RIP: My Darkroom

It was just about 2 years ago that I packed up my darkroom equipment and gave up the space I had been renting for over 25 years. It was a great space. I had designed it to be exactly the way I wanted it and went on to invest many hours plumbing and wiring, sawing and nailing to build every bit of it. The counters were set to my comfortable working height. Walls were covered with laminated pegboard. My plywood sink, covered and sealed with fiberglass, was large enough to make 16”x20” prints. Water was filtered through a large commercial filter system. Over the sink, peg racks held dozens of stainless steel tanks, film reels and graduates. My enlarger was mounted solidly on a custom built table that was in turn anchored to the floor and to the wall. Shelves held a dry mount press, printing trays and supplies. The work areas were surrounded by a dozen extra electrical outlets and there was a fine sound system that kept me company during the thousands of hours that I worked there. When it was lit by the soft amber “safelight” and the water was running and some favorite music playing, it was a wonderful place to work.


But in time the sad fact was that I no longer needed it all. The “traditional” photographic process of shooting film and printing on silver paper was expensive, time consuming and used huge amounts of water. My clients no longer wanted – or needed - these prints. Actually, for the last few years, just about all the printing I had done had been for my personal work


Prints that once took years of experience, knowledge of photo chemistry and fine darkroom equipment to produce could now be duplicated with a digital camera and a computer. Well, not really duplicated. I could rant on here about the soon-to-be lost art of producing “real” prints and visual texture and quality that can not be duplicated in digital prints, but that’s yet another story. And probably my only sympathetic ear would be the last guy who knew how to set cold type*. So reluctantly but by necessity I had started shooting digitally and my darkroom had become an expensive extravagance. Maybe also a cool place to hang out and meditate, but still an extravagance.


Anyway, it had been my intention to pack away the darkroom and set it all up again when time and circumstances would permit. I am fortunate to have a good friend with a large home upstate who offered to store everything for me. That was 2 years ago. The equipment is still there and still safely packed, but the image of another darkroom is kind of fading. Actually, it is more than fading. I have pretty well come to accept that it is not going to happen. I haven’t entirely given up on the idea, but reality does have a way of making itself known. I even tried selling the equipment on eBay, but nobody was interested.


I did sell my Nikon film camera outfit. That included some lenses and accessories that I had used for over 40 years. It took 2 large boxes to pack everything and ship everything off to the new owner. He got a bargain. I used the proceeds to buy something digital.


I have, however, kept my Leica’s. They are now “collectable“ and no doubt worth lots more that I paid for it all, so, unlike my darkroom equipment that no one wants, it may turn out to be a good investment. Not that I am even tempted to sell them. I may never use them again. But then again, I might…………..


*A Footnote: When I opened my first studio in a loft on East 21st Street in Manhattan, it was in a building filled with an amazing assortment of small businesses. In a way, we formed a sort of community, often swapping services or stuff.  I occasionally photographed products for some of my neighbors.  In return, I got to use a workshop or have something stiched up.  One time, I bought a beautiful old office chair at a junk shop.  It was missing one of the spindles on the back.  An incredible old Spaniard who did the finest woodwork turned a replacement that was indestinguishable from the others.  Stuff like that happened.  Lots of other photographers were moving into those old rundown buildings in search of cheap studio space and before long it was being called The Photo District. Soon after that it became too expensive for photographers. Anyway, one of my neighbors was a type setter. His name was Maurice Sindar and he actually set real type. He had a collection of unique type faces from all over the world. He had a linotype machine that probably the most complex thing I have ever seen and dated to the early 1900’s. This machine turned out hot type, something most of today’s designers have never come near. Maurice was an artist. He understood type. Over the years I occasionally got to job out some printing for clients. I always brought the work to him. The results on even the most mundane jobs were always fine and often amazing. One day our building was bought by some real estate guys who wanted to convert it into residential condos. We all tried to fight them, but in the end over 40 small businesses were tossed out. Nobody wanted Maurice’s type or linotype machine. The machine was left there. The type was sold for lead scrap.  I suspect Maurice would surely understand how I feel about giving up my darkroom.