Category: Film Photography

Opening of the Film Archives – Canon AE1 Street Photography in Nantes

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Good afternoon, Dear Reader. I’m writing this article thinking of you and wondering what to show you next in this ongoing series. The clue is in the title: Canon AE1 Street Photography in the streets of Nantes.

I know you have the eyes of a hawk who never miss a trick because your vision is so sharp. You might even have scrolled down to the photos already, and your eagle eyes will have noticed that this isn’t the usual area I visit on these outings. And, of course, you’d be right!

Yes, I still parked in the Feydeau car park but crossed the road to the south, heading along Baco-Lu, past the Tour Lu (sans “t”), towards the St Felix Canal, and then back into town… Some of the places no longer exist or have changed hands, but you would still recognise them even today.

I think that with these photographs, I’m getting closer to what some might call “proper” or “traditional” street photography. The images have a certain gritty quality to them, including the people in the shots. This was something I was actively aiming for. Maybe it’s the grain—something I don’t get with the X100F—that helped bring this about. Or could it be the people, whose presence seems to reveal the stories behind them? Whatever it is, I felt that this was a very good day.

I think I may have shared with you that I’m going to China this Christmas on tour with the orchestra I play for. I’m still undecided about which camera to take and wondering if I should bring a film camera along. With the X100F, I’ve become so accustomed to the 35mm lens, while my film cameras only have 50mm lenses to work with. Reviewing these older images may help me make up my mind. It’s going to be an epic trip, and I want to be sure of the kinds of images I’ll be able to capture.

As much as I’d love the flexibility to hop in the car and retake a shot if needed, this trip to China will be different. I’ll need to trust my choices and embrace the moment as it unfolds—something that feels both exciting and a little daunting. But that’s the beauty of photography, isn’t it? The challenge of capturing fleeting moments, knowing they might never come around again. So, whatever I decide, I know the experience will be unforgettable.

While the anticipation of the China photos may be killing you, I know you’ll be patient, whatever I decide to use. Rest assured, those photos will capture the spirit of the trip. Only two and a half weeks before I start my travels…

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The Opening of the Film Archives – Chaussée des Moines, Autumn 2016

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It was one of those sunny late autumn days we sometimes get here—warm, golden, and untouched by the inevitable rain, wind, and cold that would soon claim the season. This time, I wasn’t in Nantes, or exploring the Forest of Grasla like last week’s outing. Instead, I decided to take my Canon AE-1 for a walk down by the river—more precisely, along the Sèvre Nantaise—to explore the Chaussée des Moines.

Chaussée des Moines translates to “the monk’s pathway,” and no, it’s not a detour through Iowa. I always get the name wrong, thanks to the cheese Chaussée aux Moines. Freud would probably call it a slip—though even he might have struggled to find better footing on this trail.

The pathway, bathed in the low autumn sun, was serene. Its golden light skimmed the water, creating shimmering reflections on the surface, while the riverbanks glowed with the last stubborn hues of the season. For those of you looking at the photos in black and white, you’ll just have to imagine the colours. The Canon AE-1 was a faithful companion that day, helping me focus on the interplay of light and shadow, the quiet stillness of the river, and the textured beauty of autumn’s final stand.

The Sèvre Nantaise is a river that flows into Nantes at the Bras de Pirmil. The Chaussée itself is a weir—a place where, weather permitting, you can walk across the river, loop over a nearby bridge, and return along the opposite bank. It’s a lovely little circuit, especially on a crisp autumn day.

The photographs from this outing were taken with the Canon AE-1 using Ilford HP5+ film, shot at 400ASA. I later edited the images in Lightroom to bridge that gap between film and digital. Some might call me a charlatan, but even in the darkroom, we worked our magic with tools akin to what Lightroom offers today—just a bit more hands-on and aromatic.

When I was learning how to draw, I was often reminded of the importance of contrast: darker, more defined elements in the foreground and softer, lighter tones in the background. Looking back at these photos, especially the ones of trees and fields, I’m struck by how naturally this principle seems to have played out.

All in all, it was lovely being out in the autumn sun, soaking up the scenery, and enjoying every minute of it. The boat moored along the bank, the cascading weir, the solitary man fishing—it all added to the charm of a wonderful afternoon. And if you’re wondering, the slice of cake and cup of something nice at the café overlooking the river had absolutely nothing to do with how fondly I remember the day… or so I tell myself.

