My journey began with a 6.2-mile ascent, climbing 1,330 feet, with 15 pounds of photography and water-gathering equipment.

Crossing the 210 freeway, I was reminded of how most people, including me, use cars to get around.

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In 1938, a one-in-fifty-year flood destroyed much of the early development along the creek.
As part of the rebuilding efforts, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers constructed the San Antonio Dam. Engineers eliminated the creek’s natural path but allowed for safe development in the floodplain.

The San Antonio Dam sign shows that there is water somewhere, but not in any natural condition that people can interact with. The fence, broken glass, and lack of vegetation create a harsh environment.

The San Antonio Creek: notice the water container and bicycle camouflaged into the landscape. I was relieved when I arrived at there was enough water. It hadn’t rained in a few weeks, and I was worried I might find only muddy puddles.

Harvesting water with one hand and squeezing the remote shutter release with the other. This illustrates the relationship between myself, the water, and the camera.

The photos are only realized if the water is successfully brought to the lab and successfully used to develop and enlarge the film. (spoiler alert: it worked!)

The final photo. Following this step, the film enters the developing tank (pictured center), where it is mixed with chemicals in complete darkness. The creek water was so pure that I couldn’t notice any differences compared to using tap water.

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Discussion

    Developing one roll of medium-format film uses four gallons of water. Printing the 11-12 photographs on silver gelatin paper takes another eleven gallons. The darkroom process requires extensive washing, lasting 7 minutes for film and an additional 20 for fiber paper. Before crunching the numbers, I used water mindlessly. But after realizing how much tap water the process used, I struggled to be in good conscious. I realized I had to start engaging with water as a being. To build a relationship with water, I made it my mission to create film photographs using as little water as possible.

 
  Instead of benevolently flicking on the faucet, I set out to (re)forge a connection with local California water. In this project, I biked 13 miles and ascended 1,300 feet to harvest from San Antonio Creek. I collected water from the creek, used a camera to take photos of the journey, and used the water I collected to develop the photographs. More than anything, the idea of a reciprocal working relationship between myself, the water, and the film is the emphasis of this project — the photos are just a byproduct. The final product contains part of all of us and proves that collaboration and connection between humans, the man-made, and nature is possible.

    While there may not be much water in San Antonio Creek, it is extremely resilient. Running low in summer months and channeling rain down its scattered tributaries every winter, like clockwork. Realizing how little water this creek is able to supply, there is not nearly enough natural water to support the local green-lawn-lifestyle.

    One question framed this project: how can I call myself an environmentalist if I shoot on film and print in the darkroom? Even during this conscious project, producing photos of the creek is — in the same breath — diminishing it. By nature, creating one thing exhausts another. I learned to find balance in the tension between needing to extract a resource and trying to conserve it. I now understand that I need to trust myself to use my best judgment while (re)establishing an interpersonal relationship with the earth and all of its living beings.