Notes from the darkroom.

#7: on black & white

I started in color, because everyone does.

Because that’s how the world comes: obvious, available, unthinking.

At first, I just saw something and pressed the button. No purpose, no vision; just the surprise of seeing something appear. Something that was mine. That no one could question.

A year later, I entered photography school. Three years; the first two in black and white. Such was the path:
to learn discipline before expression,
to understand tone before hue.

Black and white demanded precision. It asked for balance, not decoration. Each exposure a lesson in restraint; each decision weighed on grey.

I learned to compose with light, to let it speak rather than claim it. Not as background, but as presence —that’s where everything began.

Once I could see through black and white, color became a distraction. Too literal, too obvious. Black and white held the truth; stripped naked, without introduction.

When I wasn’t out writing stories, I was in the darkroom, developing the plot.

Each hour, an apprenticeship in patience, craft and devotion. Each tone on the scale, a way to measure depth and connection.

Then one day, I threw away my past negatives.

Nothing dismissive; just clarity. A clean break. The moment you leave behind what weighs you down and let the road begin beneath your feet.

That’s when I understood what creation was: not an act of invention, but of surrender. A dialogue between what you see and what you feel, between the light outside and the one you hope to bring in.

Black and white became my language,
and it still speaks through me.