Tag: analogue photography

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+

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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…

Balancing Film and Digital: A Photographer’s Journey

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Introduction

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.

The Allure of Film Photography

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!

The Practicality of Digital
  • 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.

Reality Check

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.

Tell us what you decided then!

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 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.  Carmer 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 Camera1, 3, and 4.  Cameras 3 and 4 are particularly sexy and Carmera 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 go 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 2.  Which is of course uber sexy and Aperture priotity, 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 lets explore the digital realm. Camera 5: The Canon 6D Mark II is a beast of a camera and one I enjoy using.  It’s 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 make people wonder is he using digital of analogue…  Hmmm.  Sounds like a good choice.  It’s 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.  

The X100F: Why It Was the Right Choice

The X100F became the clear winner for several reasons. It’s compact and lightweight, which was essential for travel, yet it produces sharp, detailed images. The 35mm equivalent F2.0 lens allowed me to shoot wide-open for beautiful bokeh in portraiture and environmental shots. The range of film simulations, from classic Chrome to Acros, allowed me to quickly achieve the look I desired without extra post-processing.

Its hybrid viewfinder provided both optical and electronic options, letting me choose the right method depending on the shooting conditions. The controls are direct, giving me full control over exposure and depth of field, without the need to dig through menus. And though it’s a digital camera, it retains that analogue charm that makes shooting feel personal and intentional.

The only downside was battery life, but I managed to bring a few extra batteries, which wasn’t too much of an issue for the flexibility the X100F offered.

Conclusion

In the end, the Fujifilm X100F was the perfect balance between practicality and creativity. Its digital conveniences, combined with its classic photographic feel, made it the ideal camera for the China Orchestra Tour. The images you’ve seen in my latest China Series article were all taken with the X100F, and I’m happy with the decision I made and I hope you might be too…

Photography Philosophy – Part VI – Connection Through Photography

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Building Relationships

I once read that if two Germans meet, they will form a club. I am not German, but they perfectly illustrate this universal need to belong. They are generally not the most extroverted of people, but even introverts have this need to form a relationship with somebody. As photographers, we have this same urge, but perhaps in a more subtle way. When I’m out on the street, I will always notice someone with a camera, even when I’m without one myself. I find myself looking to check the brand, possibly the make of the camera, and the type of lens the person is using. Even when we simply nod at each other, it’s a recognition of our shared enthusiasm for the art form. Am I judging them? Sometimes, yes, but to err is human.

When I see a film camera around someone’s neck, I am immediately drawn to it. When I venture out with the behemoth Mamiya C220, the camera is almost as much a statement as the actual image I’ll eventually take with it. People will come and inquisitively ask, “What kind of camera is that? Can you still get film for it?” or say, “Yes, my grandfather had one like that.” The obvious charm of a medium format TLR in this modern world.

Photography is sometimes seen as quite a niche activity, and film photography even more so. A film camera gives out a more exclusive vibe, telling the world that, yes, we actually are serious about this, and know what we are doing, as the camera isn’t doing anything for us. We are artists and therefore superior to you, at least that’s what we tell ourselves for validation… One could argue that there is a need for even more knowledge with film photography, and that the need to develop our films just goes to show our dedication to the craft.

Well, not always. But it does give a starting point to a chat, which invariably leads to a discussion about this shared interest, and gives us a common starting point to our relationship, however brief that relationship might be.

I also want to explore the relationship between the subject and the person photographing that subject. For a long time, I was petrified of using a model. I’m an introvert by nature, so the idea of having to make small talk with and direct a model was awful. I wanted to learn more about photographing a model and to break out of this comfort zone. Strangely, buildings won’t talk back at you or tell you what they think of your shot. People, on the other hand, are completely different.

