A surprise discovery in the studio
Last week, I was hit with the urge to do some spring cleaning—with a very specific target in mind. I wanted to clear out a collection of old frames holding hand-colored photographs. That meant disassembling each frame, removing the photographs, and putting the frames back together so I could pass them along to someone else. Frames take up so much more space than matted or even loose prints, and with limited studio space, they were an easy target.
Twenty years ago, I was printing black and white photographs in the darkroom and hand-coloring them. My work slowly evolved into what it is today—but that’s a story for another time (maybe even next week). What I want to share now is what else I found on this little quest for space.
Tucked among the two-decade-old artwork—some framed, some not—I discovered pieces of my own student work from 1986, nearly forty years ago. The photographs transported me back in time. And as a current community college professor who’s constantly reviewing student work, it was fascinating to view my own early portfolio through that dual lens. I’m sure I can’t be completely objective, but I was honestly impressed.
“Shoes & Calla lilies” oils on silver gelatin print 16×20”
Most of the images were portraits, which is funny to me now, as I’ve avoided portraiture for years. But these were intimate—portraits of close family members who trusted me. I wasn’t creating for them; I was creating for myself. The prints were fairly large, almost 16x20 inches, made from 6x9cm negatives using a converted Speed Graphic camera gifted to me by the darkroom tech at CSUS (Sac State), where I was a student. He later went on to teach at the same college where I now teach, served as department chair, and will soon be retiring. He’s been one of my long-time encouragers, and he’s a dear friend.
All those portraits were also hand-colored. I had opted for an independent study in hand-coloring, which wasn’t nearly as simple then as it would be now. I used photo oils, but wasn’t satisfied with the traditional pastel hues—so I layered the colors in more saturated tones. I wanted to create colors that felt closer to my memories than what color film could offer. Looking back, I suspect that if I had come of age in the digital era, I might have gravitated toward digital manipulation—but then again, I’m so drawn to tactile processes, I’m not entirely sure.
“Rob 3” oils on silver gelatin print 16×20”
The last two pieces I unearthed were self-portraits, created from several exposures taken during the same session. I cut them into strips and reassembled them as a physical collage. It’s not my favorite work now, but I see in it the same artist I still am, curious, experimental, and willing to try things. That young artist had no idea where this path would lead, but I admire her for continuing to walk it.
There’s something grounding about rediscovering the creative spark you had when you were just starting out. It reminded me that even back then, before I had any idea where this would all lead, I was already chasing the same threads that still inspire me today: memory, emotion, and the quiet power of storytelling. I didn’t expect a simple cleaning session to reconnect me with that younger version of myself, but I’m grateful it did.
Have you ever stumbled upon something from your past that surprised you, or reminded you of where your journey began?
