Do the Best Things Come to Those Who Wait?
Emma Chisholm
Classes in film photography are a popular choice for Design majors within the UC Davis Art Department. Over the course of the school year, hundreds of students are introduced to the processes of the darkroom and film photography. I haven’t always loved film photography. When I first began film photography in my freshman year of college, I already had a few months’ prior experience working with digital photography. I liked digital photography — because of the amount of color in the photos, the immediacy of seeing a shot, and the multitude of ways that I could edit using Adobe software.
At first, film photography felt redundant. I spent countless hours with multiple film cameras that broke as a result of the wear of time. I agonized over developing my film, with multiple rolls coming out blank from the failing side of trial and error. I was a frantic perfectionist making prints in the darkroom, trying my best to create good prints from overexposed, salvaged film.
One day, the process no longer seemed so foreign. It became more meditative for me. The opportunity to work with my hands making prints and the quiet solitude in the darkroom became something I appreciated and looked forward to. When you work in the artistic medium of film photography, there is a certain magic found within its manual process.
The process of black and white film photography is a composite of small tasks that results in the overall goal of creating great art. Any misstep in the process can wreck your artistic expression.
First, I load film into the camera by sliding the canister of film onto the left side of the camera and pull the end tab of film to the right, winding it into place in order to take pictures. Then I have to go out and shoot, holding down the camera shutter to test the aperture, and turning the lens to focus on the subject properly.
After taking a few rolls of film, I have to take it out of the canister in total darkness, and then develop it with the proper chemicals. After all of this work, I finally have negatives to work with in the darkroom.
I can now make prints by shining a projector light through the film negatives onto photographic paper to bring the film to life. Next is my favorite part: dousing the blank page of photo paper into fix, stop, and photo flow. The chemicals slowly allow the image of the negative to appear, turning a blank page into a distinct moment in time.
Sure, I still use digital photography and I still love it, because you know what to expect from every photo taken. I can manipulate it with Adobe and turn an image into a different narrative. But I love film for its anticipation throughout the process, the wonder of the art achieved, and the uncertainty of the media. It is so easy to make mistakes — anything can ruin film development or printmaking, which is why a good print is worth so much more to me artistically and emotionally.
Maybe the best things in life are those that aren’t immediate or easily manipulated. Maybe the best things in life are the things you have to work the most for.
