I stumbled upon this photo this morning. It’s one I took of myself about 25 years ago in my first motorhome, an 18-foot Class C RV that broke down practically every trip. I eeked out a living then as a freelance writer selling stories to little magazines.
In this photo, I am printing photographs in my small RV. About two nights a week I would do this. The next morning I would mail the photos with manuscripts to editors.
I could set up my darkroom in about 15 minutes, but only in very dark campgrounds where I had an electric hookup. I would usually need to cover the windows with towels and blankets, and pray that a car wouldn’t pass with its highbeams on.
My ritual was to turn up my stereo and sip cheap beer as I printed (I could not afford good beer back then). I was very happy when I was printing! I would usually take a break every hour or so. In some cases, the campgrounds were in the middle of nowhere. When I would step outside, I would often be greeted by only silence and darkness. It seemed incredible and wonderful to me that I could earn my living in such places.
Even though I earned little money, I was free and I was working as a magazine writer, something I had dreamed of doing for years. Until I actually went on the road to do it, I never knew if it was a dream that could come true or not. It did.
Technology has come a long way since then and I have taken advantage of most of it. But I miss my old darkroom.
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