Fomapan 100 on 120 film.
A quiet geometry suspended in silver. The 120 frame breathes wide, catching shadows before they can slip into the darkroom floor. It is a slow romance with the gray scale. Look closely at the grain—it doesn't shout; it drifts like slow-motion dust in an abandoned room.
The chemistry is never just chemistry; it’s an error that remembers the light. Every step is an unlearning, a soft fog where the edge of the world dissolves into a deliberate, metallic dream. The final print is just the ghost we decided to keep.