I had learnt basic lighting technique and then had to find models. Luckily, I could rely on my daughter and wife as my first subjects, then branch out to include my son and his then-girlfriend. I then moved onto unsuspecting friends, fellow musicians, and eventually felt my confidence slowly building enough for me to photograph complete strangers by establishing that rapport between us. I discovered that sometimes they were as terrified as I was. Again, something we had in common…

I followed some advice from Sean Tucker, who specialises in portraiture. I simply had a conversation with my model, which seemed to put us both at ease. This allowed the model to detach from the shoot and just chat away.

Community and Collaboration

But connection isn’t limited to brief exchanges with strangers on the street; it can also be found in deeper collaborations with other photographers. As I said earlier, I am more of an introvert, and the idea of making an effort to be sociable is something I find exhausting. At parties, I have been known to chill out on the outer realm of guests and chat to the dog. Hey, we have great conversations together!

However, I have been known to make that special effort and even meet up with other photographers. If you’ve ever talked to me about photography and the merits of various pieces of kit, and actual cameras, you’ll know that I can talk about it until the cows come home—to the point that most people switch off after 30 seconds. But when you have a captive audience who actually cares and knows what you’re talking about, it just brings me out of my shell.

Sometimes one might think it’s a very blokey thing to meet up with other men and talk about, and participate in, some rather niche activity. That might sound a little suspect, but I assure you it isn’t.

I once had a meet-up in Nantes (the very first article on this blog), and it was so rewarding. It was a typical male bonding activity, and everyone, except for me, brought along their biggest cameras and most expensive lenses. It almost felt like a competition to see who had the most impressive camera. I just brought my relatively tiny X100F, the thinking man’s camera. Much like my car, it’s not the most inspiring thing to look at, but I enjoy using it, and it certainly gets the job done in a very satisfactory way!

I have also collaborated with Nantes Grand Angle, a collective of photographers that have outings in and around Nantes. In exchange for a free tour or free visit, we take pictures during the outings and write about them in our blogs or publish the photos on Instagram. I have done a couple of outings with them, and it’s always interesting to see other photographers in action. They are there seeing the same things as me, but not in the same way. That sense of belonging has a huge feel-good factor too.

A Shared Lens

Photography may often feel like a solitary pursuit, but beneath it lies a powerful thread of connection, weaving us together through moments captured and stories told. Whether it’s the subtle camaraderie exchanged between strangers with a simple nod on the street, the thrill of collaborating with others who share our passion, or the quiet understanding forged with a subject in front of the lens, these encounters remind us that we are never truly alone in this journey.

Through photography, we find not just a way to see the world but a way to be part of it—a community of like-minded souls bound by a shared appreciation for light, shadow, and time itself. In the end, our photographs are a bridge, linking us to others and creating a lasting connection beyond the mere act of pressing the shutter. For as long as we hold a camera, we’re part of something bigger, capturing fragments of life that, no matter how fleeting, will always connect us back to one another.

Opening of the Film Archives, Château de Clisson, February 2017

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I had obviously taken a break with the Canon AE1 and spent the whole of December and January in hibernation, as most grumpy bears of my age do. Get Christmas over with, then go back to bed… I like my bed. No, I love my bed!!

Spring was just around the corner, and Kate had managed to awaken the beast and proceeded to tell me what she had planned for the day. It included me, a camera, and the Chateau de Clisson. I had just been “told” by my daughter, and off we headed to Clisson.

Now, the Chateau de Clisson is no small affair by any means. It dominates the centre of the town, sitting atop a hill as an imposing structure. I remember Kate having begged me on numerous occasions to actually go inside, and this time I acquiesced.

It was the perfect opportunity to not only document the inside of this historic site but also to let my playful daughter do what children do best: be cute, or as they say in French, espiègle. At that age, she was still content to pose for the camera, unlike the moody teenager she has become. Yet, sometimes, that same playful nature still manages to shine through.

If you’re curious to learn more about the history of the Chateau de Clisson, I’ve included a link for further reading.

