Tag: analog photography

La Rabatelière: Month of Our Lady

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Canon AE1 Program | Fomapan 100

If you’ve read the Lourdes articles, you’ll know that I have a particular devotion to Our Lady and to the sites of her apparitions. So when May 1st came around — the first day of the Month of Our Lady — it seemed only right to do something about it.

Out with the Canon AE1 Program, loaded with a roll of Fomapan 100. Destination: La Rabatelière, about twenty minutes from the house, and the Sanctuaire de la Salette.

I said my Rosary in the car on the way over. Stopped off at the Parish Church of Saint-Charles and said an extra decade. Well, it’s the Month of Mary. Start as you mean to go on.

The French say: En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil. Don’t shed a thread of clothing in April. It was May now and 26°c. The Panama hat was already feeling like too much. Shirt sleeves it was.

I’ve been to La Rabatelière before, about twenty years ago, but I hadn’t really taken it in properly. This time I wanted to do it right.

The Parish Church of Saint-Charles is where you begin. It was built in 1633, consecrated the following year on the feast of Saint Charles; that coincidence of date gave the church its name and its patron. A solid, unshowy building — what the heritage plaques call style bas-breton: a massive façade, plain and purposeful. Exactly the kind of church that says: we are here, and we intend to stay.

Except, of course, they tried to burn it down.

On 8 December 1793, during the War of the Vendée, Republican forces put the church to the torch. For those who don’t know the War of the Vendée: it was the uprising of the western provinces against the Revolution, and the Republic’s response was one of the darkest episodes in French history. The colonnes infernales — the Infernal Columns — swept through this region killing civilians, burning farms, destroying everything they found. Here in the Vendée, people carry a devoir de mémoire, a duty of remembrance. They do not forget.

The church was restored in 1802. A century later, Abbé Hillairet enlarged it; he added a transept to give it the shape of a Latin cross.

Then, in 1905, came the Law on the Separation of Church and State. All Church property was to be inventoried by the state. For a lot of French Catholics, this was not a bureaucratic inconvenience. It was another assault. The Revolution had burned the church down. Now the Republic wanted a list of everything inside it.

In February 1906, word went around La Rabatelière that the inspectors were coming. The parishioners didn’t wait. They dragged tree trunks in front of the doors. When the inspectors arrived, they found the church barricaded and the congregation inside with their priest, refusing to move.

It held. For a while.

On 23 November 1906, they came back with axes. The left side door — the one on the north side of the nave — was broken open. You can still see the marks. Deep ones. Not the kind of thing that weathers away or gets sanded smooth. They are still there because nobody has chosen to remove them. La porte des Inventaires. That is what the door has been called ever since. The Inventory Door. Not a nickname that flatters the Republic.

I stood in front of it and thought: a hundred and twenty years, and there are the marks. The Vendée does not forget. It does not perform forgetting either.

Before heading up the hill I walked through the cemetery, which the municipal council reorganised around 1970. Near the entrance sits a small millstone, on display. It was found in a tomb believed to belong to François Suire (1753-1794): a miller, killed by Republican soldiers during the War of the Vendée. Forty-one years old. Nobody famous. No monument beyond this stone. But there it is. Still there.

Near the central cross is the granite tomb of Abbé Elie Hillairet (1840-1908), the parish priest here from 1873 until his death. He is, as we’ll see, the man behind most of what you can still see in this village. It seems fitting that he is buried at the foot of his life’s work.

Then the climb.

The Sanctuaire de la Salette sits on a hillside above the Petite Maine river, and I can confirm: it is a bit hilly. There were signs for the handicapped route but I couldn’t make head nor tail of them. My legs were killing me by the time I reached the top.

For those who are less familiar with the apparitions of Our Lady: La Salette is one of the great Marian apparitions, confirmed by the Church in 1851. On 19 September 1846, on a mountainside near Corps in the French Alps, two young shepherds encountered a weeping woman seated on a stone. Her name: Mélanie Calvat, aged fourteen; and Maximin Giraud, aged eleven. The woman rose and spoke to them: about faith, about the breaking of Sunday rest, about blasphemy, about a people drifting from God. She gave each child a secret. Then she ascended into the light and was gone.

As apparitions go, La Salette has always struck me as a sorrowful one. Our Lady of Lourdes is serene; you see her in her grotto and feel peace. Our Lady of La Salette is weeping. She comes as a mother at the end of her patience, and her message is a warning. But it is still love. Only love would bother.

