Permission to Make
By all accounts, Paros is a Greek island paradise. White houses with blue roofs, the shade of wild bougainvillea on cobblestone alleyways, crystal clear waters washing over white sand beaches. But after wandering the port town’s sleepy streets shooting six or seven rolls of film at a time in my hand-me-down Canon manual, I spent the majority of my three months on the idyllic isle adjusting and readjusting my eyes to the red light of a photography darkroom.
After developing the film and slicing and sorting the negatives into perfect rows in laminated plastic, I hunted through every contact sheet for a frame or two worth printing. For the exhibition project that would end my paradisiacal stay, I took 18 usable shots from 154 frames. Maybe more.
All of this to say that 136 frames — 136 breathtaking moments captured on the magical island I had come to love — never made it out of the darkroom.
I don’t remember anything about the negatives I never printed. The frames that made the cut resulted in an installation that was, to my memory, sensual and communicative. Hidden away behind a tent of satin curtains lurked my collection of double exposure prints, overlaying portrait nudes with a series of motorcycle stills. And that was it.
It was a complete photographic exhibition that was then assessed and evaluated based only on what hung on the…
