Category: Nantes Photography

On Est Bien Là: Back at the Jardin Extraordinaire

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I said I’d come back with the Kodak Ultramax 400. Instead I’m here with a Canon EOS 500 and a roll of AGFA APX 100. These things happen. This was the second time. Time to come back after my first visit.

It’s a warm Sunday in April and the Jardin is busy. Free to enter, free to stay; and people do. Blue sky, green everywhere, the sound of the waterfall carrying up from below. Two mothers nearby are talking about their children and about wishing they had more time to themselves. A group is eating at a table. Kids are in the sun. People are stretched out on the lawns.

I think: how lucky I am to have this time off. I mean it.

I find a spot at the rock climbing end of the park. There are people with helmets: cycling or climbing, I genuinely can’t tell from here. A little girl tugs at her mother’s arm: “Aller Maman, on va ailleurs?” She wants the paddling pool. They move on. Three friends arrive and settle at the table beside me, look around at the afternoon, and one of them says it out loud: “Ok est bien hein.” “Oui.” I agree, though nobody asked me.

I’m back in this spot with the Canon EOS 500. Last time it was the Nikon FE and Ilford Pan 100: a morning visit, birdsong, quieter. The EOS 500 is a different kind of company. It’s light, unobtrusive, asks very little of you; autofocus, auto-exposure, just gets on with it. For someone who’s spent years with a digital body, it eases you in rather than throwing you in at the deep end. You still get the 36 frames, the awareness of what each one costs, the not-knowing-until-the-scans-arrive. But you’re not also wrestling with a new instrument at the same time. It’s a gentle way back into film. I liked it.

The difference today is the 24–70mm, which I’m working through properly: 24, 35, 50, 70, and trying the macro too. It changes how you read the place; you reach into corners of the scene you’d otherwise just glance past. I’ve gone through the roll much faster than expected. The zoom will do that. The AGFA APX 100 has taken it all in its stride: fine grain, happy in the light, doing exactly what a slow film should do on a day like this.

Despite the sound of children somewhere behind me, it’s the 20-somethings who dominate this end of the park: sunbathing, climbing, sitting on the old quarry rock. It’s not disturbing. If anything it’s rather nice. At the base of the face, one of the climbers looks up at the crowd gathered above and says to nobody in particular: “Ya du monde hein!” There is. I got a photograph of one of them mid-climb. Somewhere behind me, for the second time: “On est bien là!”

I wonder what they make of me. Do they know I’m a foreigner? Or am I just a rotund gentleman with a white beard and a panama hat, keeping himself to himself in the sun with an old camera?

Isn’t it just nice to be out in it.

A robin lands near my foot, thinks better of it, and disappears into the bushes. He must have been spooked. I stayed a while longer.

Nice Sunday afternoon in Nantes. Free entry.

All photographs shot on AGFA APX 100, Canon EOS 500, 24–70mm. Developed [to complete], scanned on the Opticfilm 8100. Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes. April 2026.

P.S. The Ultramax 400 is still in the fridge. Its turn will come.

P.P.S. As a little bonus for you, I started a new roll and walked away with a few more shots….

Also in this series: Birdsong in Black & White — A Morning at the Jardin Extraordinaire

YOU CAN’T BUY HAPPINESS, BUT…

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, Nantes Photography, Reportage, Street Photography, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , 8 Comments

What Nantes teaches me about the good life

“ON NE PEUT PAS ACHETER LE BONHEUR MAIS ON PEUT ACHETER DU BON VIN.”

You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy good wine.

I found this handwritten on a Nantes café window, and it stopped me cold. Not because it was profound, but because it was honest. The French don’t promise happiness — they promise pleasure. And they’ve built entire cities around this philosophy.

I walked through Nantes for days with my camera, trying to understand what makes a city not just beautiful, but livable. What I found changed how I think about urban life.

The lampposts told me everything. Not mere functional poles, but sculptural objects — twisted metal trees with globed lights, as if someone asked: why shouldn’t street furniture be art?

This question was everywhere. In the Passage Pommeraye, a 19th-century shopping arcade where statues line ornate balconies and natural light floods through glass ceilings. In the Théâtre Graslin, where neoclassical columns frame a cultural temple that feels both monumental and welcoming.