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The Opening of the Film Archives – Le Forêt de Grasla, October 2016

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It would appear that I was quite the busy bee, snapping anything and everything with the Canon AE1 back in 2016. It seems to have become my “everyday carry” and the camera I always had with me.In 2016, I was all about exploring the world using just Ilford’s HP5 Plus black-and-white negative film. On this particular day, I had gone back to the Forêt de Grasla. I remember it being a fairly warm day for October, and it was wonderful to be in the outdoors.

The forest was one of my favourite hunting grounds for wild mushrooms, and Killian would be there with me, helping to find some “fungis to be with.” An old joke, but I am a dad, after all…

As you walk through the various parcelles of the forest, you can smell the mushrooms in the air, the decaying wood, and hear the rustle of wind rushing through the trees. The ground is slightly damp underfoot—hence the walking boots.

Now for a bit of history. I suppose you have heard of the French Revolution and its wide-reaching effects on my adoptive country. Well, not everyone at the time was very happy about the whole shebang. The “Chouans” from Brittany and the Vendée decided that they quite liked the idea of having a king, and perhaps this Republic idea might not be for them.

This led, of course, to the Guerres de Vendée, with Republican troops sent to massacre the counter-revolutionary Vendéens. Most places in France are wary of Parisians, but there’s an extra edge to this in the Vendée, and with good reason. Even now, the Vendée has a very independent mentality and has never forgotten what the Republic did.

The Forêt de Grasla was a lot larger than it is now, and the rebels would hide there, hoping to escape the Republican troops. There is now a museum, the Refuge de Grasla, showing how they lived hidden in the forest.

The idea of the outing, however, wasn’t history or mycology, but woodland photography on film. I think I managed to get some half-decent shots!

The Enduring Elegance of Vintage Cameras: A Personal Journey

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I often find myself discussing the concept of “vintage” with my father during our phone calls. I live in France, while my parents are in Northumberland. The term “vintage” means different things to different generations. For my 25-year-old son, vintage clothing is anything from the 90s—he even sports a few of my sweaters from that era. At 52, I’m beginning to see myself as slightly vintage, with a style that has evolved into something more classic and refined compared to my younger years. And to my 15-year-old daughter, my father, who grew up during the war, must seem positively ancient.

So, what does this have to do with photography? For me, a camera from the 1990s feels relatively modern, while those from the 80s and 70s seem older but not quite ancient—much like myself. Using these older cameras in my photography practice forces me to slow down and be more deliberate. Just as my style has become more refined with age, these cameras have an enduring elegance and charm. They may be from a slightly bygone era, but they still capture images with timeless grace.

Incorporating this vintage technology into my work isn’t just about using old equipment, however enjoyable working with what could be considered museum pieces may be; it’s about embracing a process that demands patience and mindfulness—concepts that are somewhat foreign to this younger generation. Each shot taken with these cameras becomes a deliberate act, mirroring how I approach life and photography. The result? A deeper connection to the process and a greater appreciation for the unique quality of film. This slower pace allows me to savour each moment, akin to how my evolving style reflects a deeper appreciation for life’s subtleties.

In a world increasingly dominated by digital immediacy, there’s something profoundly satisfying about the slower, more thoughtful pace of using vintage cameras. They may not be the latest technology, but their classic design and the deliberate process they require make them a joy to use—much like the evolving sense of style and perspective that comes with age. The emotional impact of working with these cameras is profound; they carry the weight of history and personal connection, enriching my creative process and deepening my engagement with photography.

My own “vintage collection” began with an SLR from the 1980s: an East German Praktica MTL3 that served me faithfully until 2009. After it finally gave up, I quickly replaced it with another. From there, I delved into exploring more iconic cameras from the 1970s and 1980s. At that time, they were still relatively affordable before the hipsters discovered film photography and the prices inevitably started rising.

My exploration didn’t stop there. I began to seek out cameras from the 1960s and even the 1950s. The oldest camera in my collection dates back to 1949! It’s quite vintage, even for me, though perhaps not so much for my father. Each piece of my collection is a link to a past era, offering a tactile connection to history that digital tools can’t replicate.

There was a time during the digital age when people sought to recapture the film aesthetic, and right on cue, apps like Hipstamatic, Instagram, and VSCO began to emerge. These digital tools embraced the nostalgic look of film, offering a nod to the past while thriving in the digital present. Yet, this digital simulation can’t quite match the authentic experience and emotional resonance of using actual vintage cameras.

