I didn’t plan this series when I sat down to write the first part. I thought I had one post in me about why I bother with a camera at all, and then I kept finding more questions underneath that one. Seven parts later, here’s roughly what I’ve landed on, plus what surprised me about writing it down in the first place.
The question I started with, why photograph at all, turned out not to have one answer. Some days it’s about keeping a record. Some days it’s closer to therapy, a way of getting out of my own head for an hour. Writing that part made me notice how much the reason shifts depending on my mood before I’ve even picked up the camera, which I hadn’t really clocked until I tried to explain it to someone else.
The emotional side surprised me more than I expected. I went into that post thinking I’d talk about composition and technique, and instead ended up telling a story about an A-level music essay and a teacher tearing my taste in Glenn Miller to shreds. Photography and music turned out to be doing the same job for me: reciting the text and then letting go of what anyone makes of it.
Storytelling was the one I found easiest to write, probably because I already think in contact sheets, whole rolls rather than single frames. Identity was the hardest. Writing about whether a camera reveals who you are meant admitting things I don’t love admitting, like the fact I’ve picked up more from YouTube than from thirty years of just going out and shooting. Connection reminded me how much of this supposedly solitary hobby actually happens because of other people: my kids as reluctant first models, a Nantes meet-up where I brought the smallest camera in the group, a photography collective that’s shown me the same streets through completely different eyes.
And impermanence, the last one before this, is probably the part I think about most now, weeks after writing it. Every photo is proof that a moment is already gone. I used to find that a bit bleak. Somewhere in writing it out I stopped finding it bleak and started finding it more like the whole point.
So, what’s actually changed for me, having written all this down? Not much on the surface. I still go out with the same cameras, still get annoyed at the same mistakes. But I think I’m a bit more honest with myself now about why I press the shutter when I do, and a bit less bothered when the reason doesn’t sound impressive.
If any of this made you think about your own reasons for picking up a camera, good. I’m not expecting anyone to agree with all seven parts, I don’t think I fully agree with all seven parts. If you want to tell me where you think I’ve got it wrong, the comments are open, and I mean that as a genuine invitation rather than a polite sign-off. I’ll read them properly.
The second you name a moment, it’s already gone. Not the present any more, the past, and there’s no getting it back or repeating it. You can try to recreate it, same spot, same light, same people, but it will never be identical. Time’s already moved on to the next thing. Photography is the strange art of grabbing hold of that moment anyway, knowing full well it can’t be exactly reproduced.
So what do you do with that, as a photographer? Spend your time mourning everything that’s already slipped past, or feel lucky you managed to catch some of it on the way? I go back and forth. Cartier-Bresson’s decisive moment is really just this idea dressed up in French. Like comedy, apparently, photography is mostly timing. Do you freeze the action with a fast shutter, or slow down and let some blur and motion into the frame? How fleeting is what you’re actually chasing, and what does a bit of movement add to it?
My own version of this
Over the years I’ve got better at noticing these moments and trying to hold onto them, especially with my kids, especially when they’re playing together and don’t know I’m watching. I want the mess and the spontaneity of it, not a posed version. Any parent will tell you the same thing: they grow up while you’re not looking properly, and then one day you are looking properly, at old photos, thinking where did that go. My son’s 25 now. My daughter’s 15. I still don’t quite believe either number.
Learning to live with mistakes
I’ll be honest, I don’t take to mistakes easily. I like precision, I like planning a shot properly, I don’t enjoy leaving things to chance, so when something goes wrong there’s a proper flash of frustration. A blurred frame, blown highlights, a moment I simply missed. Those are the things I try hardest to avoid, and mostly fail to avoid.
But looking back over what I’ve actually shot, the path to a photo I’m proud of was never a straight line. It’s trial and error the whole way, learning to see a scene not just through the lens but through everything I got wrong trying to shoot it the first time.
It’s usually the misfires that make me rethink what I’m doing, shift the frame, check the focus again. They show me an angle I wouldn’t have tried, or drag out a feeling I wasn’t expecting to capture at all. Each mistake teaches me something, even when I’d rather it hadn’t needed teaching. They’re not really setbacks. More like uncomfortable nudges toward seeing the same photograph with slightly fresher eyes.
The photo I end up keeping is almost never the first frame, or the second, or the third. It’s whatever’s left after a run of adjustments and false starts and moments of thinking this isn’t working. Take those out of the process and I’m not sure the image I actually wanted would ever have turned up.
So yes, I still want control. I’m not pretending otherwise. But I’ve come round to thinking there’s something in the unexpected too, the mistakes, the missed shots, the ones I got completely wrong. That’s as much a part of my photography as anything I planned properly, and it usually gets me closer to whatever it was I was actually trying to say with the picture.