Nantes treats beauty as infrastructure, not luxury. The city is meticulously designed but never precious. Historical preservation and contemporary life coexist without tension. Beauty isn’t gated—it’s in the streets, the squares, the passages. This is democracy in action: the insistence that everyone deserves to walk through beauty every day.

They sat on a bench in Cours Cambronne, an elderly couple, backs to my camera, watching life unfold behind an iron fence. They weren’t waiting for anything. They were simply being, in a city that had built space for exactly this: the luxury of unhurried presence.

Later, inside the Passage Pommeraye, a solitary figure sat in a bistro chair surrounded by statues and columns, resting or reading or just thinking. Alone, but not lonely. Present in beauty on their own terms.

Great cities understand something crucial: urban life isn’t just about community. It’s about choice. You can be alone in public without isolation. You can observe without participating. You can rest without justification. Nantes accommodates both connection and contemplation, and this is dignity — the freedom to exist in public space however you choose.

The espresso cup sat empty on its saucer, the last drops evaporating. Someone had been here, recently. They’d had their small pleasure — five minutes of warmth and caffeine and pause. Now they were gone, and the cup remained: evidence that happiness might be unbuyable, but this — a good coffee, a moment of rest — was accessible to anyone with a few euros and the willingness to sit down.

This is the real philosophy of Nantes: you don’t need to be happy all the time. You need access to small, reliable joys. Good coffee. Good food. Good company, or good solitude. A beautiful square to sit in. A tram to carry you home. A bicycle locked to a post, waiting for your return.

This is the real philosophy of Nantes: you don’t need to be happy all the time. You need access to small, reliable joys. Good coffee. Good food. Good company, or good solitude. A beautiful square to sit in. A tram to carry you home. A bicycle locked to a post, waiting for your return.

The French understand: happiness is abstract and permanent, a state you chase. Pleasure is concrete and temporary, a moment you inhabit. One is exhausting to pursue. The other is sustainable to practice.

The bicycle stood locked to its post, basket empty, front wheel aligned with the cobblestones. It wasn’t going anywhere right now. It was simply there, part of the city’s quiet infrastructure of possibility. When its owner returned, it would carry them somewhere — work, home, a café, a friend. For now, it waited. Like the empty chairs on terraces, like the benches in squares, like the trams at their platforms.

Nantes has built a city that waits for you, that makes room for you, that offers small pleasures without demanding grand happiness. You can’t buy joy, it seems to say. But you can buy a good espresso, and sit down, and see what happens next.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

Here is the full lot of photos taken at the begining of March on HP5 (box speed) and 4 photos on Rollei RPX 400, all shot with the Nikon FE, and developed in Ilfosil3 1:9. For me they represent different aspects of Nantes – Bouffay, Place Graslin, la place Cambronne, la rue Crébillon, le passage Pommeraye, et la rue de la Paix.

