A while ago, I was asked to speak at the annual Box of Chocolates service at the local Unitarian Universalist Fellowship, to share something that I had a deep love and appreciation for. This is certainly not my standard MO; even though I’ve been attending this fellowship for over a decade on and off, I tend to keep to the shadows, happy to absorb the wisdom of our lay leaders, guest speakers and occasional ministry and hold it close. Politely “cornered” by one of the members one day in January, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and accept the invitation. It probably surprises no one that I decided to wax poetically about alternative processes, the darkroom, analog photography, and the mystery of it all. Equally as unsurprising is that I focused on the uncertain nature of handmade photography, praising the moments in the darkroom where the process forces me to let go, to broaden my definition of success, and to work in collaboration with the process. With all that is happening in the world, the weight of uncertainty can be unbearable. My experiences in the darkroom have led me to be more nimble, more resilient, and more patient during these times. Below is what I shared with the Fellowship:

For the past two decades, I’ve taught film photography at the university. My interest in photography surprisingly came from an incredible moment of uncertainty. As a high school senior, I had 1.5 credits to finish out and no clue where I wanted to go next. Facing this uncertainty, I stacked my schedule full of elective courses determined to find a path that would work for me. 

Out of all that exploration, it was stepping into the darkroom that firmly set my future trajectory. For me, it was equal parts science and dark arts alchemy, invisible pictures made tangible by magical concoctions of potions.

My university studies were deeply influenced by endless hours in the darkroom. As I started teaching, I reached into history to find more arcane and mysterious photographic processes to explore. Cyanotypes, Light Painting and Chemigrams all became part of my growing practice. Years of dabbling in the so-called dark arts eventually led me to my favorite process: Mordançage.

The process takes a traditional darkroom print and destroys it. It bleaches the print to the point of disappearing back to the alchemical slurry it originated from, only to boil and bubble the image’s shadows, transforming them into fragile veils of emulsion that undulate in the water like living silk. The process itself has a mind of its own, and I often find myself bargaining with it as I change my intent for each print on the fly, bending my will to what the process wants to give me. After hours and hours of standing over my cauldron manipulating veils by hand, I’ve created a surreal, otherworldly landscape that transcends anything in the natural world.

There are dozens of times that an errant gesture or simple slip has ruined hours of progress, and in those times, I’ve wanted to rage, to scream, to give up. I thrived when things were perfect and predictable, and anything else I considered failure. In retrospect, those moments have given birth to the best results, as I’ve stared down an uncertain future and made art out of it.

Now, we’ve all heard about the “unprecedented times” we live in, and the uncertainty we now live in is not a matter I take lightly. I don’t intend to encourage us to merely make a refreshing drink out of the lemons we’re handed.

What I have realized, in retrospect, is that moments of uncertainty have allowed the best of me to shine forth. When dirty politics and processing personal trauma strained relationships, I held my partner and son even closer and I found kindred souls that stood in where others would not, and expanded my definition of family to pull them into the fold. When my friends and I lost our collective moorings in these unprecedented times, that uncertainty inspired me to ask my friends to look out for me more, as I would for them, moving beyond transactional relationships to one grounded in mutual benefit and love. When I saw our country’s democracy challenged, I protested half-frozen, I wrote endless letters, I called politicians, and even my art shifted to answer the call. When corporations favored hate over love, I shifted my money, investing it in the change I wanted to see in the world around me.

And, even now, I face uncertainty in front of you. As a UU member over the last decade, I’ve kept to the shadows as an introvert, happy to quickly disappear immediately after UU Service. That was, until I was asked to stand in front of you, and I faced my fears.

Uncertainty is, no doubt, terrifying. It always will be. How we face it, however, defines us.