I struggle with perfectionism. This is what keeps me from creative writing most days. I don’t feel like my work is good enough. *I* don’t feel good enough.
Photography has been a way to try to combat that. I don’t know enough about photography, and don’t have enough of my identity invested in “being” a photographer (as opposed to “being” a writer), to even know when my work is good enough. I’m learning, I’m playing. There’s not (too) much pressure. It’s fun.
During quarantine I’ve been teaching myself to shoot and develop film. In this process I can’t be perfect. I fuck everything up. Last week I loaded a roll wrong and shot 36 frames of nothing. Today I couldn’t get my film onto the developing reel and ended up cutting it and only developing five frames. The negatives are all scratched to hell.
Here’s one of those imperfect frames: bruised and battered and kind of out of focus. I’m okay with it. And that feels pretty good.
Although... I did edit it a little and crop it. Can’t get rid of every perfectionist tendency. But it’s a start.
—-
Shot with Nikon FM2n / 50mm 1.2 AIS / HP5+