By Mike Rosso I had my first photo darkroom when I was 14 years old. It was in the basement of the next door neighbor’s house. I had managed to piece together a rudimentary darkroom consisting of low-end, secondhand equipment and was allowed to use it in exchange for babysitting services. As a teenager, that darkroom was my sanctuary, a place where I could close the door, flip on the red safelights and completely shut out the world. I also had a cheap transistor radio with which I tuned in the local pop stations while working the chemical magic of…