Hillairet understood this. He was curé here from 1873 to 1908, and he built this sanctuary as an act of deliberate faith during the most aggressively anticlerical period in French history. The Republic was dismantling the Church’s presence everywhere it could reach. Hillairet planted statues on a hillside.

Work began in 1887. Three groups of statues marking the three moments of the apparition were inaugurated the following summer. A Rosary monument came next. The path climbs to a tower: the Triumph of the Cross. At the summit, the Chapel of the Cross of Jerusalem, a square keep in local schist and brick, built in 1893. A Stations of the Cross path added along the hillside in 1902.

Standing up there, looking out over the valley, I thought about the miller buried down in the cemetery. And the axe marks in the church door. And Hillairet up here, building all of this in the teeth of a state that wanted nothing to do with it.

The Vendée has its wounds. It tends them carefully.

I am officially knackered. The Fomapan went through fine. The Panama hat stayed in the bag.

I drove home with the windows down, thinking that May 1st had been rather well spent.

All photographs shot on Fomapan 100, Canon AE1 Program. La Rabatelière, Vendée, May 2026.

Exterior façade of Saint-Charles church La Rabatelière Vendée, Canon AE1 Program Fomapan 100
Granite central cross with graves and tree line behind, La Rabatelière cemetery Vendée, Canon AE1 Program Fomapan 100
Axe-damaged Inventory Door with Merland coat of arms above arch, Saint-Charles church La Rabatelière, Fomapan 100
Chapel of Cross of Jerusalem with O Crux Ave 1893 inscription and turrets, La Rabatelière Vendée, Fomapan 100
Tiered Rosary monument with Our Lady statue atop against dark sky, La Salette sanctuary La Rabatelière, Fomapan 100
Our Lady standing with Mélanie and Maximin behind iron railings, La Salette sanctuary La Rabatelière, Fomapan 100
Triumph of Cross tower upper section with 1889 date, statues on parapet and cross against sky, La Rabatelière, Fomapan 100
Stone steps rising to La Salette sanctuary with Misericorde Priez sign on railing, La Rabatelière, Canon AE1 Program
Worn stone steps with iron railings ascending to La Salette sanctuary chapel behind, La Rabatelière, Canon AE1 Program
La Salette sanctuary complex: tower, chapel and Rosary monument, La Rabatelière
Dappled tree avenue in La Rabatelière cemetery with millstone of François Suire in middle distance, Fomapan 100
Hillside path with stone wall, eroded finial and Stations of the Cross above, La Salette La Rabatelière, Fomapan 100
Triumph of Cross tower from close below, cross at summit and statue on parapet, La Rabatelière Vendée, Canon AE1 Program
Full La Salette sanctuary with tower, ruined chapel arch and Rosary monument against grey sky, La Rabatelière, Fomapan 100
Narrow window slit in alternating schist and brick wall with raking sidelight, La Rabatelière Vendée, Canon AE1 Program
Triumph of Cross tower full height from across the lawn, cross at summit and figures at base, La Rabatelière, Fomapan 100

Half Deaf in the Forêt de Grasla

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The roll started at the Jardin Extraordinaire. It finished here.

I’d loaded the Pentax ME Super with 100 ASA and put on the 50mm f/1.7: a classic pairing, and I wanted that creamy bokeh you get wide open on a prime. The Jardin gave me the first half of the roll. The Forêt de Grasla got the rest.

It’s not far. That was part of the appeal. Staying local, keeping it simple.

The forest is loud in late April. Birdsong, yes; but mostly frogs. Excitable ones. Small things, but what a noise. Good job that I’m half deaf. I found a picnic table, sat down to write, and a wolf spider walked along the wood beside me, not paying any attention whatsoever. I approved of that. The mosquitoes were less indifferent: there was one with designs on me, and I kept my eyes peeled.

I wanted tree shots, and the forest had those. It also had toads, which I hadn’t expected. The latter end of April means the canopy is full, the undergrowth is thick, and everything is moving. In that kind of light, in that kind of density, I dropped the aperture: nothing above f/8.0. Wide open would have been chaos. The forest rewards patience and a stopped-down lens.

There’s a memorial at the edge of the wood: a granite cross, a Madonna behind ironwork, and a bronze plaque to Charette and the parishioners of Grasla massacred for their faith. The Vendée is that kind of place. History sits quietly in the trees.

I still had the Panama on. Still keeping the sun off my head.

All photographs shot on 100 ASA, Pentax ME Super, 50mm f/1.7. Forêt de Grasla, April 2026.

P.S. The frogs were still going when I left.

Black and white film photograph of a straight forest road with dappled tree shadow, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a lake seen through overhanging branches, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of an empty wooden bench beside a lake, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a lake with an overhanging tree branch, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a granite cross with a Madonna figure in an iron-grille niche, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of an ivy-covered tree trunk in the Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a curving sandy track through woodland, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a straight dirt track through forest, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white close-up film photograph of backlit beech leaves with a hanging catkin, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white close-up film photograph of a lichen-covered branch, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a sunlit sapling in a dark forest interior, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a wide forest track receding into the distance, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph looking up through tree branches into the forest canopy, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a family with a pushchair on a forest track in the distance, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a family cycling away along a sunlit forest track, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.

On Est Bien Là: Back at the Jardin Extraordinaire

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, Landscape Photography, Nantes Photography, photography philosophy, UrbanTagged , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

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

Messing about along the river in Clisson

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Black and White Photography, Film Photography, Street Photography, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

Good morning Dear Reader, I have been out with my camera. What a surprise I hear you say. I have been missing my Canon 6D Mark II but wanted to keep using my lovely lenses. Sometimes the 50 is great, but it’s nice to break out the zoom! I have the 24-70mm EF F4 because I’m not forking out the money for the F2.8 version. But I wanted to go with film. So I did! With the Canon EOS 500 and a roll of Agfaphoto APX 400.

I parked next to the river and ended up looking up at the Castle on the hill and thinking, strangely, of a certain Mr Sheeran, but without the teen angst and drinking. I think it looks lovely. To my right was the river and the old bridge and a vantage point to look at the Sèvre Nantaise coming over the weir. I thought about the photos I’d taken in February, as well as all the others taken over the years.

I took a right at the Café des Cordeliers but instead of going along to the Garenne Lemot park, I took a left down a passage to a place I had only looked at but never visited. Today my panama hat would become my explorer’s hat and I would take a closer look. Well what a surprise it was and definitely a butcher’s.

I remember some advice given to me which is the need to turn around and look behind you and see if you’ve missed anything, and have a real look and you might even see something completely different… This time I took that advice and it was more than worth it.

I would have missed the viaduct I’d driven over before, the one that runs from Clisson towards Gétigné, which I might have to look at sometime soon. The river was reflecting light on the arches and I could have finished the roll there and I would have been happy, but I kept a couple of frames “just in case” for the walk back to the car. You never know…

I walked back to the car just looking up and seeing the laundry hanging out.  It looked like canoeing gear that was drying.  Then back across the bridge, and I was happy with the variety the 24-70mm lens gave me.  Less distortion than my 16-35mm but still enough for some variety, especially the Macro feature for the fern spores.  We can have distortion another time.

All in all a very satisfying trip out and not far away, have you seen the price of diesel lately?  Thank you Orange man!

P.S.  If you want to wean yourself off digital and get back to the street cred that comes with film the Canon EOS 500 might just be your gateway drug.  Modern enough for the new EF lenses, but still having the necessary autofocus.  You can go full manual SLR later.  Break yourself in gently…

Black and white street scene in Clisson showing stone buildings, an estate agency, and the ornate Romanesque bell tower of Notre-Dame de Clisson rising behin
Black and white photograph of a stone arch bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, with multi-storey townhouses and the Restaurant de la Vallée visible behind.
Wide black and white view of the stone arch bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, with the town's riverfront buildings stretching across the frame.
Dramatic low-angle black and white photograph looking up at the ruined interior tower of Château de Clisson, stone walls rising steeply against a pale sky.
Black and white photograph of a weathered stone cross on the parapet of a bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, with a mill building and weir visible behind.
Black and white landscape view of the Sèvre Nantaise weir in Clisson, with the converted mill hotel on the left and a chapel visible to the right through bare trees.
Black and white photograph of stone buildings along the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, featuring tall arched windows, a spiral metal staircase, and a terrace above the water.
Black and white photograph of the Café des Cordeliers on a street corner in Clisson, a traditional French café with a painted sign and potted plants outside.
Black and white photograph of a building corner in Clisson with a large painted mural depicting a tropical jungle scene, a figure walking away in the background.
Black and white photograph of tattered fabric bunting or prayer flags strung between posts above garden hedging, with trees silhouetted behind against a bright sky.
Black and white photograph of a narrow dirt path flanked by ivy-covered stone walls, leading toward parked cars and houses in the distance, Clisson.
Close-up black and white macro photograph of fern fronds showing clusters of spore cases on the undersides of the leaves, shot with shallow depth of field.
Black and white photograph of white calla lily flowers growing at the edge of the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, dark water and tree reflections filling the upper frame.
Black and white photograph of the medieval bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise reflected in still water, calla lilies in the foreground, an ivy-covered wall framing the right edge.
Black and white photograph of the stone viaduct near Clisson reflected in the Sèvre Nantaise below, four tall arches rising symmetrically above the still water.
Black and white photograph of a white canoe moored on the Sèvre Nantaise in front of the stone viaduct near Clisson, bare trees framing the upper right.
Abstract black and white photograph looking up through the nested Gothic arches of the Clisson viaduct from directly below, stone masonry receding into darkness.
Low-angle black and white photograph of a single stone pier of the Clisson viaduct rising from the river, one arch visible above, taken from close to the water's edge.
Black and white photograph looking up at the Clisson viaduct from below, bare winter tree branches reaching into the upper left of the frame against a pale sky.
Black and white photograph looking up at the Clisson viaduct from below, bare winter tree branches reaching into the upper left of the frame against a pale sky.
Black and white photograph of cascading white wisteria flowers against a sunlit wall, deep shadows behind, shot on 35mm film in Clisson.
Black and white photograph of ornate wrought iron gates set in weathered stone pillars, a cypress tree and period house visible beyond, Clisson.
Black and white photograph of laundry — possibly canoeing gear — drying on a rack in a stone-framed window recess, dramatic shadow arcs sweeping across the wall on either side.

Capturing Time: A Photographic Journey Through Château de la Preuille

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It was the 20th of March, the first day of spring, and I drove out to Saint-Hilaire-de-Loulay to photograph a château I’d been meaning to photograph again for some time.

Château de la Preuille has been here since the 11th century — through medieval fortress, Renaissance residence, abandonment, and whatever quiet resilience comes after that. Today it’s a living estate: chambres d’hôtes, gîtes, wine workshops, weddings. The people who run it have a motto: “It’s not perfect, it’s paradise.” Spend an afternoon there and you’ll understand why they chose it. The place has character that no amount of renovation could manufacture — it simply accumulated it, over nine centuries.

What they’ve built is worth visiting on its own terms. The accommodations range from rooms in the château itself to the old wine press building sleeping up to ten, to Le Donjon, a tower with its own private wing. The wine workshops — blind tastings, tastings under the stars — are exactly the kind of thing that sounds gimmicky until you’re actually there, on a working estate, surrounded by vines that have been cultivated on this land for generations. It’s thirty minutes from the Puy du Fou and feels like another world entirely.

I made one deliberate technical choice before I left: I pulled the HP5+ from 400 to 200 ASA. One stop of overexposure, finer grain, softer tones. For nine-hundred-year-old stone and dormant vineyards on a still March morning, it felt right. A harder, faster film would have been the wrong conversation.

What I found myself photographing wasn’t the grand architectural gestures — though the round towers with their conical slate roofs reflecting in the moat are there, and they earn their place. It was the details that kept stopping me. Wine bottles glimpsed through a window. The number 5 cast into a piece of rusty agricultural equipment. Ivy claiming the side of a wooden barn. Vine stocks twisted and patient, waiting for warmth. The decay and renewal that a place accumulates when it’s been genuinely lived in rather than merely preserved.

Black and white was the only option. Colour would have placed these images firmly in March 2026. In monochrome, they could be from any point in the château’s long life — and that ambiguity suits the subject. Preuille doesn’t perform its history. It simply has it.

Shot on Nikon FE, Ilford HP5+ pulled to 200 ASA. Home developed in Ilfosol 3 at 1:9, scanned on an Opticfilm 8100. Château de la Preuille, Saint-Hilaire-de-Loulay, Vendée. 20 March 2026. chateau-de-la-preuille.fr

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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 café window in Nantes, and it stopped me. The French don’t really promise happiness, they promise pleasure, and the city seems built around that idea.

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 a lot. Twisted metal trees with globed lights, more sculpture than street furniture.

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 something everyone gets access to, not a luxury reserved for a few. The city is carefully designed but never precious about it, and the old and the new sit together without much fuss.

An elderly couple sat on a bench in Cours Cambronne, backs to my camera, just watching the world go by from behind an iron fence.

Later, in the Passage Pommeraye, someone sat alone in a bistro chair among the statues and columns, resting or reading or just thinking, in no hurry to be anywhere else.

What I like about Nantes is that it doesn’t insist you be sociable. You can sit in public on your own without it being strange. The city makes room for company and for solitude equally.

The espresso cup sat empty on its saucer. Someone had been there a few minutes earlier, had their coffee, and moved on. You can’t buy happiness, but a coffee and five minutes to sit down costs less than you’d think.

That might be the real lesson of Nantes: you don’t need to be happy all the time, just to have regular access to small, reliable pleasures. Good coffee. Good food. Good company or good solitude. Somewhere pleasant to sit.

Happiness is the big abstract thing you chase and rarely catch. Pleasure is smaller and more immediate, and you can actually have it on a Tuesday afternoon.

The bicycle stood locked to its post, basket empty, waiting for whoever left it there to come back and ride it somewhere, work, home, a café, a friend’s place.

Nantes offers small pleasures rather than promising grand happiness. You can’t buy joy, as the sign said, 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 beginning of March on HP5 (box speed) and 4 photos on Rollei RPX 400, all shot with the Nikon FE, and developed in Ilfosol3 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.
Black 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 the Crêperie au Vieux Quimper terrace on a Nantes street, a couple seated at a café table with empty rattan chairs around them
Black and white photograph of a man in a flat cap walking down a narrow Nantes lane past a bare pollarded tree and a Guinness sign, café terraces lining both sides
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

The Break: An Orchestra at Lunch on Fomapan 100

Posted on Posted in Film Photography, France, Reportage, Symphonique des Bords de LoireTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

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 — LunchHP5+ 1600 — Rehearsal
LightNatural daylightMixed indoor fluorescents
GrainFine, subtle, cleanTextural, present, moody
ContrastGentle, evenPunchy, dramatic
MoodRelaxed, communalFocused, intense
StoryCommunity at restCollaboration 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

Near-square format SBL orchestra rehearsal, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Symphonique des bords de Loire orchestra musician photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white film, March 2026
Portrait format SBL orchestra musician during rehearsal break, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white film, March 2026
Portrait format orchestra rehearsal, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, March 2026
Orchestra rehearsal photograph of the Symphonique des bords de Loire on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Portrait format Symphonique des bords de Loire orchestra at rehearsal, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white film, March 2026
Portrait format SBL orchestra musician, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Wide landscape orchestra rehearsal, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Portrait format orchestra rehearsal, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film
Portrait format Symphonique des bords de Loire orchestra at rehearsal, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, March 2026
Portrait format orchestra rehearsal photograph, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100
Portrait format SBL orchestra rehearsal, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Landscape format Symphonique des bords de Loire rehearsal, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Wide panoramic orchestra rehearsal, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white film, March 2026
Near-square format orchestra rehearsal, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, March 2026
Portrait format orchestra musician during rehearsal break, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100
Portrait format orchestra rehearsal, Symphonique des bords de Loire, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Portrait format SBL orchestra rehearsal break photograph, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026
Wide panoramic SBL orchestra rehearsal, Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, black and white 35mm film, March 2026

Also in this series: The Work — Concerto on HP5+ 1600 · The Grind — General Rehearsal on HP5+ 3200

February 2026 — Clisson with the Nikon FE

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, History, Landscape Photography, photography philosophyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 12 Comments

Maybe I’m a little stubborn, just maybe, but I’m insisting on using my Nikon FE and for my health I have to get out. I had some Tri-X that needed using, and some HP5+ left over, so time to use it. And it does my mental health good too—getting out of the house despite the horrible light and rain.

“They” always say to go out in good light and use golden hour. We haven’t been blessed with good weather lately (understatement of the year contender 2026), and I always say just go out anyway and do it.

I shot two rolls that afternoon—72 frames total. Tri-X and HP5+, both at box speed. No pushing. I developed them in Fomadon LQN because it handles flat light cleanly: shadows stay defined, grain doesn’t get muddy even when the sky gives you nothing. When I scanned them, about half were ok enough to keep—36 frames that worked. Of those, maybe half a dozen were real keepers. That’s how it goes. Not every frame needs to be a masterpiece. Some just need to exist.

