I have made a lot of mistakes in my journey to learn film photography. In fact, I typically label my rolls, Trial & Error, and number them chronologically.

I’ve accidentally taken an entire roll of film when there was no film in the camera.

I’ve mailed a roll of 120 film to be developed only to discover that I had loaded the film backwards.

I had several rolls of film that had x-ray fog, likely due to sitting in high humidity during the summer in a slow moving mail truck or hot warehouse or other supply chain horror story.

Today, I got a call from the lab and the conversation began with, “We’re sorry, but . . . “ The film was inadvertently left in the developer too long (like 15 minutes too long). This is a mistake you can’t undo. It makes for very dense negatives and wild scans with high saturation and high contrast. I know this because the scans look like Halloween hipstamatic nightmares.

With all of this unpredictability, and the relatively low success rate, you might imagine I would give up and devote myself to the familiar and friendly territory of my digital camera. But for some reason I cannot fathom, I am not discouraged. In fact, I laughed today when the person from the film lab called. They were really good about owning their mistake and making it right with a refund and free film. They offered a free zoom call for my next roll to talk over any questions I might have and told me my work was good, really good, and maybe it was time to stop labeling every roll Trial & Error. (Of course, this may have just been flattery intended to soften the blow of their mistake. And if it was, I don’t care. It still felt good.)

I played with the scans this evening and most are simply not salvageable. There were three or four that might have been really good had they been developed properly, but I let that go. I was able to convert a few to black and white and put them down next to a few of my recent digital images and feel happy they had a home.

What’s that old adage? If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

I’m on a break from podcasts. I’ve unsubscribed from as many emails as I can. I’ve been a little bored and the more I take away, the better I feel. I donated (another) fitbit to Goodwill and put my old analog watch back on my wrist. I wore my new windbreaker today as I hiked through the Tappahannock Wildlife Refuge. It’s a simple thing, but I love that the windbreaker is a petite size so that I don’t have to roll the sleeves up 4 inches. I had the Refuge all to myself and the crisp fall air took my breath away—both by way of awe and exertion. I have no big plans, nothing much to do. My heart quickens because I know these are the conditions for me to thrive. I am happy in this moment. It’s been a long time coming.

 

“I think there’s a kind of desperate hope built into poetry now that one really wants, hopelessly, to save the world." —W.S. Merwin

I am delighted that two of my photographs are included in Pearl Press, Issue 13, Grayscale.

Pearl Press was founded by fine arts photographer and creative writer, Delilah Twersky, as an online community that strives to build a community of diverse voices with artists who want to uplift one another.

Life is not black or white, but falls in multiple places between. Our work fluctuates with our understanding of self, studying the intricacies of what it is to be alive. Covering topics of conservation, love, miscarriage, abortion, family lineage, and more. None of the conversation existing within a set of rules, but within the space of the gray area. —Delilah Twersky, #pearlpress

 

We don’t dress up for Halloween anymore. Kids in our neighborhood typically favor community gatherings for trick-or-treat rather than walking along door-to-door. Our decorations are pretty much limited to a few pumpkins and a pot of Chrysanthemums. But I still love the sense of play and make-believe that comes with Halloween. And those who decorate tend to go all out. When people live out their passion and joy, we can feel it and it draws us in.