It took a pandemic to make me realise just how digital my life has become. All of my work, my social life, and my hobbies had to move online. I admit, I did enjoy living the life of a hermit, safe in my bubble with my husband for company. I'm one of those lucky introverts who could quite happily live a life seeing only my closest loved ones, so lockdown wasn't too bad for me. An excuse to avoid running my social battery flat? Perfect! Permission to wear pyjamas all day? A dream! Coffee and biscuits whenever I fancied? Well, now you're spoiling me. There was something missing, however.
Freedom.
Freedom to leave my flat, of course, but it ran deeper than that. I missed the freedom to exist without pressure, to use my time as I wanted, and to get lost in creating something beautiful. I was sick of productivity and efficiency and perfectionism and just being a cog in a machine. The walls of my flat were both comforting and stifling. I yearned to escape to the woods, to sing with the birds and play with the squirrels. If only I could lay on the beach and build an extravagant sandcastle, no, fortress - unembarrassed, as any fun-loving adult should be. I ached to unleash my creativity and make art for no reason other than the joy of making it. I longed to be away from the burden of instant messaging and the pressures of a digital life. I wanted to switch off the devices and just be.
Why couldn't I? Or rather, how could I? I knew that, in order to "undigitise" aspects of my life, I needed to find a way to get creative. I've always been terrible at baking and sewing, couldn't stand painting (sorry, Bob Ross), and the poor neighbours were probably sick of my singing by now. To complicate matters, resources were limited to what I had at home.
Then it hit me.
Photography.
I know what you're thinking: "photography's all digital nowadays", and yes, the majority of it is, but there is a growing resurgence in analogue photography. My dad gave me an old film camera from his teens - it still works. I had film, photo paper, and even some transparencies I could print onto. Perhaps I could turn my windowless bathroom into a makeshift darkroom?
Eager to learn more, I joined an alternative photography group on Facebook and found that I was just one individual in the sudden influx of people wanting to learn more about long-forgotten techniques they could use during isolation. The page was full of stunning images - from detailed prints to abstract impressions, and everything between. Wading through this wealth of knowledge, I found what I was looking for: how to develop photos in my bathroom. I turned some digital photos into negatives and printed them onto the transparencies.
They turned out okay, don't you think? Sure, they're not masterpieces, but they're pretty good considering they've been made in the bathtub of a little flat in the depths of Cornwall, using just coffee and washing powder!
I wondered how abstract I could get, and decided to flash a light while pouring water onto the photo paper, hoping to capture images of the splashes and ripples of the water. It worked! I had made my first watergrams.
This is what I had been aching for. Time away from the pressures of the modern world, time to have fun experimenting with simple techniques to make something beautiful. Although I cannot compete with the innovative ideas of the fathers of photography, perhaps they, too, felt that same excitement when first seeing an image of their own making develop before them.
There is something I have access to that those scientists and inventors didn't, however. The digital world. Despite my eagerness to switch off the devices and experiment with analogue techniques, I began to wonder if I could combine the two worlds. I curiously opened Photoshop and scanned in my watergrams. Could I just... change it a little bit? The warm beige water impressions looked more muddy than crystal. Surely just a bit of a digital colour edit wouldn't ruin the charm of my analogue artwork?
Okay, I'll concede that a little bit of digital can be a good thing. I was happy with these combination analogue-digital watergram creations, and began to wonder what other techniques I could try.
I could look into lumen prints, the eerie impressions of flowers on photo paper. Pinhole cameras are interesting, perhaps there's a way I could make my own. What other analogue-digital combinations could I experiment with? If I'm fascinated by all of this, would anyone else be?
That is where this blog comes in. If I record my own journey as I learn about various photographic processes, sharing both my successes and failures, maybe someone else will be inspired to try some of these techniques themselves. Maybe you could switch off from the chaos of the digital world and just enjoy getting creative. Care to join me?
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