I had forgotten the feeling, but I remembered the excitement . The moment Linzay hands me the package of photographs and I fumbled, trying to remember how to get it open without tearing right through everything. Actually waiting for something felt so strange. Making it worse, or better depending on how you look at is, was the fact that I really had no idea how any of it was going to turn out. Mostly, because I didnt really know what I was doing.
I had waited 6 months for these pictures. The little rolls stacked up in the glass cupboard, adorned in hand written notes. “Exposed” is what they said. The packages of film had traveled around New Zealand with me all winter, from frozen surf trips to city tromps. Born of little cardboard boxes my brother had given me for Christmas, I decided to document almost everything this year with tape and film. Which turned out to be a bad call when I found out exactly how much film cost to develop on a small island, let alone when you’re trying to process relatively rare medium format film.
“Stop the car!” I yelled at the driver. It was pretty pointless to yell, considering we had already reached our destination. Still, I ran the three blocks back to get the shot of a massive dog, painted high on an industrial building. I didnt even take notice of who pieced it, hoping it would come out in the print, naturally it didnt. Somehow it seemed to typify Wellingtons street art scene; bright, playful and sometimes funny stuff, all crammed into otherwise ugly alleys. The city seemed to bustle with art and music.
I could tell it was going to take me a while to get through this stack.