After 20 minutes of mixing, diluting and agitating liquid inside a canister full of secrets, I remove the long-slippery negative from its enclosure as the intense-florescent lights gleam onto the images and expose for the first time what I had captured.
Film photography, known by many for its tedious labor, is my passion. I remember the first time watching a blank piece of white paper slowly manifest an image I took, and it left me mesmerized.
The anticipation turning in my stomach throughout the entire process is an adrenaline rush I don’t receive from anything else. And contradictory to the thrill, it’s taught me how to be patient and kind to myself.
It seems simple to just press a button and seize the world’s movement in a still image, but there is much more to ensure before doing that.
If inspired by what I see, I lift the camera, place the view finder to my eye and focus the lens on my subject. Then I must adjust the f-stop and aperture of my camera according to the subject’s lighting and the film’s ISO being used.
Once I’m confident of the settings chosen, the picture is taken. This process must be quick though because I can’t pause time, my camera does. But I can’t be careless with my decision or else the photo won’t come out right.
Adjustment and click after adjustment and click, the suspense builds up until the roll of 36 photos have been exposed. Even then, it’s still unknown if the choices I made captured the image how I wanted.
The 20-minute developing process can be haunting. Silently, I’ll reassure myself that there must be at least one perfect photo. As I pour the last rinse from the container, remove the strategically rolled film, and lightly glide my fingers from top to bottom of the five feet of negatives, I finally see my work.
My first year of shooting film made me frustrated. I made careless mistakes and lost multiple rolls of film due to inaccuracy. I wanted to give up many times, to sell the Minolta and throw all the film away.
But there would always be one picture hidden between the remaining 4.95 feet of black so beautiful it kept me dedicated to the art of film photography.
It makes me live in the moment, I don’t have the storage of an iPhone nor the power to delete. I take pictures of the people, architecture, objects and shadows that inspire me. I view the world at a different angle, literally, you can find me with my camera laying upside down in uncomfortable corners of the world just to take a photo.
However, it’s the uncertainty of whether or not the photo even worked out that taught me the most. If I develop a roll just to discover nothing was in focus, everything was over exposed or that the ideas I had didn’t work out. I am not mad anymore because I still took those photos.
I’ve learned how to love my blurry and under exposed images because they still have a story. I am capable of learning from my mistakes, that isn’t hard, but choosing to love them even after recognizing the problems is.
The ability to appreciate our mistakes and care for them is a form of self-love I believe everyone should learn.
I am proud of who I am today, and I wouldn’t be this person without my failures. While past decisions I made caused a lot of issues, I’ve grown to love the reckless young girl I used to be and the terrible photos she took.
I’m glad I still have that Minolta I bought in 2016, and I still use it today to pause the world and live in the short moments that inspire me.
