jenny rees

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In the Slow Lane - My Autistic Photography

I have always been slower than most. Slow to respond. Slow to process new information. I need quiet spaces and periods of solitude where I can recharge and reflect. I can find the world an overwhelming place.

There is within me a tension between my inherent tendency to retreat and my desire to grow. I particularly wish to develop as a photographer.

Until recently, I have only worked with digital cameras and processes. Then around a year ago I began to learn large and medium format film photography, development and printing. This requires learning and practising multiple new skills. I am teaching myself and making many mis-steps and mistakes.

Today I wrestled, literally, with a lightproof collapsable darkroom tent. My problem was in simply not being able to make sense of the video instructions which came with the product. I watched them again and again, repeatedly pausing the video, trying and failing to understand each step I needed to take. It is an old story for me - video instructions are generally too fast for me to follow and instruction manuals can seem impenetrable because they do not follow a [to me] logical order and I am overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information they contain.

The struggle to collapse and re-bag the darkroom tent ended with me in a state of tearful overwhelm and the darkroom tent damaged and consigned to the bin.

Perhaps the most important thing though is that the darkroom tent debacle only temporarily defeated me. Today is a new day and a new beginning, one in which I find myself pursuing the analogue photography path with fascination and determination.

The photograph heading this blog entry is an homage to my Mother who died during the covid pandemic. I have very happy memories of a woodland walk she and I enjoyed during my childhood. in that walk she introduced me to the flowers she called ‘King Cups’, which are also known as Marsh Marigolds. I cannot see them without thinking of my mother and re-living that treasured walk. Each spring, when they are in season, I photograph them in remembrance of her.