Same diagnosis as Part 1, same prescription. The opening four paragraphs are genuinely good — terse, cinematic, the rhythm earns its keep. “The sunlight was gone. The fluorescents were on. The break was over.” — that’s a real sentence. Then the Roman numerals arrive and flatten everything into a report again. “What I’d Do Differently” is still there. The sign-off prompts are still there.
The three-column table is worth keeping — it’s doing more work here because there are now three films to compare across the whole weekend. That earns its place.
Here’s the rewrite:
Part 2: The Work — Rehearsing a Double Violin Concerto on HP5+ 1600
The lunch break ended. Tables were folded. Containers packed. The last crumbs brushed away.
And then they arrived.
Two Chinese violin soloists — guest artists who’d travelled some distance to play a double violin concerto with our little orchestra in a French community centre. They weren’t at lunch. They weren’t part of that casual, sunlit gathering outside. They were here for work.
So were we.
I put down the Fomapan and loaded HP5+ pushed to 1600. Swapped the Pentax for the Canon AE-1 Program. Same 50mm philosophy, different camera, different film, different mood. The sunlight was gone. The fluorescents were on. The break was over.
You can feel it when rehearsal starts — the shift from community to concentration. From chatting about weekends to counting measures. The conductor, same man who was smiling over a food container an hour ago, is now at the whiteboard, baton in hand, writing notes about tempo and bowing. The soloists take their places at the front. Tuning. Focused. Not quite part of our tribe yet — guests, professionals, here to do a job.
I photographed from my seat in the horn section and from the aisles during breaks. The AE-1 Program in Program mode — no thinking about shutter or aperture, just framing and timing. The camera handled exposure. I handled seeing.
What you witness, photographing a concerto rehearsal, is translation. Not just musical ideas passing between conductor and players, but something more specific: two soloists from one tradition finding a shared language with an orchestra from another. The conductor stops us. Softer in the strings. The soloists adjust. He stops again. A touch more projection. They adjust. We play. He listens. He stops. This goes on. Not because anyone is wrong, but because everyone is finding the same musical space.
HP5+ at 1600 sits in the right place for this. Not the fine, almost invisible grain of the Fomapan lunch shots. Not the raw, declared grain of 3200. Textural, controlled, appropriate — honest about the work without dramatising it.
The three-roll arc of the weekend, laid out:
Fomapan 100 — Lunch
HP5+ 1600 — Concerto
HP5+ 3200 — General
Light
Natural daylight
Mixed indoor fluorescents
Mixed indoor fluorescents
Grain
Fine, subtle, clean
Textural, present, controlled
Pronounced, bold, raw
Contrast
Gentle, even
Moderate, balanced
Punchy, dramatic
Mood
Relaxed, communal
Focused, collaborative
Urgent, iterative
Story
Community at rest
Collaboration at work
The machine in flow
Same orchestra. Same weekend. Three worlds — and the technical choices were the point from the start.
From my seat in the horns I see the whole machine differently than an outsider would. I know which passages are coming. I know which sections are struggling. I know the rhythm of this room. But through the viewfinder I see something else — the strings moving in that eerie synchronised way, the brass gleaming under the fluorescents, Viktor on oboe, Nicolas patient behind the timpani, Corentin next to me absorbed in something difficult, glasses slipping, completely gone.
The small details tell it too. A French horn resting in its case between takes. Coffee cups on the floor near the woodwinds. Sheet music thick with pencil marks. These are the million small adjustments that add up to a rehearsal — and eventually, if everything goes right, to music.
Saturday was the concerto. The focused, collaborative work. Sunday would be the rest of the programme — no soloists, just the orchestra and the conductor and whatever needed fixing. The grind. The iteration.
Part 3 is coming.
Shot on Canon AE-1 Program, 50mm f/1.8, HP5+ pushed to 1600. Edited in Lightroom — contrast via tone curve, subtle vignettes, nothing added that wasn’t already there.+ 3200—is coming next. The grain gets heavier, the light gets harsher, and the work gets real.
Let’s be honest: orchestras run on two things. Music and food.
Most documentation skips the food. Concert halls, polished instruments, formal attire — that’s what ends up in the frame. But before any of that, there’s a lunch break in a car park outside a community centre, and that’s where I wanted to start.
