Darkroom Diaries

The Walk

I was nervous when Papito M volunteered to take me for a walk. I had grandiose ideas about capturing a place I really only knew through song, 8mm films, countless childhood stories, and the yellowing black n white photos hidden in family albums. No one else had been interested. Still, we were oceans apart in years and frankly, I didn't know if my diminishing Spanish vocabulary would carry Papito M and me through an entire day. In the end, I got on board. On the bus that is. It drove up a steep hill, making turns at probably the same speed as the buses on the highway, and dropped us off in the hood. We walked. Maybe it was hours or days. He was 76, so time was important and irrelevant. Words were light as a feather. Although, he tends to be quiet anyway, I couldn't help but believe I was understood. He was patient. Brave. Silent. A gentleman. He was everything I needed to reconnect, then bought me lunch!

When we got back from our walk, Mamita A was pissed we ate. This meant she was worried, but was too proud to care. When Uncle A asked about the sites, I couldn't find words to describe them.... I remember the Virgin statue at a dangerous traffic circle. There was a stairway "to heaven." Lightbulbs dangling from trees. Homes where future lovers lived. Old men playing cards. Fútbol dust. It was brilliant. Papito M was brilliant. And mostly I described him...

an angel.

Darkroom Diaries

My profesór told me last night that I need to take a chance. There's a vast gray area, but black and white is not yet defined. A bit foggy. New cameras mean long learning curves, but... "Let the image unfold," he said. "You are holding back because of all the intricate details." "Let (them) go."

I'm wondering if he was referring to my latest prints.

Warhol Wonders

“Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves?”

Happy Halloween, superstars.