This led me to a thought: if I truly wanted to capture that film aesthetic, why not use actual film and cameras from the eras I admire? I have always been drawn to “old” things, having loved exploring a special drawer at my grandmother’s house filled with genuine relics—not just my grandparents’ old possessions. My fascination with older technology, particularly when it’s still functional, remains strong. There’s an undeniable charm and satisfaction in using equipment that carries a legacy, offering a perspective that both honours the past and enriches the present.

So just because something might be old, it might still work and open a whole new world to you that you didn’t even suspect existed! It might, however, have something of a quirky nature, but once you get over that, the world is your oyster.

my daughter contemplating cake
portrait of a young girl

The Opening of the Film Archives—Abbaye de la Grainetière, October 2016

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“They” say that if you leave your child to the Jesuits for seven years, then that child will belong to the Jesuits for life. I am not a Jesuit, but I was heavily influenced by the Benedictines when I went away to prep school in 1980. Mummy, Daddy, let me reassure you, this isn’t about Gilling—some things are better left in the past. This article will instead focus on a different Benedictine site, one that I visited much later in life: l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, a peaceful monastery here in the Vendée.

The Abbey of Notre-Dame de La Grainetière, on the outskirts of the town of Les Herbiers in Vendée (France), encompasses nearly nine centuries of tumultuous history. For over 50 years, numerous restoration works have been undertaken. These efforts allowed for the re-establishment of a community of monks at the end of 1978, nearly 200 years after the abbey was abandoned by the monks, shortly after the Revolution of 1789. Classified as a historical monument since 1946, many volunteers are working to continue the legacy of La Grainetière.

To those of you unfamiliar with the ins and outs of the Catholic Church, the role of monks is to live in community, and their main duty is to pray for us in the wider community. The monks elect a Father Abbot, who is responsible for running the monastery. In centuries gone by, the Abbot would wield a huge amount of influence, but this power has been reined in over time and is less evident outside the monastic community.

When I visited l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, I couldn’t help but reflect on how different this Benedictine monastery felt from my school days. The quiet prayer, the stillness—it offered a kind of peace that I hadn’t experienced for a long time, and a life that was once very appealing to me.

The monks follow the Rule of Saint Benedict, a foundational guide for monastic life that addresses not only prayer, but also how to live both within and beyond the monastery walls. Though written for monks, many of its teachings have been adopted by the laity seeking a structured, spiritually focused life.

I could almost say I envy them the simplicity of monastic life compared to the complexities of modern society and family life—juggling careers, responsibilities, and the endless distractions of today’s world. While I don’t regret the joys and vibrancy that come with having a family—something perhaps lacking in monastic life—it’s hard not to admire the stillness and purpose that a simpler existence can offer. We all have different vocations in life. Mine was to be a father.

As I packed away my camera and left the grounds of l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, I found myself still pondering the contrast between the quiet, ordered life of the monks and the complexity of my own. In some ways, visiting the abbey felt like opening a door to a simpler time, a place where life seemed more focused and more deliberate. Yet, as much as I admire the peace found within those ancient walls, my own path has led me elsewhere—to the joys, challenges, and unpredictability of family life.

In the end, it’s not a question of envy or regret, but rather a reminder that we all find our peace in different ways. For the monks of l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, it lies in prayer and solitude. For me, it’s found in the laughter of my children, the shared moments with loved ones, and yes, even in the rush and noise of everyday life. Each vocation, after all, carries its own kind of grace.

Perhaps that’s what lingers with me most from my visit to the abbey—not just the tranquillity of the place, but the realisation that we each have our own rhythm, our own way of navigating the world, and there is beauty in all of it.

Post Scriptum:

The photos were taken with a Canon AE1, and its FD mount 50mm F1.8 lens, using Ilford HP5 + black and white film.

Classic Chrome Meets Portra 160: Evaluating the Pentax ME Super and Fujifilm X100F

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Let’s talk about two of my favorite cameras—the Fujifilm X100F and the Pentax ME Super. While these cameras belong to entirely different eras of photography, they share a surprising similarity in size and portability. I’ve used both extensively, and today, I want to compare their unique qualities without turning it into a clichéd “film vs. digital” debate.

Photography enthusiasts often find themselves in one of two camps: those who champion the convenience and immediacy of digital, and the purists who swear by the timelessness of film. But if you’ve followed this blog for a while, you’ll know I don’t see things that way. Instead, I value what each format brings to the table, and more importantly, how both contribute to the experience of photography.

