Day 9
The sun set gently over the trees. Another day was over. Six hundred and fifty-seven to be precise. She picked up the picnic blanket, folded it into thirds, and threw it over her shoulder. The lighting had been good today, and she expected some good prints when she got back to her darkroom.
It was funny how things played out in terms of darkness and light. She painted with light in the day, and yet her vision was nothing without some well spent hours in the dark. Too much light at one point, too much darkness at another, and everything turned out wrong.
She carefully stowed the camera in the backseat of her battered Volkswagon, and sat a moment, watching the first notes of nightfall. She only needed a few more black and whites to finish out the collection. The darkroom could wait.
It was funny how things played out in terms of darkness and light. She painted with light in the day, and yet her vision was nothing without some well spent hours in the dark. Too much light at one point, too much darkness at another, and everything turned out wrong.
She carefully stowed the camera in the backseat of her battered Volkswagon, and sat a moment, watching the first notes of nightfall. She only needed a few more black and whites to finish out the collection. The darkroom could wait.
This is a neat little section about dark and light. I like how in the end she's enjoying the dark outside of the darkroom. ..This is good.
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