In Lightroom I only used the curves tool to pull a bit of separation between the wet stone and the grey sky. I wasn’t trying to manufacture contrast that wasn’t there. The rain had already done part of the work: cobblestones held texture because the light was even, puddles on the stairs created accidental reflections, and the streets were empty enough that I didn’t have to wait for tourists to clear the frame.

I won’t pretend I enjoyed standing in the damp. My shoes got wet. My hands were cold. But I needed to leave the house, and the camera gave me a reason to do it. The film was a deadline. The weather was irrelevant.

As you can see in the following photos, the light wasn’t fabulous, so we adapt. There are still interesting things to be seen.

Shot on Nikon FE with 50mm f/1.8. Kodak Tri-X 400 and Ilford HP5+ rated at box speed, developed in Fomadon LQN. Edited in Lightroom: curves adjusted for shadow separation only.

Nikon FE Review: Features and User Experience

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Camera reviewsTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 12 Comments

Hello Dear Reader. I know you are an astute fellow, and that you never miss a trick. You will have noticed me talking about the Nikon FE. I will share something with you. I actually bought one at the end of last year from my HR director, but wanted to have the right time and places to start using it. One can’t rush this kind of thing.

Some of you might even say, “I thought you were a Fuji guy, or a Canon guy, or even a Pentax guy.” I hate to disappoint all those of you attached to a particular brand, but I am above all “a guy.” Mind you, this was my first venture into Nikon-world. Not a Nikon D something…. I went slightly more old school as I have been known to go before.

Why the FE and not the FE2, or even F3? The guy was selling an FE, that is why. Now that is out of the way, let’s have a look at this camera. First and foremost, it’s a really sexy camera reminiscent of those used in the 60’s by National Geographic photographers. It’s not, but that’s by the by. It actually came out in 1978. Secondly, this particular one was in full working order, always a plus; the price was fair for the camera’s excellent condition. I may be a collectionneur, but a camera is there to be used. Did I say it was a very sexy camera? I did. Oh good.

As I am wont to do, I took it out for a test drive to Nantes, and took it round Bouffay. And the pub… just enough to get a feel for the wee beastie. A roll of Ilford HP5 at box speed and I was ready to go. Verdict? So far so good. I must have done just 10 shots that day, and came back to it later, much later, to finish the roll. The feel in the hand was fine, and what I’m used to. The lens I have is a 50mm f/1.8, aka the nifty fifty. Usability? Aperture priority, which I enjoy. And the one thing that tickled me pink was being able to see the aperture ring through the viewfinder. Very useful…  It’s since journeyed to Lourdes, the mountains, even Northumberland—never once feeling like a limitation.

Does it have auto focus? No. It doesn’t. It has manual focus, which I find easier to use. I prefer to choose myself rather than have modern technology do everything for me. Yes, I use it on my DSLR, but I don’t use that the way I do when doing film photography. Here’s a surprise for you: I am not built for speed. I am built for comfort and won’t be hurried. This kind of SLR suits me to a T.

I know some of you little techies out there need specs about a camera, so for you lovely people, here you are:

Nikon FE – Quick Specs

  • Production: 1978–1983
  • Type: 35mm manual-focus SLR
  • Exposure: Aperture-priority AE + full manual
  • Metering: Centre-weighted TTL (match-needle in viewfinder)
  • Shutter: 1–1/1000s + B, electronically controlled (requires battery)
  • Viewfinder: Fixed eye-level pentaprism (~93% coverage) with aperture & shutter speed display
  • Lens mount: Nikon F (AI/AI-S compatible)
  • Battery: 2× SR44 (or 1× CR1/3N) – note: the camera can operate at 1/90s (M90 mode) without a battery
  • Weight: ~590 g (body only)
  • Fun fact: One of the smallest and lightest Nikon SLRs with full AE.

Is it ‘better’ than the Pentax ME Super? Not objectively—but it fits me. I prefer Nikon’s take-up spool, and that viewfinder aperture display? That’s the clincher. Pentax glass is glorious, no doubt. But this? This is my beastie.

I’m over the moon to have this addition to the working collection, and I have to go and finish the film that’s still inside it. So yes, I enjoyed using it; yes, it wasn’t foreign enough to scare me. Do I have any regrets? Absolutely not! It works just the way I need it to, and when it comes to cameras, isn’t that all we need?

Balancing Film and Digital: A Photographer’s Journey

Posted on Posted in China, orchestra tour, photography philosophy, Reportage, Travel photographyTagged , , , , 4 Comments

Have you ever had to make a difficult decision that you really had to think long and hard about, one that would have real-world consequences for you and your creative process? I have, and I’m going to share this first-world problem with you. Now, I know first-world problems are a joke, but this problem became very real to me during the run-up to the China Orchestra Tour: film or digital?

