“Knock…knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Sensia.”
“Sensia who?”
“What’s the Sensia in keepin’ all that old film in your fridge?
I have a bunch…it all expired about ten years ago but I keep it anyway…why I don’t know, but I keep it in the fridge in the kitchen. Sometimes it’s in the door, sometimes it works it’s way to the back of the bottom shelf.
I have other film, in the basement in a cardboard box. Old Tri-X, some Ektachrome (daylight and tungsten), Plus-X, something in an Ilford box, Fujicolor, Vericolor 120, some Portra Fuji gave me to test.
I keep them too, but they don’t mean as much. The Sensia is in the fridge…chilled…ready to go as if it’s still 1998 and those expensive film cameras sitting in my closet are worth more than the $129 I might be able to get for them now on ebay.
I should just throw it all out. I can’t sell it because it’s so old. I know I won’t use it even though I think it would be nice…in a walking around town with a cane, silk handkerchief in my pocket, flower in my lapel, tipping my hat as I hold doors open for people kind of way.
But I keep moving it around the refrigerator instead, as if it’s a dying language only a few of us still speak and when I throw those little boxes away that dialect will be one step closer to being lost forever.
I liked working with film.