Photos

DSLR | Iona Patrick | black ink

 Photos by Iona Patrick

I spent far more time in my basement than the average teenager. Friday night, Saturday night, Sunday night, I crowded into the little room, flicked on the red lights and lost myself in miles of negatives. That night, like most times, my dad was there to help me set up. We measured out the chemicals into plastic trays together in our bulky lab coats. First developer, then stopper, then fixer. Most of them smelled like an overwhelming mix of nail polish and ammonia, but the developer added something almost nice that was unmistakably “darkroom”.

“Just those three? What about the finisher? Glosser?” asked my dad.

“I don’t need all your magic potions. This is for the school newspaper, not a national magazine.” If I gave him the chance he’d probably convince me to put my photos through five to five hundred other solutions. I didn’t think my little Olympus camera was worthy of the professional treatment. Even with the best materials it was still like putting lipstick on a pig. 

I grabbed my contact sheet from the counter. It showed mini prints of the thirty-six photos I had taken over the summer in neat little rows. I wanted to develop the pictures when I made the sheet a few weeks ago, but midterm exams got in the way. And then my dad went away on assignment and was too busy editing his slides when he got back to help me set up. Today was his first free day and I was itching to get printing. 

He checked his watch and sighed. 

“I have to go get Marc from tennis. I’ll be back around dinner.” He got up from his stool and slipped off the lab coat. I tried not to feel too disappointed. “Remember,” He shook his finger at me from the door, “Don’t waste paper!”

“I know, I know!” I laughed and looked back to the contact sheet. My red wax pencil marked that the fifth photo had promise. 

I took out the first negative strip from the plastic sleeve and placed photo five in the center of the carrier. I then put the carrier in the enlarger, and flicked on the light to project the negative on the base. First I checked the framing. Then I checked the focus. When everything was as perfect as possible I turned off the lights and was left in the orange glow of the safety light. 

I moved from the contact sheet towards the cabinet and opened the bottom drawer for my favorite sheets. There were about a million types of paper I could have chosen but I liked the thick kind with low contrast best. I took a smaller strip from the top. As much as I want a bigger test sheet, my dad was right. This paper was way too valuable to waste. 

I carefully slid the paper onto the base of the enlarger and covered all but an inch on the left with a thick piece of cardstock. 

When the seconds hand of the clock reached twelve I turned on the light of the enlarger. After five seconds I slid the cardstock to the right an inch. At ten seconds a second inch. Again at fifteen, then twenty, twenty-five, and thirty. At thirty five I turned off the light. 

I placed the strip quickly in the tray with the developer and began to count down the minute in my head. One-Mississippi. Two-Mississippi. My eyes stayed glued to the paper as I rocked the tray. Images bloomed on the page in a gradient of black and white. After about a minute I used sponge tipped tongs to lift the photo out of the developer and into the stopper. Then the fixer for two minutes. Then to the sink to rinse thoroughly until finally, I could turn on the lights. 

My photo still wasn’t much to look at. The far left inch was almost pitch black, the right was too faint to make out, and the thin paper only fit about a third of the full picture. But near the middle, twenty-five seconds was my goldilocks zone. The details were crisp and I could see the grain of the film.  

I turned the lights off again and grabbed a larger sheet of my favorite paper from the drawer. With shaking hands I lined it up at the base of the enlarger. Deep breath, and here we go. Twenty-five seconds on the clock and I flicked on the enlarger. Instinct told me to look at the paper, even though I knew it would stay blank. Now fifteen seconds. My foot tapped a steady beat on the ground. Five, four, three, two, one. I reached for the enlarger switch and flicked it off. Nearly there. 

The paper slipped smoothly into the developer and I began rocking the tray. My eyes darted between the clock and the paper. 

55 seconds. A faint gray shadow appeared. 

50 seconds. Two figures stood side by side. 

45 seconds. One of them waved to the photographer.

30 seconds. Lines of a smile and a curl of hair…

10 seconds-

Blinding white light flooded the room. I blinked.

“Sophia! It’s dinner time, we've been calling for ten minutes!” Marc stood in the doorframe with his arms crossed. 

“Seriously!?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever, just get upstairs.” The clock ticked away behind me. I looked back to the print and sighed. 0 seconds. A black sheet of paper.

An Intense Game of Chess | Sadie Kramer | 35mm photography