You all know about my fondness for the analogue process and the results I’ve been able to acquire. Judging by my recent stats and pages visited, this might just interest you.

I’m not saying this was causing me the traditional anxiety that I have been known to suffer from in the past. But… I had to decide how I was going to record my trip and, therefore, what to take with me. I’ll give you a list of my ideal kit, and it might help you to understand my dilemma.

  • Camera 1
    A recently acquired Nikon FE (my first ever Nikon) and black-and-white film, ranging from Fomapan 100 ASA right through to Ilford HP5 Plus, whose box speed is 400 ASA but can be pushed up to 1600 ASA and still provide great images.
  • Camera 2
    A Mamiya C220, which is a beautiful piece of kit with various 120 format black-and-white films, HP5 Plus, Portra 400, with the addition of Kodak Tri-X.
  • Camera 3 (maybe 4)
    My Olympus Trip or even the Olympus Pen EE S half-frame camera, for those informal colour shots with some Kodak Ultra and even a roll of Portra 160 for that gorgeous vintage style.

So, you have my film cameras with the film that goes with them. They provide a photographic experience unlike any other. The slowing down of the process, the reflection on each shot taken, the satisfying sound they make when you press the shutter release button. And so much more. They also look pretty damned sexy just hanging there around your neck, and people will think you are a “real” photographer, and that old-school vibe just adds tonnes to your sartorial elegance. Yes, you become a real poser, but do I care? Absolutely not!

  • Camera 5
    My much-loved Canon 6D Mark II, with a couple of zoom lenses – 24-70mm F4.0, and my 16-35mm F4.0 lens, and maybe even my nifty 50.
  • Camera 6
    Fujifilm X100F, the travel photographer’s ideal camera with the 35mm equivalent F2.0 lens for that sexy bokeh. It’s the Internet that said it, not me.

Now moving into the digital world. Convenience, convenience, and in case you hadn’t realised, convenience. I love them both for the variety of shots they allow me to take, and as I learnt photography “back in the day,” I have still conserved the same approach that I had in analogue photography, i.e., not spraying and praying like I have seen some colleagues do.

It is easier to use a flash, and you have an image that can be transferred to your phone, edited in Lightroom CC, and rapidly shared in the China Orchestra Tour WhatsApp group. And people can see what a great photographer you are. Couple the Canon colours and the Fuji film simulations, and you can have all the creativity fixes you might need at your fingertips.

The film cameras were there to satisfy my love of the analogue process and the nostalgic film look that only film can give. The digital cameras for their practicality, lens effects of going really wide, and having the possibility of going right up to 70mm. Choices, choices, choices.

Now let’s get back to reality and look at the ever-growing list of constraints. First of all, I am going on tour as a musician and not as a photographer. One really has to make this important distinction, as it gives a sense of purpose to the trip as well as the implication of priorities.

I would be flying across half the world, and therefore have to follow the demands of the air travel industry and airline rules. That meant no more than two lithium batteries, and one in the camera, and not in your suitcase but in your hand luggage, or on your person. They don’t like the idea of these batteries exploding or causing fires mid-flight. And because we are respecting the zero BS rule here, I don’t fancy that either. I would be limited by weight for my suitcase: 23kg and 20kg for flights inside China. My priority was to be a musician first and not a photographer, if ever I needed reminding…

If I were going to the UK, I would just have to annoy my family in the car with it being loaded up with camera gear, but this is China we’re talking about. Not a jaunt across the Channel.

In my suitcase, I will need my clothes for two weeks, my suit for concerts, shoes for concerts, wash bag with all my toiletries, as well as my CPAP machine for my sleep apnoea (I have to think about my quality of sleep as well as not snoring for my unsuspecting roommate Corentin). My hand luggage would be my instrument, and as we didn’t need mutes, I might be able to get away with stuffing things up the end of my horn’s bell. Please note that I didn’t try to get a cheap laugh by using the word bell-end…

So here I am back at the beginning of this article, and yet now you might better understand my dilemma.

