A long, long time ago, in this galaxy, I took pictures with film.
It was something I started about two months after my brother died. The darkroom was my sanctuary. I spent hours in that muted, orange light, thinking of nothing but the images in front of me. I don't know that I've ever been as present as I was in those moments, and honestly, it saved my life.
I miss it sometimes; the focus, the immersion. I miss the meditative nature of the process, the depth of tones, the texture of film.
But I don't miss being constrained by black and white. It was appropriate, then. It felt right and simple and good. It took me years to stop seeing the world in shadows, to let in the colors all around me.
My life is full of color now, but I will always find an aching beauty, a particular memory, in black and white.