Notes from the darkroom.

#11: on music

Every darkroom session starts with an act of intent.

White light, pink noise —I choose the music.

My finger slides along the list of songs, then the strip of images. I pick the theme, and the photograph.

It’s always been more than sound. 

Music flows through me like light through film; not something I listen to, but something I live inside. Every note is familiar, like a voice I’ve known forever. It steadies me, drives me, fills the void.

There’s never silence where I live. Music follows me from room to room, from morning light to darkroom red. 

Some days it’s the bloodstream that keeps everything moving when the rest of me has stopped.

In that current, some songs rise stronger; have more amplitude. They need to be played loud, as some images ask to be seen large. Volume becomes scale. Energy becomes measure. It’s never about noise; it’s about reach.

Then, between two songs; the silence. The room holds its breath. 
The silence lingers, stretching thin; until it becomes time again.

The day’s over. The music stops.
The only sound comes from water running; paper dripping; the enlarger’s fan slowing down...
Music to my ears.

Music keeps me going on.
Photography keeps me alive.