What a weird week. I love that I’m making progress on my various photography projects. Although, I am beginning to smell like a darkroom quite often. I don’t mind at all, though, because to me this is where I’m meant to be. I started working in the darkroom when I was 12 years old. I also took the SATs that year, but so do a lot of kids. Let’s just say I didn’t have to retake them for my college applications but I did because a small part of me felt like it wasn’t fair for whatever reason. Anyway, that year was pivotal in that I realized I could do something other than attend an Ivy. I’d taken art classes as a hobby since the third grade. Now, I’d discovered something I was truly passionate about and good at. As a kid, I was good at everything I did, except perhaps sports — and that was mostly due to my refusal to participate in a team sport after I turned 10. (I would later discover my love for MMA and Krav Maga, go figure.) I like to work with my hands to some degree. I am not a sculptor, jeweler, or any kind of 3D artist (neither virtual nor physical), but there is something so satisfying searching for that perfect combination of composition, lighting, timing, and capturing it. Then there’s the anticipation of the film processing, waiting to see if you got the moment you thought you got, ensuring you apply the correct mixture of chemicals and timing to the negatives. If you get that far, there’s the art of applying just the right amount of light, and more chemicals, to produce the desired representation of that single moment in time. It’s such a beautiful process, time consuming, requiring patience. I’m always learning something new, even today.