Photography has and always be a big part of my life and history. I love the process of it. From loading the film to exposing. Then developing and printing it myself. Printing in the darkroom is where you see the magic. Set the timer. Go! The ghostly image of the negative appears, then disappears. When the light goes off you hope that you’ve captured the ghosts on the paper. Walking over to the 3 or 4 trays you have prepared, you run over all the times and measurements. Your battle plan is set. Gently rolling the developer over the print as the image slowly bleeds through. It’s so fragile. At any moment a door could be opened or a light flicked on and destroy it. Right at the moment of when the image seems perfect you quickly sumerge it the stop bath. Here you breath. Carefully pick it up with the tongs you let the liquid run off into the tray. As you pick up one side of the fixer tray and drop it, you‘re eyeing the small wave crated. With the timing and agility of a pro surfer you quickly slip your print under the wave. For the next 5 or 8 minutes you rock the tray to sleep like a proud parent. Now the mind runs. “What does it all mean?” “Wow, my arm is feeling the burn. I really need you work out more.” “What time is it? Was it sunny outside? I can’t remember.” “This splashing is really making me need to pee.” Finally the timer is done. Drain then a quick dunk in water you are ready to see the final image. Walking outside you allow your eyes to adjust. “Well F*#@. Dust.” You begin again.