A Darkroom Diary

                                 Prayer in The Heights © 2011

A Darkroom Diary

I was dreading going back to the darkroom. Spring propelled me deep into sunlight and movement of my own. I've been camera-shy lately, too... Like a boy (or girl) you've missed for a year and then suddenly you're meeting for a drink, I was that kind of nervous. With my hearty broom in tow, I unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and swept. The dust had really settled. It was thick, but I managed. Spraying down the sink, I noticed a bit of rust. I shined it all. The trays were crusty with old chemicals, so I rinsed them down. I made everything ugly from the past 12 months go away. It felt good. Now for the work.

Oh Marcelito!

MARCEL THE SHELL WITH SHOES ON from Dean Fleischer-Camp on Vimeo.

a Degas love affair

No one could possibly understand women better than Degas.  Not in the late 19th century anyway.  Movement so wonderfully executed in every meticulous stroke.  Degas knew the burden a woman carried.  So much of her existence a performance, this predisposition to protect, and mostly, an overwhelming sense of herself - a quiet storm.  I may be romanticizing his intentions.  Maybe he loved horses more (worked on them with the same fervor).  I just don't think it matters as I wasn't in his Parisian studio to witness the process - rubbing in the blue pastels... trying to lay still... not moving even a stroke.

a stranger in a strange land

                            Chinatown, 2010

A Darkroom Diary

Can darkness be englightment?



It's a question I've been grappling with for some time now. Of course, for many it's always the "path leading to," but to make darkness your destination, even for a second?

My professor and peers will say there isn't enough information in this image. I tried so many different settings and timings and I didn't care about the dusty books on the shelf or the intricate patterns of the Persian rug. I kept going back to this - wanting my subject to live in the shadows, so I exposed it all until almost everything faded to black.

anyone can see...

:::sigh:::

"save me"

Sculpture, trees, and gray skies courtesy of Woodlawn Cemetery

A Darkroom Diary

On the rainy day of this shoot, I remember my deteriorating eyes searching through the viewfinder for assurance. It occurred to me that perhaps we were all impressions - remotely true, stirring and still... lovely beings - even in real time. My subject either moved or moved me when I finally took the shot. In print, her wondrous face is a bit blurred.

Found: Lost Pictures of New York Blizzard

A Darkroom Diary

I've given up on the idea that I can beat time. I can't. It takes me three hours to develop, search, prep, and process one image. If I'm lucky, two. And then, it's the waiting game. Waiting for the paper to curl up, to dry out, to settle into whatever is. After contemplating all the labor and energy, there are decisions to be made... Do I try this again? Are you worth rescuing? Am I in love?

Whatever will be, will be.

A Darkroom Diary

My version of a Boticelli. A real live beauty. Reminiscent of the days when a hint of a gaze behind a fluttering fan inspired sonnets and epics. The tones are exactly what I wanted. It took almost an entire box, right down to my last 10 sheets, to understand this paper. The mood here is perfect for me, too. The only problem I have for all my finished prints is that I can't separate experience from the quality. I love shooting. I love the result. Are they ready? I couldn't say...

Oh Supermoon...

if only i could touch you.

another Sunday Secret

Sunday Secret

A Darkroom Diary

Tonight was the first time I cried.  I cried feeling pretty much in the dark outside of my room. Only one print.

black sky

Black Sky Lapse from james b featherstone on Vimeo.

violetblues

7 months later I heard from the man responsible for my agonizing journey of crushing love.  I cried when I got the email.  Cried as if I were given answers to all the world's mysteries.  Once the tears settled, I realized he had made no apologies for disappearing into the ether.  Instead it was such pleasantries as, "I thought about you today", "it was meaningful," and "hope you're well," but nothing to settle the only mystery that mattered.

Within the week, my friend, Gab, tagged me on a picture where I am smiling.  I looked so happy there, but I remember that weekend getaway.  Emotions were a vivid double rainbow in gray skies.  Gab and I roomed together, experiencing similar heartache.  We both laughed, cried, drank, danced hard, made trips to our room rather than socialize.  We slept deeply and dreamed of recent days past; when the sun was bright.  In the photo it's as if my body is facing the future and my eyes are looking to the past.  I think I've been reclining in this position for a while now.  Hoping...

I ended up replying to the email.  There were so many ways I could have closed this chapter and, yes, I came spiraling out of violetblue to hope a little, too.  Maybe he's missing US?  In my heart I knew that wasn't true.  So I just said exactly what I thought.  I told him I was surprised, doing well, thinking of him, too, and wondering what happened.  I didn't ask for anything or profess anything.  Just told the truth.

Though the door is ajar now, my plan is to get up and keep walking.  Eventually, I'll find another way out.

A Darkroom Diary

my 2nd home for the next 4 months

a perfect view

The Toshiba Space Chair Project