A Tale of Two Cameras

For me, photography is more than just the final image—it’s about the journey of capturing it. Any Lomography fan will agree: the process is as important as the outcome. When I shoot with the Fujifilm X100F, I appreciate the immediate feedback of seeing the image on the screen and knowing right away what I’ve captured. But with the Pentax ME Super, it’s a different experience. I have a rough idea of what the film will deliver, but the magic isn’t fully revealed until the film is developed. That anticipation is part of the charm.

For this comparison, I’ve chosen photographs from Northumberland. Its moody, windswept landscapes—places like Alnmouth and the Northumbrian moors—present the perfect canvas for both film and digital. The X100F’s Classic Chrome simulation delivers a retro, muted look, while Kodak Portra 160 film, shot through the Pentax, brings warmth and richness to the tones.

The Fujifilm X100F

he X100F has often been called a bridge between the analogue and digital worlds, and I tend to agree. It’s packed with modern features like autofocus and an electronic viewfinder (EVF), but the controls are refreshingly tactile, with dedicated dials for aperture, shutter speed, and ISO. For anyone with a background in film photography, this setup feels familiar and intuitive.

What sets the X100F apart for me, though, is its Classic Chrome film simulation. It offers a subdued color palette that echoes old film stock, perfect when I want a slightly desaturated, vintage aesthetic. Unlike some over-the-top digital filters, Classic Chrome feels organic and subtle—bringing out details in the shadows without overwhelming the shot with contrast.

The X100F Photos

The Pentax ME Super

On the other hand, the Pentax ME Super is all about slowing down. There’s no EVF, no digital screen, and definitely no autofocus. Instead, you rely on a split-prism focusing system and aperture-priority mode. It forces you to be deliberate with each shot, a process that I find incredibly satisfying.

You’ll often hear film photographers talk about being more “in the moment” when shooting on film, and that’s exactly how I feel with the ME Super. The process of carefully composing each shot, setting exposure manually, and waiting for the film to be developed encourages patience and thoughtfulness.

For this outing, I paired the ME Super with Kodak Portra 160, a film that’s become known for its natural skin tones and soft, warm colors. Paired with the 50mm f/1.7 lens, this combination creates images with that unmistakable film character—shallow depth of field, soft highlights, and rich colors.

Lenses and Sensor Size

One of the most noticeable technical differences between these two cameras is their lenses and sensor sizes. The X100F features a 35mm equivalent f/2.0 fixed lens, while I usually use the 50mm f/1.7 on the Pentax. On the sensor front, the X100F has an APS-C crop sensor, giving it a narrower field of view compared to the full-frame 35mm film in the Pentax.

This technical difference goes beyond field of view. The Pentax ME Super has fixed ISO based on the film I choose, so I need to plan ahead for the lighting conditions I’ll be working in. In contrast, the X100F allows me to adjust ISO on the fly, providing flexibility in rapidly changing environments. This is something digital photographers have come to rely on, and it’s undeniably convenient when shooting in variable light.

The Pentax ME Super photos

Comparing the Images

Now, the big question: which is better, the Pentax ME Super or the Fujifilm X100F? Honestly, neither. They’re different tools for different purposes. Whether you’re drawn to the organic feel of film or the convenience of digital, both formats offer something unique. And that’s the beauty of photography—there’s no one-size-fits-all approach.

The sideshow feature shots from both cameras. As you look at them, you might favour one look over the other. The film shots have a warmth and texture that digital sometimes struggles to replicate, while the digital photos are sharp, detailed, and offer instant gratification. But ultimately, this comes down to personal preference, not a matter of one being objectively better.

Final Thoughts

At the end of the day, a camera is just a tool for capturing a scene in a particular way. As long as the final image is pleasing to the eye, I’d say the job is done. So don’t limit yourself to just one format—if you haven’t tried shooting film, give it a go. If you’re a film photographer who’s hesitant to try digital, maybe the X100F will ease that transition with its analogue-like feel.

More than anything, I encourage you to enjoy the process, whether it’s with film, digital, or both. Get out there, take your time, and remember that photography isn’t just about the images you capture—it’s about the experience.

If you’d like to go deeper on the Pentax ME Super specifically, I’ve written a full dedicated review: Why the Pentax ME Super Is the Perfect First Film Camera (Even in 2026).

Post Scriptum:
For those of you new to my blog, welcome! I cover everything from camera reviews to photography tips and techniques. Whether you’re a seasoned photographer or just starting out, there’s something here for you. Feel free to leave your thoughts or questions in the comments below—I’d love to hear from you!

