My Neighborhood
On B&W Film
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The joy of shooting film is long and slow, so long that it seems like you have to break it into three aspects to describe it
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The segment that starts it off usually involves me wearing big headphones and wondering around the block to my favorite songs. Probably made careful because of the limited exposures of the camera in my hand, every time I see some beautiful little detail that I never noticed before. And just like that, each roll of film seemed to tie me a little tighter to my neighborhood.
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The second part is the moment when I press the shutter button with the confidence, "This time it will be perfect!", squinting into the viewfinder, fantasizing about the light reflecting off the film, wondering at my artistic talent and careful observation.
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And finally, standing in a dark room with deep red light waiting for the blank photo paper to slowly outline the lines in the potion, like a time capsule being opened, traveling back to the scene and looking into my eyes behind the camera.
I really appreciate the "one-time" nature of a film camera. Instead of worrying about whether I should adjust the exposure or shutter speed and take another picture of the same scene, every shutter that is pressed on a film camera is a mysterious gift to the future me in the darkroom. It literally captures the "moment" and visualizes that one memory in a physical piece. Each roll of film is unique and precious.