The newspaper darkroom was decommissioned today.
Carpenters with crowbars stood by .Gone for good .
Photographers took one last look . It should have been a sad day . It hadn't been operating for a decade , the machines long gone , the tech gone , fans turned off .There were only a few photogs left that actually depended on it.
It should have been a sad day but there have been so many changes in the fabric of the newspaper busines , we just soldier on.
Not so fast.
Should we try to save some of this stuff ?, was the question , What for ?,was the answer .
This is our history , our village . The conscience of the newsroom. A place of mystery , science , black magic and good karma . Triumph and tears . Walls punched , door kicked , swears and victory , great victories .
The darkroom , an apprenticeship , a college ,a test bed , a proving ground , an improv , a place of creativity and mischief . Lots of mischief . Not a place for the humble . It's greatest attributed accomplishment was actually called the “hand of God “ printing technique . A time stamp , an improvisation to make up for shortfalls in reproduction of the letterpress with the cheapest newsprint and the cheapest ink . Edge darkening on sixty five lines per inch reproduction , with no blacks to speak of.
The individual pushes back against the weaknesses in production . Back in the day , new and innovative technology was for the kitchen , rewarming of leftovers or rocketing into space. The opposite of today in a sense. “Newspaper sharp “another murky optimistic term used in the long outdated letterpress world.
Young turks working in a world that didn't favour them . Like today , never caring as long as there was gas in the tank and film in the camera and a chance to drive to the sounds of sirens.
Darkness bathed in red light , the sounds of a river , water always flowing and metal tanks filled with steel reels slow sliding, inverted and tapped. Quiet , peaceful an uncomfortable place for reporters and editors.
“I got something for you” , said a news editor. Hey ,(don't bother me) I am processing film . You just don't mess with that , it cannot be handed off. Never turn the white light on , it was always fun to have a reporter wander in , disoriented ,like being in a Catholic church , not knowing if you are to stand , kneel , sing or sit. I love that part to.
That mysterious place decorated with trophies of past elections , caps ,concert passes , contraband photos on the wall , only the non existent internet could appreciate. .Two hours of peace at the end of the day shift ,the opposite for hell nights .
The photographers encampment at the river outside the newsroom castle . Somewhere on the edge of Sherwood Forest. . A place for the merry band of seers, witch doctors, alchemist fixers and their voodoo rituals .Old coffee in paper cups and Nikkor tanks for rattles , chemicals , ungodly buzzers , and magic , turning “the everyday” into gold . Turning gold into platinum . Even back then the photog clan could predict the out come of every newsroom thought .
Camelot , would not float on a cloud above the castle for at least twenty more years .
The darkroom , scary cool .Images just appeared on blank sheets of paper , first slowly faint shadows emerging from the whiteness , faster ,shapes and tones , then magically and snapping quickly like some raging spirit face , demented crashed metal , or a child flying down a hill on a sled appeared and formed fully in watery greys and blacks. I still love that part to.
Photography is magic . Everything about is magic , not like today , fully explained in pixels and mastered in Photoshop. Taken for granted . Coolness of spirit stealing gone . Just hit the button. It is about fast and faster.
There was a mad-dog photog yoga , contorting ,the Japanese shadow dance of hands and fingers burning and dodging sideways on and Omega enlarger .Ancient tools , a coat hanger with a cardboard circle taped to it for dodging a face . The full moon ,on a wand , eclipsing enlarger light made 20 years earlier. The wire was too thick and primitive and yet the carries mystical power no one would mess with or delete . Just don't leave in one place too long , keep it moving. The skill of an ancient passed on. Even Photoshop pays homage to the shape with a symbol .There was a mysterious cardboard square with a paper wheel fastened by a split pin with the shapes of various balls , rectangles and a hockey puck , it was said a puck could be placed any where it was needed . A painters water colour box with just grey shades and black, a thin brush for spotting , nose grease could erase a negative scratch or soft focus a lens. The urge to fix ,cheat , always present.
Chemicals and silver in water just flowed down the drain , a dirty process . That dirty process now originates in dark and mysterious African resource wars feeding technology chips .
If a print or film was washing , it was time for a coffee break with the guys at 3:30 . A social occasion with the night shooter, bitching about the impossible tasks he was given . But every night it all got done . The things that never change , caffeinated bitching brings unity .
Washing negs , washing prints , if you were lucky , no film scrap or paper sheet would make it's way over a drain and flood the darkroom and cafeteria below.