I’m the fourth horn in the Symphonique des bords de Loire. Which means I’m also inside the story, not observing it from a safe distance. I know these people. I count rests next to Corentin, our first horn. I watch Victor — oboe, cor anglais, and the man who quietly keeps the whole enterprise running — arrive with a tote bag full of provisions. I see the conductor holding a food container and chatting, no baton, no authority, just a man at lunch with his colleagues.
That’s what I wanted to photograph.
I loaded the Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 and spent the break outside. Aperture priority, natural light, film at box speed. No pushing, no games. The choice was deliberate — I knew I’d be shooting the rehearsal indoors on HP5+ pushed to 1600 and 3200. Those would be grainy, urgent, intense. This needed to feel different. Calmer. The breath before the dive.
The difference, when you put the two rolls side by side, is striking:
Fomapan 100 — Lunch
HP5+ 1600 — Rehearsal
Light
Natural daylight
Mixed indoor fluorescents
Grain
Fine, subtle, clean
Textural, present, moody
Contrast
Gentle, even
Punchy, dramatic
Mood
Relaxed, communal
Focused, intense
Story
Community at rest
Collaboration at work
Same orchestra. Same day. Different worlds — and that contrast was the point from the start.
Fomapan 100 in good daylight gives you an honesty about the light that suits candid work. The faces, the bread, the containers of salad, the glass bottle catching the sun — none of it is staged, and the film doesn’t try to make it anything other than what it is.
The two Chinese violin soloists — the guest artists who’d be the focus of the afternoon — weren’t there for lunch. They’d arrive later, after the tables were packed away. For now it was just us: teachers, retirees, students, professionals, amateurs. All ages. The usual mix. Gathered outside a community centre with a faded sign, sharing food before three hours of work.
This isn’t a fancy conservatory. It never was. That’s rather the point.
After lunch, the tables come down. The last conversations finish. Someone rinses a container. And then, quietly, the same people who were just eating become musicians again. The conductor picks up his baton. Viktor picks up his oboe. Corentin finds his pitch. I put down my camera, pick up my horn, and count rests.
The soloists arrive. The work begins.
That’s Part 2.
Shot on Pentax ME Super, 50mm f/1.7, Fomapan 100 at box speed. Developed in Ilfosol 3. Edited in Lightroom
I’m a bloody fool. I made the stupidest of mistakes when shooting HP5 Plus 400 speed film at ISO 100.
I’d been intending to use 100 ASA film in my Nikon FE, so in preparation, I had set my camera’s ISO dial to 100. I loaded the HP5 and forgot to change this blasted setting. By the time I realised, I had already taken “some” photos. I didn’t want to wind the film on to change the setting because the sun was shining and I didn’t want to waste the light.
In for a penny, in for a pound. I thought, “What the heck?” They say you have all this “latitude” with film, so I went online to find out if I could salvage the roll. Here we go for a walk in the Parc Garenne Lemot in Clisson.
I developed the film in Ilfosil 3 (1:9) and used the development times for Kentmere 100, praying that I would have something usable…
THE STATUE – Front view of classical statue on pedestal – This shot demonstrates the beautiful tonal range achieved through pull processing
The Theory: Pulling Two Stops
For those who aren’t deep in the film weeds, here is what I actually did. By setting my camera to 100 ISO while using 400 speed film, I was overexposing by two stops.
Now, common wisdom says that pulling HP5 to 200 ASA (one stop) is perfectly fine. But I thought I was pushing my luck pulling it two stops to 100 ASA. I thought I was taking the mickey with the film gods.
By giving it extra light and less development (pull processing), I was essentially asking the film to reduce contrast and grain significantly. I was testing just how much abuse it could take before the negatives turned into flat, grey mush.
I didn’t develop it for standard HP5 400 times. I treated the whole roll as if it were 100 ISO film from start to finish.
The Results
When I scanned the negatives, I was genuinely surprised. The negatives were dense, but not unmanageable. The scanner handled them well. Here is what the process actually looked like in practice.
1. Rich Shadow Detail
The first thing you notice is the lack of “muddy” shadows. Usually, HP5 can get a bit grainy in the dark areas. Here, the shadows under the pergola and the fence are deep, but they still hold detail.
FENCE WITH LONG SHADOWS – Diagonal shadows cast across gravel path – Notice how the deep shadows still retain texture and detail in the gravel
2. Texture and Grain
This is the real winner for me. Look at the texture on the wood in these shots. Because I gave the film extra light and reduced the development, the grain structure is much finer than usual. It looks almost like a slower film (like Delta 100) in the mid-tones.