Black and white photograph of an empty café interior in Nantes, leather banquette seating in the foreground, a single espresso cup on a table visible through the window beyond.
Black and white photograph of a crowded café terrace in Nantes with people seated at bistro chairs in bright winter sun, a tram passing in the background.
lack and white street photograph of Rue Crébillon in Nantes, pedestrians casting long shadows across the wide pavement in low winter light, Haussmann-style buildings receding into the distance.
Black and white photograph of a busy café terrace in Nantes, a woman in a white coat reading at a table in the foreground, the square and shops visible behind.
Black and white photograph of people sitting on the steps of the Théâtre Graslin in Nantes, one person feeding a pigeon, the ornate lamppost and neoclassical columns framing the scene.
Black and white photograph of people playing in the open space of Cours Cambronne in Nantes, a statue visible in the middle distance, bare winter trees and Haussmann buildings lining the square.
Black and white photograph of two people standing together in a Nantes square, bare pollarded trees behind them, Haussmann buildings in the background.
Black and white photograph of two elderly people with white hair seen from behind, seated together on a park bench in Cours Cambronne, Nantes, an ornate iron fence and figures beyond.v
Black and white photograph of heavy iron gates in Nantes, several people visible through the bars, a grand white building with tall windows in the background.
Black and white photograph looking up at one of the distinctive ornate metal tree-form lampposts of Place Graslin in Nantes, twisted branches and globe lights against an overcast sky.
Black and white photograph of the neoclassical façade of the Théâtre Graslin in Nantes framed by shrubs, a lone figure walking across the square in front of the Corinthian columns.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes café window with the handwritten French phrase "On ne peut pas acheter le bonheur mais on peut acheter du bon vin" — you can't buy happiness but you can buy good wine.
Black and white photograph of an empty café terrace on a Nantes street, bistro chairs and tables in the foreground, string lights above, pedestrians and shop fronts beyond.
Black and white photograph of two women seated at an outdoor café table on a narrow Nantes street, a sushi restaurant sign and pedestrians visible further down the lane.
Black and white photograph looking down through the ornate multi-level interior of the Passage Pommeraye in Nantes, classical statues lining the balconies, shoppers on the ground floor below.
Black and white photograph of a solitary person seated in a bistro chair on an upper level of the Passage Pommeraye in Nantes, classical columns and statues behind them, empty chairs around.
Black and white photograph of a narrow street in the Bouffay quarter of Nantes, a waiter arranging chairs outside a bar with a Guinness sign, a solitary figure walking through the middle distance.
Black and white photograph of a narrow street in the Bouffay quarter of Nantes, a waiter arranging chairs outside a bar with a Guinness sign, a solitary figure walking through the middle distance.
Black and white photograph of a large crowded café terrace on Place da Bouffay in Nantes, young people at tables in the foreground, a statue and city buildings behind, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes tram on a cobbled boulevard lined with bare plane trees, tram lines converging in the foreground, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes tram on line 1 to François Mitterrand arriving at the Bouffay stop, passengers on the platform, a second tram alongside, bare plane trees above.
Close-up black and white photograph of a near-empty Cafés Richard espresso cup on a saucer and tray on a café table in Nantes, a blurred figure in the background, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a row of Martin Hot Sauce bottles displayed on a wooden shelf in a Nantes shop, each with a different illustrated label, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a bicycle with a front basket locked to a post on a Nantes pavement, front wheel facing the street, shot on Rollei RPX 400.

Birdsong in Black & White: A Morning at the Jardin Extraordinaire

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Birdsong in Black & White: A Morning at the Jardin Extraordinaire

I’d never been to the Jardin Extraordinaire before. And I’d never shot Ilford Pan 100.

Honestly? I wasn’t sure what to expect from either.

What I found was a place that felt alive — birds everywhere, water cascading down massive rock faces, people just being there. Reading on rocks. Walking along paths. Letting kids splash in the shallow pools. And if you look closely at a few of the wider shots, you’ll spot the Grue Titan across the Loire at the Hangar à bananes. It’s not in the garden, but it’s in the photographs. I like that. A small nod to the bigger story of this city.

The Jardin Extraordinaire is built on an old granite quarry in the Prairie au Duc. You can still see the rock faces where they cut into the hillside, metal walkways clinging to the stone, plants reclaiming what machines once carved out. And that waterfall — 35 metres of water pouring down the old quarry walls. Dramatic and peaceful at once, if that makes any sense.

What I didn’t fully register while I was shooting is how the garden fits into Nantes’ wider landscape of transformation. The Hangar à bananes, the Machines de l’Île, the whole Île de Nantes redevelopment — they’re all part of the same conversation about what to do with industrial space. The garden is the quiet, green chapter. The crane across the water is the bold industrial punctuation. When I got the scans back and saw the Grue Titan peering into a few frames, that clicked.

Full disclosure: I was the older gentleman in the Panama hat, moving slowly around the paths with a cane and an analogue camera. Taking my time. Stopping to frame things. Not in any hurry.

I watched the Nantais doing their thing while I did mine. A parent reading on a rock while children scrambled nearby. Couples strolling. And me, clicking through 36 frames like I had all the time in the world. Which I did. That was rather the point.

I did spot one other photographer — shooting with a very modern, very impressive DSLR. And I had to consciously stop myself from slipping into smug film photographer mode. Oh, you’re chimping your screen? How… digital. I held it together. Mostly. The honest answer is we were both just doing the same thing with different tools, and there’s room for all of it.

As for the Pan 100 — I’d heard it was contrasty, fine-grained, sharp. What I didn’t expect was how well it would suit this particular place. The Jardin Extraordinaire is all about contrasts: dark rock against bright sky, rough stone against smooth water, industrial metal against wild greenery. Pan 100 didn’t fight any of that. It leaned into it. I shot mostly between f/5.6 and f/16, trusted the FE’s meter, and when the scans came back I was — pleased? Surprised? Both. The images feel like the day felt.

