I went back to the University of Cincinnati and returned to my undergrad studies at their College-Conservatory of Music. My impulsive return to the old hometown of Columbus hadn't worked out. I moved in with Barry, my former roommate in the dorm. We shared a two-bedroom apartment in a roomy three-story house just a few blocks from campus. I had nothing else going on so I continued to shoot film obsessively.

I was proud of this image when I took it. Barry, Binder, and I bought Tri-X in giant rolls, cut them into thirty-six exposure strips, developed them in a good-enough darkroom, and printed them on eight-and-a-half by eleven standard paper we bought in bulk. It was a cheap way for beginners to practice, and I was very much a beginner—I'd only purchased my used Pentax in 1971.

Now when I look at the images from this time I see an obsession with composition at the expense of meaning, an interest in shape and form and little interest in anything more. I often see this narrow formal approach when I look at the work of people just starting out: promising if they have a good eye but not meaningful, not somehow better, somehow not enough to be art. Maybe interesting compositions carry their own justification—I have opinions about that but who knows? I just want to be better and for me I don't think this was or is enough.

I mean, it's a bathroom door but I'm treating it like Yosemite. It's Ansel Adams reduced to some shots around the apartment. More examples follow.