WEATHERED WOODEN POST – Close-up showing wood grain and texture – The fine grain structure is clearly visible in the wood texture
3. Highlight Control
I was worried the bright spring sun would blow out the sky. Looking at these branches against the sky, you can see a beautiful grey gradient rather than a blown-out white. The reduced development time really helped keep those highlights in check, even with the two-stop overexposure.
BARE TREE BRANCHES AGAINST SKY – Intricate branch pattern with grey sky – This is the proof – the sky retains beautiful tonal gradation despite overexposure
4. Tonal Range
From the white marble of the statues to the dark foliage, the tonal separation is superb. The process gave me a creamy, classical look that I might not have achieved at box speed.
ORNATE URN WITH STATUE IN BACKGROUND – Layered composition – Foreground and background detail with smooth tonal transitions CLASSICAL COLONNADE – Stone pillars with cloudy sky – Weathered stone texture and cloud detail demonstrate the technique’s versatility
The Verdict
So, was this a disaster? Absolutely not.
In fact, I was pleasantly surprised. Because I gave the film so much light and reduced the development, the shadow detail is incredibly rich and the highlights are held back. There is virtually no grain in the dark areas. The contrast is lower than standard HP5, which gives it a very smooth, almost medium-format look.
Ornate scrollwork detail – Razor-sharp detail and micro-contrast prove no sharpness was lost
It turns out, what I thought was a stupid mistake is actually a technique some photographers use on purpose! Pull processing HP5 (rating it at 100 or 200 ISO and developing accordingly) is known to produce finer grain and lower contrast. I thought I was pushing my luck going two stops, but the film handled it like a champion.
Would I Do It Again?
Would I deliberately shoot HP5 400 at 100 ASA again? No, probably not. If I want 100 ASA film, I’ll just use 100 ASA film. It’s cheaper and more straightforward.
But it’s damned good to know that at a push (sorry, pull), it could work. If you’re ever in a situation where you’ve loaded the wrong film, or you’re caught out by changing light conditions, HP5 Plus can take the abuse.
Have you ever accidentally shot film at the wrong ISO? Did you save the roll or bin it? Let me know in the comments below.
Continuing on from my last article about shooting in sub-par lighting, I’ll introduce my next roll of film—RPX 400 from Rollei. I usually like this film. This roll also marked the first time I really tried to use the Tone Curve tool in Lightroom. I’m still getting used to it. But I thought that with RPX 400, I might be able to make some ordinary prints somewhat less ordinary.
After forty years of doing this, you’d think I’d have it all figured out. You’d think I’d have a fixed workflow, a set of rules, a way of knowing exactly what the result will be. But this roll reminded me otherwise. There’s always something new to learn, or something old to look at differently. And I’ve started to wonder if there’s something honest in admitting that, rather than pretending the process is ever truly finished.
Pont Caffino on a February afternoon is exactly that kind of place. I’d never visited before, though I’d heard about it from other photographers. The sky was uniform. The light was flat. Nothing was going to jump out and grab me. So I loaded the Rollei, walked down to the river, and started looking.
The River
The water level was low—noticeably so. I knew this because not long before, I’d been at the Maine in St Hilaire de Loulay where the river had broken its banks completely. You couldn’t even see the weir there, just water spreading across the landscape. Here at Pont Caffino, the opposite was true. More of the granite banks showed through. More of the weir structure was exposed. The river looked different, and I found myself photographing it differently.
River surface with bridge in distance
When the light is flat, water becomes less about reflection and more about texture. You notice the foam patterns, the subtle ripples, the way debris catches on submerged rocks. RPX 400 handled this beautifully—there’s a softness to the water that feels accurate to how it looked that day, not how I wished it looked.
Water Level Gauges
The gauges became an unexpected focal point. They’re functional objects, not particularly beautiful on their own, but they tell the story of this place better than any dramatic landscape could. The reflection of the numbers in the still water added a compositional echo I didn’t plan but gladly kept.
Weir Structure
Where the water quickened over the weir, I had to be careful with exposure. Film handles highlights more forgivingly than digital, but I still metered conservatively. The fallen branch caught my eye—it’s the kind of detail you miss when you’re looking for the big shot, but it adds a diagonal line that pulls the frame together.
