place is a very lonely one. My tears fall every minute just because there´s nothing else to do. I’m not sad, or desperate, I’m just bored to be happy.
I used a darkroom in high school (I went to an arts school). We used to develop photos the old fashioned way. I still remember how the developing fluid smells. It’s a process that every photographer should take the time out to experience. There’s just something nostalgic about it all, and I’m not even a hobbyist photographer.
place, blind, nothing, intimacy, knowing someone, a place to be you, to be true to what you want to be, honesty, intregity, peace, the place to be you.
creative place that is no longer used in todays modern digital era they tried to transform the darkroom into a computer program, but it fails to provide the excitement mystery and romance of developing and shaking out your own prints when they magically appear after tedious work
dark room
no place to hide
can he hear me
here inside
pitch dark
dark as pitch
nothing like
an unscratched itch
Black, hot, silent and cloying. Darkness everywhere. In my eyes, my mouth, my ears. Pressing down on me, blotting me out.
dirty space air light red photography sex love black out inside unknown music silence night patience evil kiss
this is where photos are developed, the mystery of capturing light and movement and image from a negative to a positive.
Terrifying. A child’s nightmare. Sanctuary in my parent’s arms, but only if I call out. Also, photographs. High school—red lights and developing fluid, existing and flirting and uncertain.
She stood silent, the canister in hand. The bag felt warm as she slipped the canister inside to remove the film. This was the only place where she could be alone with her thoughts and make sense of the things outside.
photography is done in a darkroom. that is where i spent some of my days in high school. they remind me of lazy afternoons in the swamp. lomos, 35mm and love. darkrooms also smell of acids and potential creeping; who knows who’s lurking. i wish i was 15 or better at photography -_-
I like the idea of a darkroom because it somehow actually lights the way to creativity. The ability to develop pictures and somehow see someone’s memories come to light because of the work you’re doing. It’s like playing God with someone’s moments and experiences. Then you get to have some consensual adult fun in there if you’re lucky :)
A dark room is a place where we hide. A place with no sound. A place where we can think. Our memories become larger, our fears become smaller. The differences between a dark room and our closed eyes are not major. Think. Think dark. Think safe.
i love your funny face.
The darkroom is dark. The lights are off, no other person in sight. It is eerily quiet. You hear the harsh wind blowing against the windows outside and you get scared. You look outside and seen an owl.
The place in your mind where you haven’t looked into bringing the light of your heart to.
where i process my photos. i was just thinking about a dark room the other day. what happened to them? it made me want to shoot with real film again. i like the rawness of it. i feel more creative when i have one shot to see what happens. when photoshop was the darkroom.
We had a darkroom in my old basement where my dad would spend time bringing his photographs to life. I had to chance to learn about the darkroom and glad I had a chance to experience it before everything became digital.
darkroom, red lights. the smell of the chemicals. picture perfect memories.
my father approaches me. i’m eight. he’s drunk. its two weeks before Christmas. mom is traveling. i hate him. he smells like Winstons. I should have stayed at my friends house tonight. christ, he’s just hovering over me. i dont want to open my eyes.
someplace to go for peace and quiet, away from the rest of the world. Just you and your photographs. It is a rabbit hole of sorts, wandering into a whole different world. A place to go for yourself and nobody else.
i cant see.
i cant see a thing.
my body becomes still and all other senses kick in.
my hearing is so alert it hurts, but hear nothing, i smelll nothing, i tastes nothing.
alone. in a dark room. and all i feel is fear. i dont understand why this is my life.
one word, or one world as I call it: united we stand, divided we fail to grasp that beauty surrounds us if we take a chance to explore its wisdom
This dark room is empty, yet abandoned. Never to be returned or remembered. But, that is fine. Because from now on, my life shall be filled with well lit rooms. Rooms that are representative of the good times to come.
We were standing together working on the new batches of prints when our arms grazed each other.
That was all it took.
I grabbed your hips, pulled you close to me, and kissed you.
In the dark.
there is a light in the middle but it is turned out and i hear in the corner a scraping sound and something like breathing over the sound of developing photographs.
when the photos come clear they will show the thing that I hear but i will not be around to see it.
in the darkroom is where i discovered the strange orgs that looked like they were eating villeneuves face. i’m not sure if it had to do with ghosts or aliens or some type of free mason plot but it was very freaky.
in the darkroom all of visual thoughts come to life.. i have no way to tell verbally what i show through my lens. times change, as do opinions but pictures stay the same… will the way we interpret them change… only time will tell.. and we create time
dark rooms are scary and associated with the boogie man. No one likes the boogie man because he lives in your closet and scares you when you are least expecting.
I think of a time when i was scared to look into my closet when it was dark. I thought there were monsters and all kinds of t=other creatures inside. I don’t know why I was so scared though..
jeremy always had use of the darkroom in art class… but the teacher hated me so i dropped out of school. now i’m having an art show and she’s getting old and dying. i just stole some ear candles and tampons. i love my adderall. i love my dog. l love my apartment. i love drugs. but not too much. uncle sid is in town and the floor is the ceiling and the carpet is sliding up the walls… my muscles are like rain and cars are the shit. trails. trails in the mirror. trails from my hands. trails on the waves and trails on the trail. tile pops. corn pops. lolly pops. balloons pop. poppys. poopy. poo… poppin off.
the darkroom held the photos that I didn’t want to look at again. Those photos had been the cause of the breakup that happened between Karen and Peter that last year they were together. It had start