It's interesting, how something you want to do, really feel like doing, something simple even, gets put on the backburner. I've talked about developing film (mostly to myself) for a good long time now; years literally. It wasn't the cost, it wasn't the time. There was a sizable gap between my desire to do it, and the motivation to get going.
Tolkien said "It's the job that's never started that takes the longest to finish." True enough.
A while back, I did start, to a degree. Went and found myself a couple of developing tanks, a standard Paterson and a lovely steel tank. I love the steel. And they sat. And I stared at them. And weeks passed.
At some point recently, I started looking for chemicals. I made a couple of calls, maybe got in touch with the wrong people on the wrong day. Thought that finding chemicals locally was going to be difficult. And I sat.
Even more recently, I started looking abroad for chemicals, only to find out that either they won't ship them at all (classified as hazardous), or at great cost, more than the chemicals themselves are worth. And I sat.
Finally went onto a photo forum and asked. Like finally asking for directions when you're lost. Exactly like asking for directions when you're lost. I mentioned the local stores I had contacted, and sure enough, someone said "Only just bought chemicals there a couple of weeks ago". And I thought, "Jeez, I was just there and didn't know it".
So I made another call, got verbal confirmation. Made a trip last weekend, and sure enough, there they were. On the floor, pushed to the side, out of sight. But there they were. I felt the spark when I picked up the container, remembering trips to the photo shop in Berkeley, just looking at and holding bottles of chemicals. And holding potential.
Like developing prints, there's a great anticipation when developing film, waiting to open the tank and have a look. Whisper "Come on, show me some images". It's also mixed with dread. There's been a few occasions after opening the tank when something has gone wrong, and you're looking at nothing.
So the preparation starts. The discipline starts. Practice rolling film onto reels. Write out charts of dilutions and times. Check temperatures. And when it's all ready, and you've done the prep work, it starts.
This past week I've developed 4 rolls of film. Film that has been sitting in a Ziplog back since at least April of 1999. Not many rolls, but it's a start. There are about another 20 rolls in that same Ziplog bag. Soon enough, I'll get to them all.
Like any old routines, or hobbies, or jobs, there's comfort in the known, whichever form that comfort comes in. Writing out dilutions and having the smell of fixer on my hands brought me comfort. Some semblance of control in a world where you really have none. And the comfort of anticipation, of something new, something you haven't seen before. It's about time.
Tolkien said "It's the job that's never started that takes the longest to finish." True enough.
A while back, I did start, to a degree. Went and found myself a couple of developing tanks, a standard Paterson and a lovely steel tank. I love the steel. And they sat. And I stared at them. And weeks passed.
At some point recently, I started looking for chemicals. I made a couple of calls, maybe got in touch with the wrong people on the wrong day. Thought that finding chemicals locally was going to be difficult. And I sat.
Even more recently, I started looking abroad for chemicals, only to find out that either they won't ship them at all (classified as hazardous), or at great cost, more than the chemicals themselves are worth. And I sat.
Finally went onto a photo forum and asked. Like finally asking for directions when you're lost. Exactly like asking for directions when you're lost. I mentioned the local stores I had contacted, and sure enough, someone said "Only just bought chemicals there a couple of weeks ago". And I thought, "Jeez, I was just there and didn't know it".
So I made another call, got verbal confirmation. Made a trip last weekend, and sure enough, there they were. On the floor, pushed to the side, out of sight. But there they were. I felt the spark when I picked up the container, remembering trips to the photo shop in Berkeley, just looking at and holding bottles of chemicals. And holding potential.
Like developing prints, there's a great anticipation when developing film, waiting to open the tank and have a look. Whisper "Come on, show me some images". It's also mixed with dread. There's been a few occasions after opening the tank when something has gone wrong, and you're looking at nothing.
So the preparation starts. The discipline starts. Practice rolling film onto reels. Write out charts of dilutions and times. Check temperatures. And when it's all ready, and you've done the prep work, it starts.
This past week I've developed 4 rolls of film. Film that has been sitting in a Ziplog back since at least April of 1999. Not many rolls, but it's a start. There are about another 20 rolls in that same Ziplog bag. Soon enough, I'll get to them all.
Like any old routines, or hobbies, or jobs, there's comfort in the known, whichever form that comfort comes in. Writing out dilutions and having the smell of fixer on my hands brought me comfort. Some semblance of control in a world where you really have none. And the comfort of anticipation, of something new, something you haven't seen before. It's about time.