Smokers still smoked in the newsroom ,with piles and piles of newsprint everywhere , and yet never a fire, ever . Some would fall over drunk but never start a fire .
The darkroom a place to party at Christmas and New Years , beer and chips and everyone went. No one ever asked why the booze was hidden in the darkroom with the M.E. and city editors in there to. White lights on. A place with a fridge , for film . Never, ever had film in it.
The darkroom our village , just outside the fort . Comfortable , quiet , apart and liking it . Not far , the nocturnal sports village . Empty desks by day , wild a rocking , loud at night. No TV they just created it .
Photographers ,one in sharp suit another a tie , others in blue jeans & ball caps , some earnestly needing a hair cut , mostly misfits , rule breakers , type A and B , many left wing , all visualists , quick draw artists , and adrenaline junkies addicted to the the “new' and the chase . Journalism a byproduct , it hadn't been taught in photography schools yet.
The darkroom ,a place where life’s problems got solved . Family counselling , car problems , work problems , man I just saw my first dead body . That car wreak really shook me up . What is with that A-hole anyway ? Confrontations on the job , in the office , missed opportunities ,how the hell do you get so much out of that flash ? My film didn't go through the camera !How did you get that picture , learning stealth , standing up. Restaurants , movie reviews .
Under develop negs on bright days , over on dark ones . Just be patient , don't take no sh!t , it don't mean nothin , just shake it off . Smile and say “Yes I can” to that “dumb ass” day dreamer thing, then later the practical shift came on duty and “it” just disappeared.
Anyone could print like a “wanna be “Ansel Adams or Eugene Smith , or rocking the print like Magnum. In a darkroom a person could dream big . Shadow puppet highlights and fingers in the heated developer , rubbing the blacks to get it just right . A darkroom tech would come when machines developed negs and prints. Things started to get busier and they wanted photogs on the street and their film in the village.
The darkroom , a place to learn to “fit in “ , be a photographer and a member of the tribe . Many working and sharing the same space .
This is our art , our mission . That rich history shared and passed on from village elders , and hunter journeymen .
A place to learn consistency and reliability , there are too many places to screw up . Rolling film onto steel reels has its perils . If it didn't feel right , you just did it again and again , grasshopper .This is the “Karate Kid” version of ,”wax on wax off” , learn , trust and discipline . Rolling steel reels , taking temperatures , mixing chemicals , organizing your stuff , being in the dark, timing everything . It is all crazy Zen monotony, for the life of a monk photographer . It connects generations of newspaper photographers . (Most of the WW2 D-Day invasion negatives were destroyed in a darkroom negative drier.)
When the business cycle of Big Paper/ Small Paper turned against and demoralized the photographer clan , those two or three who knew the Zen Secrets of the STEEL REELs kept a beachhead against inevitable ,anger ,destructive laziness and decline . One would always say ,”this is a good job” and “Where else could you... (add one hundred things) , “you know most people sit at desks all day ...”( name one thing )The others would nod.
You can't get mixed up in a darkroom ,thinking clearly is everything . Exposed film roll leaders are bent back , pushed film has a bite mark on the spool . In a pinch start the pushed and then add the regular reels to the big tank . Even though our world may be up side down and backwards and we spend too much time in the dark ,we still see straight and clear and the subject presents ,what it presents . Even though a reporter can say the public was breaking down the doors of city hall , they actually have to be breaking down a door for a photo to work. The picture grounds the story , takes away suspicion . There were people at the meeting , they too are witness.
The darkroom is gone , the fabric of newsroom power begins to be dismantled ,piece by piece . No one notices ,or cares . It is still a good job .Digital ,Virtual rules , total faith , scarey like mutual funds . Faith and money in the vapourous cloud. The village is abandoned now , our cars are our darkroom , cramped , uncomfortable , isolation with widows . A darkroom with windows , homeless and stateless and but still free and moving . History will not catch us. We have a river of ideas and the forrest .
We saved one darkroom cubical and everything that came with it. .
PS . More , people started bringing in small things , press passes , a donated working Rolliflex camera , all the out dated EOS1d's from film through digital bone yard , old CFL press books , police radios ,a drum transmitter , 2 Leafax transmitters ( promoted from doorstop) , Canon F-1 with motors and lens . WE may have company interest in a museum spot in the building . An old composing room retiree has press plates .It's a shrine.
Topic: No Tears for the Darkroom (Read 1680 times)