My favourite shots aren’t the big dramatic ones. They’re the clusters of berries photographed close enough to see their star patterns, the metal butterfly on a gate, a single log on the path casting a long shadow. The things you almost miss when you’re moving too fast. With 36 frames and a roll that costs money, you look. You wait. You notice things. And then those become the photographs you actually care about.

I developed it at home, as always — Ilfosol 3 at 1:9, scanned on the Opticfilm 8100. No lab, no outsourcing. Just chemicals and patience. The smell of the developer, the little thrill of seeing what’s on the film. It’s all part of the same story.

I’ve got some Kodak Ultramax 400 in the fridge. Expired 2022. No idea what it’ll do. I think I’ll take it back to the Jardin and find out.

All photographs shot on Ilford Pan 100, Nikon FE. Home developed in Ilfosol 3 (1:9), scanned on an Opticfilm 8100. Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes. The Grue Titan at the Hangar à bananes appears across the river, uninvited and welcome.

P.S. If you’ve been to the Jardin Extraordinaire, shot Pan 100, or you just love Nantes — drop a comment or send a message. Always happy to talk shop.

P.P.S. And if you’re curious about home development or scanning, ask away. Happy to share what’s worked for me.

P.P.P.S. And if you ever spot me at a photo spot with my FE and a Panama hat? Please gently call me out on the film snobbery. I’m working on it.

Also in this series: On Est Bien Là — Back at the Jardin Extraordinaire

Something I’ve Been Working On

Posted on Posted in Film Photography, France, Nantes Photography, Reportage, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , 4 Comments

Hello,

Thank you for being here. If you’re reading this, you’ve been following my work for a while — and that means more to me than I can easily say.

I wanted to share something with you before anyone else.

Over the past months I’ve been quietly building a small print shop — seven photographs that have stayed with me long after the shutter closed. A path in Huizhou. A canal in Shaoxing. A Vespa in the Quartier Bouffay. A tiny wooden shed in Northumberland that stopped me in my tracks.

Each print comes with the story behind it — because a photograph without its story is only half the picture.

If one of them speaks to you — I’d be genuinely honoured to have it on your wall.

Thank you for six years of reading, liking, commenting, and quietly being there.

— Ian ijmphotography.net

You can read the full story behind each print here: https://shop.ijmphotography.net/collections/the-collection

Browse the full Film Archives →

More Light Than We Imagine

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Shooting Nantes at Night with HP5+

One September evening I walked between Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries with the Nikon FE and a roll of HP5+. Box speed—400 ASA. No pushing. No stand development. Just me, tired eyes, and the hope the city would be kind.

It wasn’t always.

Some frames failed outright. Missed focus—my eyes couldn’t lock the split-image patch in the dim light. Others blurred from camera shake at 1/15th, handholding like a fool. I won’t pretend those shots have hidden merit. They’re gone. But the ones that landed? They held more than I expected.

Because Nantes at night isn’t dark. Restaurants pour light onto wet cobbles. Shop signs, streetlamps, even those little menu stands outside cafés—they all feed the scene. I’d guess the focus, press the shutter, and move on. Later, scanning the roll, I found detail in shadows I thought were lost. Not because I’d exposed well—I hadn’t—but because HP5+ gathered what was there even when I fumbled.

That’s latitude in practice. Not a spec sheet promise, but the difference between a usable negative and a blank one when your hands shake and your eyes fail. I didn’t push to 1600. I didn’t need to. I just needed a film that wouldn’t punish me for being human.

The December shots are more traditional street work—grey skies, low sun, the light you expect. Even the coffee cup photo owes something to Instagram. I won’t deny it. We absorb what we see online; it seeps into our framing without us noticing. No shame in that—it’s just how we learn now.

But the September shots that worked feel more like my own. Standing in Place Bouffay as evening deepened, watching light pool around tables and bounce off stone—I wasn’t chasing a look. I was just there, squinting, hoping. And HP5+ met that without fuss.

I’m not claiming mastery. I’m claiming a few good frames out of a roll that also held misses. That feels honest. Cities don’t go dark—they transform. And sometimes, even with bad eyesight and shaky hands, a simple roll of film gives you just enough to keep walking.

