from Nicholas Alciati


I went back into the darkroom today. This is my second photography class since you’ve been gone. Although it’s still so hard sometimes, when I’m in the darkroom I feel comfort. The kind of comfort I felt when we played video games together in my warm basement after sledding down the treacherous hills of Syracuse. You were always Princess Peach. The darkroom gives me time to reflect upon our time together, and I feel your presence with every gentle wave of chemical over my photo paper. When you were gone, my mom brought back a pack of your paper; every print from that pack was perfect, much like you. You were a great mentor to me. You taught me to be myself and to love life. I still hear your laugh in every picture taken with my camera. I can still see your reflection in the chemicals used to develop my prints. I find myself going to the darkroom more, just to be with you. Your passion is now mine, and I love you for it.


  1. How beautiful Nick. You go boy and make those pictures. I can't wait to see them and love them.

    Love you


  2. Nick,

    I am so eager to see your work! This is a lovely tribute to Elizabeth.



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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry