I remember my father’s darkroom, the precious place where he turned film into pictures. Filled with exotic pieces of equipment, it smelled of chemicals. It was the smallest bedroom in our four bedroom house, so I suppose it also smelled like home. I don’t have a darkroom. The digital age has allowed me to skip that step. It’s a loss in some ways, a joy in others. These photos have been taken by a variety of cameras, some digital, some not. Enjoy.