10 years ago, I packed away my beloved home darkroom and moved into the equally dangerous (and almost as stinky) world of mothering. A year ago, I finally broke down and purchased a digital photography setup and began the long journey back into an art form I thought I’d all but lost.
10 years ago, I worked exclusively in black and white- monochrome- and loved it. A holy roller proselytizing the virtue of contrast, composition, and constraint. With the DLSR and Adobe, I will admit, it’s too easy – I have taken a real shine to color, especially when the flowers are in bloom. But my heart- my deepest artistic writer heart- still loves black on white- words or print. There is just a depth there that color can’t begin to touch.
To honor that, for the last month or so, I’ve tried to regularly submit to Leanne Cole‘s wonderful weekly Monochrome Madness postings- wholly intimated by the skill and art of my fellow submitters, but in awe of the amazingly beautiful pictures my work sits beside. Having made my first black and white 8×10 print in a decade yesterday- that of Miss Esther, on my inkjet photo printer – I once again find myself missing the gorgeous depth of my darkroom prints- the range of tone, the texture of the paper, the acrid smell of the chemicals, the breathless anticipation of a print developing in a tray. If you have a good recommendation for a photo print shop, let me know. My home prints are just proofs, I think, and proof yet that my heart is not foolish in it’s longing to set back up the darkroom.
But- at least on the screen- these submitted photos are a few of my heart’s most recent favorites.