The Opening of the Film Archives – Trentemoult October 2016

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This was another Ian and Kate day.  Similar in concept to the Ian and Killian day, but a day where I can dedicate myself solely to Kate.  She’s fifteen now of course, but I should spend more time with her.  If she’ll let me of course.  At the time she was only seven—simpler times where I could make her happy with just a nice tea, a boat trip across the river, and just wandering around exploring the intricate streets of an old fishing village on the “bords de Loire.”  There are no cars in the narrow streets, and the children can run wild.  

This day was one spent in Trentemoult, that rather colourful village that you can see here. The colours are intense and provide a great backdrop for portrait photography. So of course I went in with a film camera and black and white film.  Which only goes to show that when you photograph a location, however colourful, and take away the distraction of that colour, you have to really concentrate on composition, texture, and forms.  I couldn’t rely on colour for my photos today.  But I was sure that I could reveal some good photos despite that.

So what do you do?  You just try and capture some moments of your daughter messing around and being a perfectly normal seven year old.  I tried to capture her exploring the streets and being absorbed by the whole ambiance of the place.  She became part of the scenery, and blended in perfectly.

I was just there purely to observe and record the day on film, with one eye in my camera and the other on Kate.  It was a good day.  

Looking back at those moments reminds me of how quickly time seems to slip by without me realising that I am getting older.  She of course is slightly older, and possibly slightly less “insouciante” or carefree, but my love for that girl is still as strong as ever.

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The Opening of the Film Archives: An October Saturday in Town with Killian, 2016

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Welcome back to another look at the film archives. This time, I’m sharing a few black-and-white street shots from an October Saturday in Nantes, likely taken with the Praktica MTL3 and HP5 Plus film. These outings with my son Killian, which we called ‘Ian and Killian days,’ became a cherished routine, a time for us to reconnect amidst the busyness of life.

He was 17 then, a weekly boarder at his lycée in La Roche sur Yon. On the weekends, we’d often head into Nantes, following the same familiar programme: a visit to the barbershop, a meal at the Sugar Blue café, and finally, a drink at the John Mc Byrne Irish Pub. In the photo, that handsome chap in the barber’s seat is Killian—a little reminder that it wasn’t always Kate joining me on these trips. These outings were a way to stay connected, despite his growing independence. Even with him being only 17, I still felt that sense of responsibility. Once a Dad, always a Dad.

As we went through our usual routine, I found myself facing the familiar challenge of capturing these moments on film. The low light inside the barbershop always made me second-guess whether I could get a decent shot without using a flash. But over time, I learned to trust the Praktica and the HP5 Plus film. There’s a rawness to film photography, especially with Ilford’s HP5. It adds a certain grit and texture to the image, something that digital just can’t replicate.

That’s what I love about film—the imperfections. The grain gives it character, a certain honesty that smooth, polished digital photos lack. It’s not about creating something flawless but about preserving the authenticity of the moment. This shot of Killian in the barbershop, for example, may not be technically perfect, but it’s real. It’s us, it’s Nantes, it’s one of those ‘Ian and Killian days.’

Looking back at these photos, I’m reminded that sometimes, it’s the imperfections that make an image truly memorable. Quite the day, right?

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The Opening of the Film Archives: On va Marcher sur la Lune, Kate

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Last week’s journey through the film archives took us to Nantes, specifically the Île de Nantes. While you’ve seen my photos from that day, I’m excited to share my daughter Kate’s photos with you.

Are these images works of art deserving of a gallery? Perhaps not, but they represent a delightful exercise in spontaneity. Captured by a seven-year-old “playing” with a camera, they offer a unique glimpse into how my young daughter sees the world. There are no rigid rules of photography or composition here—just an extension of her eyes. These photos are raw yet delicate, showcasing the world as she perceived it at that moment.

These photos mean a great deal to me, particularly the one she took of me with that glorious moustache! I’ve often discussed how the journey and process of photography can sometimes be even more meaningful than the final destination. That day was a significant part of that journey, and reflecting on my own first photos from that age fills me with nostalgia.

The Opening of the Film Archives: On va Marcher sur la Lune

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New from the film archives – On va Marcher sur la Lune, captured on a warm October day in 2016. Could this be a nod to Jules Verne, one of Nantes’ famous sons? Possibly. As I look through these photos now, I’m transported back 8 years—to a time when my daughter still saw me as her hero, and we spent afternoons exploring with our cameras.

That day, she had her Olympus Trip 35, and I was carrying the equally iconic Canon AE-1 with some 400ASA Kentmere black and white film. Both cameras, steeped in history, were very much a part of our lives at the time. And when I say the Olympus is so simple a seven-year-old could use it, I’m not exaggerating—she handled it with ease, maybe even with a bit more flair than I did.