On editing the water: The challenge here was separation. When both sky and water are grey, they tend to merge into one another. I used subtle dodging to lift the highlights on the water’s surface, just enough to ensure the reflections didn’t disappear. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to guide the eye.
The Cliff Face
The granite cliffs that frame the Maine valley are dramatic even in bad light. They’re also popular with climbers, which adds a human element I hadn’t planned to capture but couldn’t ignore.
Climber on Granite Close-up
I haven’t shot rock faces like these on HP5+ before. The nearest I got to that was shooting in the Pyrenees mountains—different stone, different light, different everything. So I didn’t have a direct comparison to fall back on. What I noticed with RPX 400 is how it renders texture without aggression. Every crack and lichen patch comes through, but without the bite that HP5+ might have given. For this particular day, that suited the mood better.
Climbing Scene Wider
Seeing the climber and belayer together reminded me that landscapes aren’t empty. They’re used. They’re lived in. The rope creates a diagonal line through the frame, and suddenly there’s narrative—someone is trusting someone else, and both are trusting the rock.
On editing the cliffs: This is where dodging and burning did the most work. Flat light makes rock faces look two-dimensional, like cardboard cutouts. I spent time burning in the crevices and dodging the raised surfaces, essentially repainting the light that wasn’t there when I pressed the shutter. It’s not about creating drama that didn’t exist. It’s about revealing the dimension that the light flattened.
Details
I’ve learned to slow down on days like this. When the big vistas aren’t cooperating, the small things start to speak.
Catkins/Branches
The catkins hanging from bare branches aren’t dramatic. They’re not even particularly interesting as a subject. But they caught the light in a way that felt worth capturing. The shallow depth of field creates a dreamy quality, and the grain—more noticeable here than in the landscapes—adds character rather than detracting from it.
Water Edge Vegetation
Mechanical Detail
The mechanical detail—the lock gate mechanism, I think—was almost accidental. I was walking back from the viewpoint and noticed the bolts, the geared rack, the weathered metal. It’s the industrial counterpoint to all the natural elements. Sometimes you just stop and shoot because something looks like it has a story.
On editing the details: I was careful not to over-sharpen these. The natural grain of RPX 400 provided enough texture without needing digital enhancement. If anything, I pulled back on clarity rather than adding it. These images work because they’re soft, not in spite of it.
The Town & Viewing Platform
For the full perspective, I drove up to Château-Thébaud’s belvedere, “Le Porte-Vue.” It’s a striking piece of architecture—Corten steel extending 23 meters out at 45 meters above the river, designed by Emmanuel Ritz and inaugurated in 2020.
Walkway to Viewpoint
Walking out onto the platform, you feel the height. The steel underfoot, the railing at your side, the valley opening up below. There’s a figure in this shot—could be another photographer, could be anyone taking in the view. It adds scale and reminds you that you’re not alone in these places.
Le Porte-Vue Architecture
Framed View Through Steel
The Corten steel handled the flat light better than I expected. The weathered texture gave the film something to hold onto, and the geometric lines contrast nicely with the organic landscape beyond. The framed view through the steel structure became one of my favourite shots—it acknowledges that you’re looking from somewhere, not just capturing a scene.
River Valley Overview
This is the establishing shot. The full Maine valley from above, all the elements visible at once. You can see the weir, the cliffs, the tree line. After seeing the Maine at St Hilaire de Loulay with water everywhere, this view felt almost spare. The lower levels exposed more of the structure than I’d imagined possible. It’s the image that ties everything together.
Church Steeple
Village Street
The village itself grounds the landscape. The church steeple adds a human landmark to the valley. The quiet street with its leading lines and the number “28” on the wall—these are accidental details that add authenticity. This isn’t a pristine wilderness. It’s a place where people live.
On editing the architecture: I focused on straightening lines and ensuring the steel texture didn’t look too smooth. The flat sky was retained intentionally. I could have blown it out or added artificial clouds, but that would have been dishonest. This is the light I had. This is the day I experienced.
On Making It Less Ordinary
Looking down at the river from Le Porte-Vue, I thought about what I was actually trying to do.
This was my first time at Pont Caffino, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. RPX 400 felt right for this quieter, more exposed version of the valley. But the film alone wasn’t enough. The scans came back flat—accurate, but lacking the dimension I remembered from being there. That’s where the work began.
