Monday, October 4, 2010

Tales of a Broom Closet.

There is no food in the house, thus I am eating pixie sticks (thanks a lot mom). I vowed never to eat a single one when I got them in a great wheeling package all the way from friendly Manitoba, but here I am; sugar mouth.

Leo and I had a good day together. He did figure out what screaming was all about over the weekend, so that is what we did today. I got a little tired of practicing inside the house so out we went to Outremont Parc where babies in hip strollers are aplenty. We swung together spider style, for the first time. It was pretty exciting. He fell asleep in one of the baby swings (how is that possible?) slumped over chubalub with tense fingers and dangling legs so I pried him out (dumb baby swing design there, if you ask me) and put him back into his own hip stroller and I sat and wrote the last letter in a package of many to my friend Eddy. Mailed that thing as well as a pint sized letter to my mother, not to mention the collection of dead flowers (how thoughtful) in the long envelop. Afterwards I swung homeward, the boychild still dead to the world inside all of those woolens. Must have been all the screaming in the morning.

We had an angry lunch together (him, probably due to the smashed egg/zucchini barf that was served) but afterwards he was happy to crawl all over my body like a giant shrieking spider while I read a book on the floor about setting up one's darkroom (for beginners). While I am still unsure of Leo's dads profession, I feel pretty confident that his mama is a furniture designer and I have a feeling that one of his Grandmas is a photographer. They have a million books on the subject with her name scrawled all over them, thus I am reading like a hungry madwoman.

I know I have written about my darkroom dreams and high hopes before, but this is serious. Now that I know the old Bessa collapsable camera is functional, I am in the process of hunting and eventually hooking my own Russian, quite like my good man Creme's Russian. I like the feel of his camera. And when I say Russian, I mean Russian made medium format camera. Giant negatives. I don't want anything showy or hip just for the sake of being hip (you would be surprised), I want something that weighs a ton of bricks and is a sharp shooter. Crystal clear giant negatives. And THEN I want to get down in my broom closet with some chemicals and start (at the very LEAST) processing my own film. This shouldn't be too difficult. All I need to do (other than a shit tonne more research on the subject) is clear the rest of the crap out of the hall closet (which is a good size for a teensy darkroom; it even has a light), source some chemicals and start up equipment and VOILA! Darkroom. Well, it is a bit lofty, but I need to get real here if I want to have an edge on all the teen spirit next year. I'm not getting younger.

Okay, these posts are getting more and more lackluster. Excusez-moi. Oh, also, as far as Lady I. Hamilton is concerned, this drawing was inspired by an image of said woman that I spotted in aforementioned darkroom book. It feels good to draw again.

Margot P.

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