After a workshop weekend at ours, I’m absolutely done in. Properly shattered. The kind of tired that’ll probably take another two days to shake off. But at the same time so full of lovely moments that I really can’t complain.
We had seven people here – Friday through Sunday – with the theme: photography like in the 19th century. Proper old-school: wet plates, historical processes, the whole lot. Experiencing photography the way it all started.
Of course I couldn’t sit still beforehand. Shocking, I know. Tested everything again, sorted the food, spent ages overthinking how best to do this and that – and in the end? Everyone was completely relaxed. People helped themselves to coffee, naturally spread themselves between the studio and darkroom, it never felt crowded, nothing went wrong. Funny how that works when you just let people get on with it. Something I’m apparently still practising.
And there were so many lovely moments: my mum brought goulash soup for everyone, my best friend brought two cakes. Everyone got to take home an ambrotype in 24×18 at the end, plus two paper prints. Those who wanted to could make their own 6×6 tintype, and everyone took home cyanotypes too. I also demonstrated opalotypes using negatives people had brought along – and two people each got to take one home.
Still, I’m not entirely happy with myself. Which is probably just my pattern, if I’m honest.
The thing is: when it comes to my darkroom, I’m genuinely terrible at letting go. At actually letting people just get on with it. Whether it’s materials being used up or something getting knocked over – I’m simply not as relaxed about it as I’d like to be. It’s a bit like the sofa situation. There’s a tiny Sheldon living inside me. I just cannot cope with someone else sitting in my spot.
And then, of course, I had a rather uncomfortable thought. Because I’ve used other people’s darkrooms before – without a second thought. Just wandered in, got on with it, probably knocked something over and moved on with my life. Never once stopped to wonder how they felt about it. And that made me feel a bit rubbish, honestly. Turns out I can be a complete and utter hypocrite when I put my mind to it. Brilliant.
And yet I’m so laid-back about so many other things. The car, for instance – couldn’t care less, people can eat and drink in it to their heart’s content. It’s just stuff.
But the darkroom? That’s my space. My safe space. My sanctuary. I hadn’t quite realised it before, but after this weekend it’s become even clearer: I need to learn to share more. The room doesn’t disappear just because other people are in it.
And I think everyone has something like that, in their own way. That one place where you can just be yourself. Where your brain finally stops buzzing. For some it’s the workshop, the studio, the allotment – or in my case, the darkroom. These places matter. They really do. Not as a retreat from life, but as the very place from which you can actually go back out into it. And yes, sharing is wonderful – but with the right people. With those who understand what that space actually means. Who don’t just walk in, but who somehow sense that they’re a guest somewhere that genuinely matters to you.
And this weekend? These were exactly the right people. I could feel it. So despite all my overthinking and my inner Sheldon doing his best – I’m already looking forward to the next one.
our ambrotypes, clear glass wet plates measuring 24×18 cm:
my mobile photos:
Group Picture: Christian Bosk
Copyright: Hubertus Siegbert:
