The world is a big place, and its inhabitants move quickly. We rush from one task to the next, our days punctuated by notifications, deadlines, and the glow of screens. On the morning commute to Newcastle, bodies are packed tightly together, pit to pit, yet everyone is entirely alone—eyes down, headphones in, carefully ignoring one another. Each person is sealed inside their own technological bubble, attempting to block out the competing assaults on the senses. It is too fast. Too close. Too loud. Too smelly. Sensory overload has become the default state.
For me, this constant acceleration is not just mentally exhausting; it is physically demanding. Living with fibromyalgia means my body is sensitive to stress, overexertion, and environmental triggers. New challenges can arise every day. If I do too much physical work, I can end up seriously unwell. Traditional black and white darkroom practice, for all its beauty and history, is physically intense. Printing in darkness, then repeatedly moving back and forth between enlarger and daylight to assess prints, places demands on the body. The smell of chemistry permeates everything. Exposures are measured in seconds. Decisions are rapid, and mistakes feel costly.
Cyanotype, by contrast, offers a radically different photographic experience. It is slower, quieter, and far more forgiving. Exposures can take many minutes in sunlight or even longer under a lamp. I tend to work with lamps, not for convenience but for intentional deceleration. A lamp allows for more accuracy and sharper edges, but more importantly, it slows the entire process down. Working in normal light reduces strain on the eyes. I can expose, wash, and assess an image without the physical and sensory stress of total darkness. The process unfolds at a human pace.
Waiting, Exposure, and Unpredictability
Cyanotype teaches patience. There is waiting involved at every stage: waiting for the light to do its work, waiting for the image to emerge, waiting for the wash to reveal the final tones. Unlike digital photography, where an image appears instantly on a screen, cyanotype asks you to trust a process you cannot fully control. Exposure times are estimates. The outcome is influenced by light intensity, angle, humidity, paper choice, and chemistry ratios. Unpredictability is not a flaw; it is a feature.
This waiting changes how you see. It encourages you to pause and truly observe the conditions around you. How strong is the light today? Is it diffuse or direct? From which angle is it falling? What kind of blue are you hoping to achieve—deep and inky, or pale and atmospheric? Cyanotype offers wriggle room. If you overexpose, you can wash the print for longer to recover lost detail. Black and white silver gelatin processes are far less forgiving. In cyanotype, mistakes often become opportunities.
Slowness as a Way of Seeing
Slowing the photographic process affects not only the final image but also the decisions you make along the way. In a fast workflow, the goal is often productivity: how many finished prints can you produce in a session? In a traditional darkroom, I might aim for several prints in two hours. I must be vigilant—watching for dust and hair on negatives, keeping greasy fingerprints away from fragile strips of celluloid, ensuring my hands stay warm enough to maintain dexterity. There is pressure to perform efficiently.
Cyanotype removes much of this tension. The negatives are larger, often made from acetate or tracing paper, and far more robust. The images are created through contact printing at scale. Instead of worrying about damaging delicate materials, the main question becomes: how big do you want to go? In summer sunlight, it is possible to create human-sized prints on bed sheets. Cyanotype can be used on paper, fabric, wood, and other surfaces without the high costs associated with traditional darkroom equipment. The process invites experimentation rather than perfectionism.
This slowness creates space—space to think, to feel, and to connect. Since specialising in cyanotype, I have noticed how many disabled female photographers gravitate towards the medium. Many come to it after years of struggling in silver nitrate darkrooms that were physically and mentally demanding. Cyanotype invites participation without urgency. You can chat about process over a cup of tea while an exposure is taking place, or quietly observe as a print slowly washes out in water. It is a communal, humane way of making images.
Handmade Processes in a Digital Age
We live in a time when images are produced, consumed, and forgotten at extraordinary speed. Photography can feel instantaneous, as though the art happens solely in the moment you press the shutter. Yet that moment is only a fraction of what photography can be. Analogue processes remind us that images are made, not merely captured. They involve materials, decisions, and bodily engagement.
Working with cyanotype opens up an understanding of the material properties of light. You learn how light behaves, how it can be shaped, softened, or intensified. Using your hands and eyes together develops motor memory—tacit knowledge that cannot be downloaded or automated. This embodied understanding deepens your relationship with the medium and with seeing itself.
Making things with our hands has become increasingly rare. Many skills that once required years of practice—manual photography, darkroom printing, even digital post-processing—are now automated or assisted by artificial intelligence. While these technologies offer convenience, they also distance us from the processes that once taught us how images work. Tacit knowledge is becoming more important precisely because it is disappearing.
Within a generation or two, our collective visual memory may be profoundly altered. Our viewing habits are already shaped by TikTok and YouTube Shorts, where attention spans are measured in seconds. Who will know the theory of looking? Who will understand composition, colour theory, or the emotional weight of imperfection? Everything is increasingly seen through screens, polished and perfected by algorithms. How do we reconcile this with the messy, textured reality of the world?
The Value of Mistakes and Imperfection
Making things ourselves gives us a depth of understanding that passive observation never can. When you work with cyanotype, mistakes are inevitable—and essential. Overexpose, underexpose, wash too long, or not long enough. Each error teaches you something. Figuring out how to rectify a mistake requires insight, problem-solving, and reflection. Yet we are often taught that mistakes are bad, something to be avoided at all costs.
Cyanotype resists this mindset. It encourages play, curiosity, and acceptance of imperfection. It strips photography back to its fundamentals and invites you to reintroduce digital tools only where they serve your vision. Use digital processes in random, experimental ways alongside handmade creations. Pull flat digital imagery out into physical space. Let it breathe. Let it exist in reality, with all its flaws and textures intact.
A Counter-Cultural Act
In a world obsessed with speed, productivity, and instant gratification, choosing to work slowly is a counter-cultural act. Cyanotype is not just a photographic technique; it is a philosophy. It asks you to slow down, to pay attention, and to value process over outcome. It offers respite from sensory overload and a way back to embodied seeing.
Creating art should never be hurried. Cyanotype allows for expression without the pressure of mastery or output. It reminds us that photography is not only about images but about time, touch, and presence. In slowing down, we reclaim our ability to see—and to feel—more deeply.
About the Author
Jo Howell is an artist and photographer based in the UK whose practice centres on alternative photographic processes, particularly cyanotype. Living with fibromyalgia, Jo explores slowness, accessibility, and embodied making as both an artistic and political choice. Her work reflects a commitment to handmade processes, material exploration, and creating space for imperfection in a fast, digitally saturated world.
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