After our outing in Clisson, I retreated to the quiet of my darkroom, where the real magic happens—transforming the captured moments into tangible memories. The familiar routine of developing the film, loading it into the tank, and watching the images slowly emerge never fails to captivate me. Once the negatives are ready and the scans are complete, I file them away in both my digital and analogue archives.

Then, a few years later, I get to share these memories with you. It’s a special kind of nostalgia—the kind that comes with taking time to slow down, reflect, and preserve what matters most. Thank you for joining me on this journey and for allowing me to share these pieces of the past with you.

A Photography Philosophy Series – Part I – An Introduction

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With the aim of delving deeper into the meaning behind photography, I’ve decided to launch a new series of articles. Here, I want to explore questions like why rather than just how or with what. In my Photography 101 series, we looked at the basics—technique, lenses, and so on. I’ve written extensively about gear in my camera reviews. But now, I’m searching for something beyond that.

The wheels in my mind are already beginning to turn. Not frenetically yet, but there’s a steady intellectual process underway. Answering “why” feels more challenging than “how” or “with what.” It demands more from me than simply focusing on technique or gear.

Here goes anyway!

To set the stage for this exploration, I’ll begin by sharing my own journey in photography. Understanding where I come from may help illuminate my perspective on the medium.

I was born in an age before the all-powerful image took over. Yes, we had photos, and I enjoyed looking through them in our albums. Each image was a physical object, and the idea of viewing images on a screen was foreign to us all. When we spoke of phones, we meant the ones hanging on the wall at home or in the phone boxes on the street. They certainly weren’t for taking photographs.

Back then, cameras fell into two categories: point-and-shoot cameras for the masses and “proper” cameras for photographers. Point-and-shoots were basic, easy to use, and, for me as a small child, they were an introduction to photography. Proper cameras, on the other hand, were for those who had learned the craft of photography, and using one made you feel part of a certain fraternity.

My first Form Master at prep school, Father Gerald, had a proper camera and recorded school life with it. Occasionally, a board with a selection of 6-by-4-inch photos would appear, always in black and white. Father Gerald must have had his own darkroom for developing and printing. I have no idea what kind of camera he used, but it was undoubtedly a proper one.

In 1984, a German orchestra visited Hull, and Stefan Haller from Neustadt an der Aisch stayed with us. Stefan had a proper camera, and I was fascinated by it. When I asked my father if I could have one too, he agreed—but I would have to learn how to use it first. The local YPI organized a summer school offering various activities, including proper photography. And that, Dear Reader, is how I first encountered this “proper photography” lark!

So now you know the why and how behind my beginnings in photography. Let’s look at how this journey evolved. My first proper camera was a Praktica MTL 3. It was fully manual and had a built-in light meter, which helped me get my exposure right each time—or nearly each time. With that camera, I trained my eye and explored the world around me.

Photography at the time was film photography. Although Kodak invented the digital camera in 1979, digital photography didn’t become accessible until the early 21st century. Growing up, color photography was for capturing moments with friends and having a laugh; black and white was considered more “arty” and suited for serious photography. I was deeply affected by the black-and-white images in newspapers, while color images seemed relegated to magazines.

I remember having breakfast with my father every morning as he read The Independent, a paper known for its high standard of photographic journalism. This was my daily visual inspiration. I had a subscription to National Geographic, where I encountered even more incredible photography in its pages. This was top-class photojournalism, and these images now serve as a historical reference for us all.

This is the time and place I come from. For young Gen Z readers, it might sound like ancient history, but to me, it’s deeply real and continues to influence my approach to photography in the digital age.

Now that you’ve had a glimpse into my why, let’s dive deeper. In the next article, we’ll look at why others feel compelled to pick up a camera. Throughout the series, we’ll explore the connections between images and emotions, how we tell stories through our photos, and how photography can be a form of self-expression leading to personal growth. We’ll examine how photography connects us to others, reflect on the philosophy of impermanence, and, at the end of the series, I’ll invite you, Dear Reader, to reflect on your own photographic journey…