Growing up, my father would take me into the city for photowalks. He photographed the architecture of the city, the detailed stonework of a cemetery, the bridges and streets. The family photographer, he documented the daily lives of my mother, sister and I. Then, every so often, the small bathroom tiled in sunshine yellow and brass would transform into a magic space of red safelight and the scent of vinegar as he processed the negatives from our walks, prints dripping from a makeshift drying line. I would not arrive at my love of film for years. I think of that magic each time my pink tile and brass bathroom transforms into a creative space. The love of the slowness and patience required in the process, the softness of the grain in the image, the sweetness of the color palette. The ask that I slow down to see the beauty in the everyday routine and the risk that the image may be lost. Here’s to photo wanderings and a love of the everyday.