In Lightroom, I used the Tone Curve to add a gentle S-shape, nothing aggressive. Just enough to add punch without crushing the blacks. I lifted the deepest shadows slightly to preserve the atmosphere. And then I spent time dodging and burning—manually painting light into the highlights of wet granite, holding back exposure in the shadows of riverbanks, guiding the viewer’s eye through texture and tone.
I’ve only started using the Tone Curve with this roll of film. I’m still getting used to it. But I’ve found it offers basic yet subtle controls, as does the dodging and burning. It’s easy to feel like this is cheating. Like you’re admitting the photograph wasn’t good enough straight from the scan. But I’ve started to think of it differently. Dodging and burning isn’t about fixing mistakes. It’s about translation. It’s about taking what you saw and felt and finding a way to communicate that to someone who wasn’t there.
There’s a danger in thinking you know everything. Usually, that’s when you stop seeing. When you assume the light will behave, or the film will respond the way it did last time, you miss what’s actually in front of you. I’d rather be the one still figuring out the Tone Curve after forty years than the one who thinks there’s nothing left to learn.
The result isn’t dramatic. It’s not the kind of image that stops you scrolling. But it felt honest—a quiet enhancement rather than a transformation. And on a grey February day at Pont Caffino, that’s exactly what I was after.
Technical Note
Film
Rollei RPX 400
ISO
Shot at 400
Camera
Nikon FE
Lens
50mm f/1.8 Nikkor
Development
Ilfosil 3 (1:9)
Scanning
Plustek OpticFilm 8100
Lightroom Adjustments:
Tone Curve: Gentle S-curve, highlights lifted slightly, shadows preserved (First serious use of this tool for me)
Local Adjustments: Radial filters for dodging/burning on rock textures and water surfaces
Grain: No reduction applied
Sharpening: Minimal, applied selectively on details
Thanks for reading. If you’ve shot RPX 400 in similar conditions, I’d love to hear how you approached it.
In a world that often feels unmoored, I’ve found grounding in the simple act of making and sharing photographs. I’m pleased to share that IJM Photography is now officially a registered micro-entreprise in France—a quiet but meaningful step forward.
Next month, I’ll be launching a small, carefully curated collection of print-on-demand photographs, drawn from images I’ve shared here over the years. To begin, I’m offering six 8×10 inch prints—some in rich colour, others in classic black and white—each printed on museum-grade archival paper and ready framed.
These are more than pictures. They’re fragments of light, memory, and place—moments I’ve carried with me, now offered to you.
I hope one of my images finds a home with you.
While the print collection launches next month, if you’d like to support IJM Photography today, donations of any amount are warmly welcomed.
Welcome to this strange new world—where nations are treated like commodities, and young people stay silent whenever they don’t feel concerned.
I’m not talking about the clusterfuck that is Trump’s lingering shadow over Venezuela, or the absurd spectacle of U.S. leaders eyeing Greenland like real estate. Nor am I pointing fingers at the eerie quiet from European students and campuses while protests rage in Iran.
Maybe I’m not saying the world is going to hell.
But let’s call a spade a spade: something vital has gone missing.
Any sense of decency—gone.
And what a good job I’m not depressed.
Oh wait.
Shit.
I think back to a year ago—to the China tour—and how I still smell it on my skin. Not literally, maybe. But in the way my pantry fills with new ingredients, in the way I stir-fry now without measuring, just feeling. And the sauces I make…
Google Photos keeps nudging me: “1 year ago today.”
And just like that—I’m back there.
A before and after.
Definitely.
I see the same friends at rehearsals and revel in the memories we made.
I also look to the future. This sick leave has given me space to rest—and I feel the energy slowly returning to this body of mine.
On New Year’s Eve, my son did some “daddy-sitting” for me. I shared the evening with his friends—and for once, I didn’t feel like the spare tire, or a discarded condom in a student halls of a residence.
I felt… present.
The beard is gone, and of course my daughter hates it. At least she didn’t cry this time, like when she was two.
I’ve actually gone out and shot some film: a roll I started during summer holidays and finished in Montaigu, and another I exposed in the cathedral in Nantes over Christmas.
The first photos I’ve taken indoors since the fire.
I’m getting there.
Trying to be present in this new crazy world—where our leaders are anything but leaders, and older ways of doing things seem to be shifting beneath our feet.
I don’t know where we’re going.
But we certainly seem to be on our way…
Come along if you like. I’ll keep the window cracked — just enough to let the light in.
IJM Photography 