All photographs shot on Ilford HP5+ at 400 ASA, developed in standard chemistry. Nikon FE, Nantes—December 2025 and September 2025, Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries.

Waiting for the Light: Reclaiming the Cathedral with Ilford HP5+

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Black and White Photography, Catholic, Film Photography, France, History, Nantes PhotographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I didn’t set foot in the cathedral while Voyage en hiver draped its silence in municipal spectacle. Not out of protest—I simply couldn’t bear to see sacred space turned into a backdrop. So I waited. And when the banners finally came down in December, I loaded a roll of Ilford HP5 into my Nikon FE and walked back in—not as a tourist, not as a patient, but as someone hoping to find the light exactly where I’d left it.

I’ve always abhorred political recuperation. The Voyage en Hiver had no place in the cathedral’s reopening. This was about worship. About returning to God in a space that had been quiet for too long—not about municipal branding or winter tourism. “Give unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and unto God what belongs to God.”  (Matthew 22:21)

That day, I chose God’s silence over their spectacle.

My hands were cold when I raised the camera. December light in a stone cathedral is a quiet thing—more absence than presence. I wondered, honestly, if 400 ASA would be enough. But I wanted authenticity: more grain than digital noise, more truth than polish. So I trusted the FE’s metering, opened up my aperture, and let the film do what it does best. No second-guessing. No LCD screen.  Just the click of the shutter and the hope that the light would hold.

And it did.

The frames that emerged are darker than summer would allow—but this was December, after all. And in that darkness, something gentle remains: the grain cradling the texture of worn wooden pews, shadows tracing the ribs of vaulted stone, candlelight bleeding softly into halos where no banner now hangs. Black and white stripped away every distraction—the logos, the seasonal clutter, the noise—until only what mattered remained: light on stone, silence between pillars, the architecture of reverence.

One frame in particular stays with me: the candles. Shot at 1/30s, my hands unsteady not from illness but from the simple weight of the moment. The focus slipped slightly. The flames blurred into one another. And instead of frustration, I felt a quiet relief—the film hadn’t captured perfection. It had captured presence. Grain became breath. Blur became prayer.

I didn’t go to “get out of the house.” I went because the space was clean again—just stone, silence, and the stubborn glow of candlelight. And for a few minutes, with the FE cold against my palm and the smell of incense in the air, I remembered why I love film photography: it doesn’t lie. It holds what’s there—shadows and all—and asks only that you trust the process.

They sold a spectacle. I took back the light. And the grain—warm, imperfect, alive—proved which one will last.  My small act of reparation…

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…

Browse the full Film Archives →

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.

Browse the full Film Archives →

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.

Browse the full Film Archives →

Fujifilm X-T2 Review (2026): Still Worth Buying?

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The Fujifilm X-T2 is nearly 10 years old — but it’s still a capable, beautiful camera that holds its own against much newer options. Here’s an honest 2026 assessment from a photographer who’s used it alongside film cameras in everyday life, based in Nantes.

My Love Affair with the X100F (and a Cuppa Tea)

It’s no secret to the regular readers of IJM Photography that I have a great fondness, deep affection, nearing on obsession with my Fujifilm X100F. It’s a great little camera that gets me excited whenever I take it out of my camera bag. But, Dear Reader, what does this have to do with the Fujifilm X-T2? Well, they’re both manufactured by Fuji, they both have an “X” in their name, and I have a deep affection for a nice cup of tea. Not the same T? Ah well…

Similarities and Differences: A Tale of Two X’s

I’ll talk about the differences and similarities between the two cameras and why I thought the X-T2 was a useful and complementary acquisition. We’ll look at not just the specs but also the rather similar way both cameras handle.

  • Sensor and Image Quality: Both use the same 24-megapixel sensor with an anti-aliasing filter, and offer an ISO range from 200 to 128000.
  • Screen and Viewfinder: The X100F has a fixed screen, while the X-T2 boasts a tilting one. Both share the same excellent viewfinder.
  • Performance: The X100F shoots at 8 fps while the X-T2 goes up to 14 fps. For video, the X100F is limited to Full HD, while the X-T2 offers 4K and can shoot at 120 fps.
  • Connectivity: Both cameras have built-in wireless capabilities.
  • Weight: The X100F is lighter at 469g, while the X-T2 is slightly heavier at 507g.
The Lens Factor (and Weather Sealing, Too!)

