It was 1978, Boston, standing in a darkroom in Kendall Square, watching a print processing tube go around and around, waiting for the next step to dump and refill. That was forty years ago this year and I am still making photographs/prints. Who ever thought that would be my destiny. I went to school to be a professional photographer and ended up on the other end of the gun. Getting paid to print. Brown finger tips, who knows what inhaled, lack of sunshine. But the bright part is it let me meet my best friend and wife, sharing pressurized air over a light box. And how many images have I seen; printing, processing, mounting slides (my estimate, well over two million frames), trimming, and packing. Its like I lived every other photographers life. But I enjoy it, and that is what life is suppose to be, do what you like. I never knew that in 1964 glued to my father’s side in his hobby basement darkroom, truly amazed at the magic of a image popping up in a tray of smelly chemicals, that would continue. Thanks dad for forty years of printing…so far.