Alright then, I will. Welcome inside my mind and my thought processes. The sheer weight of all the kit would have made tking everything completely impractical. I knew this and had come to terms with it. I really wanted to go analogical, but then had to come to terms with the fact that airport scanners can damage undeveloped film. Also the Mamiya weighs a tonne and would have been impractical to lug around China, despite the wonderful images it provides. Camera 2 out! Now for security check I had bought a metal film box for my films so that those charming people at airport security could check my films, making sure that I would not blow up the plane. Not really my style…

That would leave me with Camera 1, 3, and 4. Cameras 3 and 4 are particularly sexy and Camera 4 being a half frame camera, gives you double the amount of shots for your film. However it uses zone focussing, and the ISO setting only goes up to 200ASA so you need lots of light. Camera 3 is similar in the fact that it goes only up to 400ASA so not good for lowlight shooting. Cameras 3 and 4 out.

That leaves me with Camera 1. Which is of course uber sexy and Aperture priority, which I like, and has a larger ISO range, and one that I can focus accurately with. I had black and white film for it which I enjoy using and know how it reacts and what kind of shots I can get out of it. Very satisfying shots. It also doesn’t need lithium batteries to work, so that helps rule that danger out. But I would still have to contend with the possibility of annoying security staff, and annoying Chinese security staff, and as I speak no Chinese, that would be challenging. And yet it still had a chance of staying in the race.

Now let’s explore the digital realm. Camera 5: The Canon 6D Mark II is a beast of a camera and one I enjoy using. Its lenses are beyond compare, and it would offer me lots of choice in choosing my subjects. However it would be heavy, especially with those lenses, and despite being able to have my images straight away, would it really be worth that added weight. Camera 5 out.

Camera 6. The Fujifilm X100F. Probably my favourite digital camera, and the one I took to the UK this summer as a test for this Chinese trip. It’s small. Compact and silent. And yet despite being a digital camera, it has an analogue feel to it, and is also very sexy, so I can still pose with it and it will give that serious photographer look, and make people wonder is he using digital or analogue… Hmmm. Sounds like a good choice. Its downfall lies in its power consumption. I would need three batteries in total. Which would mean that I would have to entrust a battery to a friend.

The two cameras left in the race are the Nikon FE analogue camera with it’s 50mm F1.8 lens which doesn’t need batteries. 50mm was the lens I learnt photography on and would allow me to get some decent portrait shots. However with the Fujifilm, I could change ISO setting without the hassle of changing my film, create scenic shots, as well as environmental portraits, and I could transfer the photos directly to my phone and share them straight after editing.

In the end, the Fujifilm X100F won out. It gave me the digital conveniences I needed with just enough of that analogue feel to keep me happy. The images you’ve seen in my China Series were all taken with it, and I’m happy with the decision I made and I hope you might be too…

The Opening of the Film Archives – April 2017 On the Border

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, Landscape Photography, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Good evening Dear Reader.  Some of you may know that I live in France, despite being originally from the UK, and despite probably having gone native after living here for 30 years.  I have even been accused of being a little “Continental” whatever that may mean..  I live in the west of France.  You could think that I live in Nantes just judging by the quantity of photos taken in that city.

I actually live in a smallish village at the very northern edge of the Vendée and my village borders the “la Loire Inférieure” or to use the more modern term “la Loire Atlantique.”  Our department number is 85 and theirs is 44.  I’m not saying there is any animosity between the two, in the same way that there isn’t any animosity between the inhabitant of Lancashire, and God’s own county of Yorkshire.  Absolutely none at all.

You now know where I am.  Let’s have a closer look at that area through the lens of my Canon AE1.  This series of photos was taken along my route to work.  You can see the milestone on the road where the border between the two departments finds itself.  

The trees along this stretch form a natural tunnel, creating an otherworldly atmosphere as sunlight filters through the canopy. Capturing that interplay of light and shadow was my goal with the Canon AE1. Despite some doubts about its metering capabilities, the camera performed admirably, and I’m thrilled with the results.

Since I took these photos, some of the trees have been cut back, making these images even more precious. They preserve a fleeting beauty—a reminder of how photography can immortalise moments before they change forever.

At the base of the hill runs a quiet stream, tame in spring but often overflowing in winter. Its stillness offers another perspective, reflecting the surrounding trees and clusters of mistletoe hanging high in their branches. These reflections, captured on film, reveal a different kind of magic—a mirror-like calm that contrasts with the lively interplay of light above.

This installment of the Film Archives is a tribute to the quiet beauty of my daily commute. Through these photographs, I hope to share not just a sense of place but a moment in time that speaks to the power of film photography to hold onto the ephemeral.

Browse the full Film Archives →