We parked near the Grue Titan and wandered towards the Elephant, a landmark almost as famous as Jules Verne himself. It was one of those days that would just lead its own way along the Loire, and I was completely fine with that. My only concern was Kate remembering to change the dial on the Olympus to the right focus zone. In hindsight, I should’ve let her take the lead and placed more confidence in her. Hindsight—that luxury of later life. Her photos? They turned out better than just fine.

Later, we explored the “On va Marcher sur la Lune” exhibit, which featured a lunar landscape with trampolines in each crater—a hit with children of all ages. The area was bustling with people enjoying the Indian Summer, including a mix of families and those embracing the trendy atmosphere. As we walked towards the Elephant, we noticed how it had revitalized this once rundown shipbuilding area. The remnants of the old shipyards still linger, but the new architecture is resolutely modern.

The Opening of the Film Archives—Clisson, September 2016

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Welcome back, Dear Reader, to the film archives, still with the Canon AE1 and HP5 Plus from Ilford, but in Clisson this time.  You will remember Clisson from previous articles and will have seen the pictures, so it shouldn’t be a stranger to you.  Who knows, it could even feel like revisiting an old friend.  It certainly is for me. 

But why Clisson I hear you say.  Well, it’s not very far away from where I live.  It’s also one of those market towns that is renowned for the beauty of its architecture with an Italian slant.  It has the massive castle that towers above the river.  It has me taking photographs of it.  

Clisson, like most things, has options.  On a Friday the main option is the huge market, and wandering around the 14th-century Halles, which can keep you out of the sun, the rain, the heat or the cold, depending on the time of year.  I either go down to the river and wander along the river banks in the Garenne and Lemot park, or park at the top of town and stroll around the Halles and surrounding streets.  In the series of photos at the end, you will see some stone steps that join the two options, but I have dodgy knees, and those steps are like leg day at the gym.  You can avoid those steps by just following the road that wraps itself around the church, and going under the tree that just got tired and decided to rest on the house opposite.  

But this time I decided to break out of my habits and visit the Quartier St Jacques with its decommissioned chapel, and garden.  It’s yet another pretty place in a pretty town, and when I was sitting there in the sun, I felt that I didn’t have a care in the world.  Serenity flooded my mind and all was well with the world…

The Opening of the Film Archives—Le Château des Ducs de Bretagne, August 2016

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Welcome back to the Film Archive of IJM Photography! This time, we find ourselves in the beautiful city of Nantes, in the heart of the Cité des Ducs. Our adventure takes us through the majestic Château des Ducs de Bretagne, a site rich in history and culture.

As we explore the castle, I’m armed with another one of my favorite cameras from the golden days of film photography—the Canon AE1. This was before the surge of interest from the YouTube hipster crowd, who quickly snatched up every classic camera they could find, driving up prices and making these gems harder to come by.

The Canon AE1 is justifiably sought after, and for good reason. It’s a camera that offers both simplicity and elegance, paired with the beautiful FD 50mm F1.8 lens. This lens, in particular, has a way of capturing light that enhances every shot, allowing me, the photographer, to create images that feel alive. You can see the results in the photos here—every frame is a testament to the quality and craftsmanship of this camera.

It feels solid in the hand, and focusing with the split prism is a breeze. The camera is “shutter priority,” and it adapts the f-stop to the speed at which you’re shooting. As a street photographer, I don’t need to shoot at 1/1000th of a second for all my shots, so I have a wider range of options than someone taking pictures of sports. It still provides me with the necessary depth of field.

On this particular day, I was motivated and thought I could walk up the steps to the battlements to get some more interesting shots from a raised standpoint. I captured the urban landscape that spans from the 13th to the 21st century, and in one of the shots, you can see the ever-present figure of the Tour de Bretagne. It once represented the modernity of the 20th century and is now closed for asbestos removal. My feet, however, were firmly rooted much earlier in the castle.

Exploring the Château des Ducs de Bretagne with the Canon AE1 was a journey through both time and photography. The castle’s ancient walls and rich history provided a stunning backdrop for capturing moments that feel timeless. With every click of the shutter, I was reminded of the magic of film photography—the anticipation, the artistry, and the satisfaction of seeing the world through a vintage lens. As I descended from the battlements, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the simple joy of capturing life on film, in a place where history and modernity blend seamlessly. Until next time, keep exploring and shooting. There’s always more to discover.