Creative Resurrection

A Return to the Darkroom after 20 Years

My long-time friend Sean persuaded me to bring some black and white negatives for my upcoming trip to Santa Barbara. For years, he’s extended an open invitation to print in his darkroom. 

This time, he gave me no excuse. "You must have at least ONE image you've always wanted to print," he remarked, sensing my hesitation and my inclination to pass up the opportunity.

I finally agreed. 

Three days before leaving, I rummaged through multiple negative boxes searching for a specific image from my Time Series project. After making a mess, I realized I had neglected to photograph the still life with Type 55 film–a 4x5 black and white peel-apart Polaroid containing a positive print and a negative film. 

I shook my head in disbelief.

The following day, I paced the short corridor between our bedroom and the stairwell brainstorming for alternative ideas. What about photograms¹? I thought. I quickly retrieved my art notebook and paged through the abstract typography collages I’ve been experimenting with in the last few weeks. What if I sandwiched the collage and photo paper through the contact sheet printer? Will it work? I was not sure. I was willing to try it since it was my only idea. The possibility excited me.

A stack of Airbnb magazines sat beneath my nightstand. I grabbed a pair of scissors, flipped through the pages, and cut out random words from headlines in large fonts. I tucked the clippings inside my art notebook and took them with me on the trip.

“I wish I had a photocopier to play with,” I casually mentioned to Sean’s wife and my dear friend of 30 years, JZ, over breakfast of warm chia bowls with blueberries and bananas the morning before my darkroom session. To my surprise, she told me that the home office where we stayed had a scanner/photocopier machine.

How random is that, right? I couldn’t believe it! The universe was definitely on my side. 

I ran a few experiments gradually enlarging the cutouts in different sizes. Afterward, I sat in the dining room and worked on my collages while the gorgeous morning light streamed across the table. Meanwhile, JZ was beside me conducting business from her laptop and iPhone. 

Morning collage session. Goleta, CA. Photograph by Stella Kalaw

By noon, six assemblages were finished. I whipped up a simple lunch for JZ and myself: brown rice bowls topped with chickpeas and mixed vegetables sauteed in sesame oil. Then, I drove the two short miles to their home at the bottom of the hill. 

I was nervous, dear readers. It had been 20 years since I last stepped into a darkroom. Although I had a plan, there was also a significant risk of failure. I reminded myself to set realistic expectations and be okay with the outcome no matter what it looked like. 

When I arrived, Sean had everything set up– three trays were filled with stop bath, fixer, and water with a hypo-clearing agent. He even adjusted the height of the enlarger to cover the exposure area for the contact sheet printer on the baseboard. After a brief orientation, he mixed a fresh batch of developer and poured it into the leftmost tray in the sink.

When I learned he was setting up his darkroom twenty years ago, I entrusted two boxes of my equipment and supplies, confident that he would take good care of them. Nostalgia washed over me when I noticed my old grain focuser, Ilford filters, and beakers.

Earlier in the week, I asked if I could use expired papers from his stash. He pulled two packs of Ilford 11x14 fiber paper. 

“This was from one of the boxes you gave me,” he said. 

We both laughed. 

“How much is a pack these days?” I inquired.

“Around forty bucks,” he replied, pointing to the stickers on the expired paper marked at $12. 

“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. 

“Do you want to have some sounds while you’re printing?” He offered. I declined, preferring silence to concentrate on the task at hand. He then closed the door behind him. Initially, I felt awkward and struggled to find my bearings. However, after two test prints, muscle memory kicked in, and I found my stride.

I was fully present savoring the familiar sights, smells, and sounds inside the dimly lit red room–hearing the timer go off, the gentle slosh of the developer as I waited for the image to emerge from the tray, the final drops of chemistry as I transitioned from developer to stop bath to fixer, and the feel of the photo paper after squeegeeing the test print to assess the exposure.

Dear readers, I don't usually record videos, but I was thrilled to share this experience with you and to commemorate this monumental day.

The outcome surpassed my expectations. The convergence of photograms and typography collage feels like a full-circle moment—a creative resurrection if you will. I've often wondered how these two mediums would merge, and here we are. The synergy is creating an impact. I can't pinpoint it, but I feel something deep in my gut. I'm following the arrows to see where this will lead me.

Photogram and Abstract Collage by Stella Kalaw

Abstract art isn't for everyone. I can attest to this firsthand. For many years, I had an aversion to it because it lacked emotional appeal or a story I could relate to. However, creating this kind of art taught me a valuable lesson:

I’m slowly learning to be comfortable with the uncomfortable. Sometimes, I find myself overthinking a situation, seeking a grounding story, or even inventing a plausible one to ease my discomfort, even if it isn't based on truth or reality.

But what if there isn't a story? What if “it just is”?

With abstract collaging, I've come to appreciate the beauty of shapes, textures, and form, allowing them to stand on their own without the need for plotlines or narratives. It is reshaping my mindset and influencing how I navigate life's uncertainties.

Photograms and Abstract Typography Collage by Stella Kalaw

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1. A photogram is a photographic image made without using a camera. Instead, objects are placed directly onto a light-sensitive material (such as photographic paper) and then exposed to light. When the material is developed, the areas of the paper that were blocked by the objects remain white (or the color of the paper), while the exposed areas darken, creating a silhouette or shadow of the objects. Photograms often result in unique and abstract images, capturing the shapes and textures of the objects in a way that can be quite different from traditional photography.