The main difference? The lens. The X100F has a fixed 23mm (35mm equivalent) f/2.0 lens, while the X-T2 can take the entire range of X-mount lenses. Quite a big difference, indeed. The X-T2 also has the added bonus of weather sealing!

Why Buy a 4-Year-Old Camera in 2020?

Because at the time, I could. It was the logical acquisition and complement to my X100F. Did I mention it also uses the same batteries? I still have the same, beloved-by-many film simulations, and while not as numerous as later models, they are more than enough for me!

My first lens purchase was the 16mm (24mm equivalent) f/2.8 Fuji lens, the perfect complement to the 35mm equivalent on the X100F. I later discovered TTArtisan and 7 Artisans, Chinese firms that make affordable manual focus lenses for the X-mount. I now have the 35mm (50mm equivalent) f/1.2 and 58mm (85mm equivalent) f/1.4, and the fish eye 7mm F2.8 lenses from both companies, both costing a fraction of the autofocus Fuji lenses. The only concession I made to Fuji was later purchasing the 18-55mm (24-70mm equivalent) f/2.8 autofocus kit lens.

Value for Money: The X-T2’s Sweet Spot in 2024

The fact that I bought it second-hand was also a contributing factor. Does it have as many megapixels as the more modern X-T5? No. But does it have enough? Yes! Does it have the same specs as the X-T5? No. But does it have enough? Yes. Can you see a pattern developing here?

For the amount of money spent, I think I have enough cameras for my buck. And that is the crux of the argument for acquiring a now 8-year-old camera in 2024. Is it the very best money can buy? No. But if you’re an amateur like myself, you generally don’t need the specs that manufacturers and those nice men in camera shops will try to tell you you need. 24 megapixels is more than enough for printing even 20″ by 30″ (500mm x 760mm) sized images.

I have just looked at mpb.com for you and have found XT2 bodies from 487€ to 729€ depending on the condition. An X-mount lens will cost you anything from 104€ for a 35mm (50mm equivalent) F1.2 from 7 artisans to 279€ to 340€ for the 16mm (24mm equivalent) F2.8 fuji lens. So as you can see, it’s certainly cheaper than buying the latest models…

Conclusion: A Timeless Tool for the Passionate Photographer

In 2024, the Fujifilm X-T2 remains a compelling option for photographers seeking excellent image quality, classic handling, and a wealth of creative possibilities. Its compact size, weather sealing, and extensive lens selection make it a versatile companion for various genres, from street photography to landscapes.

While newer models may boast more advanced features, the X-T2’s enduring appeal lies in its combination of performance, affordability, and the unique charm of Fujifilm’s X-Trans sensor and film simulations. For photographers who prioritise the essentials of image-making and value for money, the X-T2 continues to be a worthy contender in the ever-evolving world of digital cameras.

If you’re looking for a camera that delivers exceptional results without breaking the bank, the used market might just hold the perfect X-T2 for you. And who knows, you might even discover a newfound appreciation for a slightly older camera that still has plenty to offer in 2024 and beyond.

café tables in the street
woman walking near bikes
dog
my daughter
People sitting down eating
tramlines in Nantes
Bike
Sergio
street lights in the Place Graslina
bar de quartier
street crossing in Nanates
building in Nantes
Art School in Nantes
the bird nest
the Île de Nantes
bikes
TGV in Paris Montparnasse
Winged Victory of Samothrace
Winged Victory of Samothrace
The Louvre
the Eiffel Tower
Fujifilm X-T2 mirrorless camera with interchangeable lens
Post Scriptum

This camera is also capable of 4K video. And I’m using it at work for making videos for training new staff. It is certainly lighter than my Canon 6D Mark II, and I seem to be able to obtain a picture style that I like. It doesn’t have in-built image stabilisation. However, I use it on a tripod so that’s not an issue. And if ever I do decide to use the 18-55mm kit lens, I have image stabilisation in the lens.

I’ll see if I can’t find you an excerpt of the latest video…

And here it is…

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?

Browse the full Film Archives →

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

Posted on Posted in Art, Black and White Photography, Film Photography, Nantes Photography, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 10 Comments

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.