Where that leaves me
Photography, when I strip away the gear talk and the technique, is really just an attempt to hold onto something that’s already leaving. Every photo I take is an admission that the moment won’t come back, and somehow that doesn’t feel morbid to me, it feels closer to the point. You’re documenting not only what you saw but roughly what it felt like to be the one holding the camera.
I still want the shot to be right. I still get annoyed when it isn’t. But I’ve stopped expecting the process to be tidy, because it never has been, not once, not for me. The mess is where most of the good ones come from anyway. If that’s the trade, catching a moment you can’t keep in exchange for never quite controlling how you catch it, I’ll take it. I don’t see another option, really, and thirty-odd years in I’ve stopped wanting one.
I once read that if two Germans meet, they’ll form a club. I’m not German, but it’s a fair description of something more universal: the need to belong. Photographers aren’t always the most extroverted bunch, but even the shy ones want to connect with somebody who gets it. When I’m out and about, I clock anyone carrying a camera before I’ve even registered I’m doing it. Brand, make, lens, all of it, filed away automatically. Even a simple nod between strangers is a small acknowledgment: yes, you too. Am I judging them while I’m at it? Sometimes. To err is human.
A film camera round someone’s neck gets my attention faster than anything digital. When I take the Mamiya C220 out, the camera itself becomes almost as much of a talking point as whatever I actually photograph with it. People stop and ask what it is, whether you can still get film for it, or tell me their grandfather had one just like it. That’s the charm of a medium format TLR in 2026: it still gets a reaction.
Photography, and film photography especially, has a bit of a niche, insider feel to it. Carrying a film camera says something: that you’re serious enough to bother, that you know what you’re doing because the camera certainly isn’t doing it for you. We’re artists, therefore superior, or so we tell ourselves for a bit of validation. There’s an argument that film demands more knowledge, and that developing your own rolls proves some kind of dedication. Sometimes. Not always. But it’s a decent opener for a conversation, and it usually leads somewhere, even if the relationship that follows only lasts as long as the chat itself.
There’s also the connection between photographer and subject to think about. For years I was terrified of using a model. I’m an introvert, so small talk plus directing someone plus trying not to make it weird sounded like a nightmare. But I wanted to get past that. Buildings don’t talk back or judge your composition. People are a different animal entirely.
I learned the basics of lighting and then needed someone to point a camera at. My daughter and my wife were the first, unwilling volunteers really, then my son and his girlfriend at the time. After that, unsuspecting friends and fellow musicians, until eventually I had enough confidence to approach total strangers and build that rapport on the spot. Turns out plenty of them were just as nervous as I was. Another thing we had in common.
I picked up some advice from Sean Tucker, who does a lot of portraiture: just have a conversation with your model. It sounds too simple to work, but it does. It puts both of you at ease and lets the model forget they’re being photographed at all, which is usually the whole battle.
Meeting other photographers on purpose
Connection isn’t only the brief kind, a nod on the street, a stranger asking about your camera. Sometimes it’s a proper collaboration with other photographers, which for an introvert like me takes actual effort. At parties I’m the one hanging around the edge of the room talking to the dog. Genuinely good conversations, the dog and I.
Still, I make the effort sometimes and meet up with other photographers. Get me started on kit, lenses, actual cameras, and I’ll talk until the cows come home, well past the point most people have quietly switched off. But hand me an audience that actually cares and knows what I’m on about, and something in me relaxes that doesn’t relax anywhere else.
I can see how it looks from the outside: blokes getting together to obsess over a niche hobby. Sounds a bit much when I put it like that. It isn’t, I promise.
The very first post on this blog came out of a meet-up in Nantes, and it was genuinely one of the better days I’ve had with a camera. Classic male-bonding stuff: everyone else turned up with their biggest body and most expensive glass, like it was some unspoken competition. I brought my X100F, small enough to disappear in one hand. The thinking man’s camera, if I’m allowed to say that about myself. Like my car, nothing to look at twice, but I like using it and it gets the job done without any fuss.
I’ve also worked with Nantes Grand Angle, a local collective that organises outings around the city. In exchange for a free tour or a free visit somewhere, we photograph the day and write about it or post to Instagram. I’ve done a couple of these with them, and it’s always interesting watching other photographers work the same scene. Same place, same light, completely different eye. There’s a genuine feel-good factor in that shared vantage point, even if we all walk away with different pictures.
Photography can feel like a solitary thing, and plenty of the time it is. But there’s more connection hiding in it than people give it credit for: the nod between strangers, the collaboration with other photographers, the quiet trust you build with a subject in front of the lens. None of that happens if you’re not paying attention to the people around you as much as the light.
I don’t know that photography needs to mean anything grander than that. Every so often it puts me in a room, or a street, or a Nantes side alley, with someone I wouldn’t otherwise have talked to, camera or no camera. That’s plenty.
When I first started out, I’d take my film down to the photographer on Newland Avenue, near where I grew up, and he’d make what everyone called a contact sheet. The strips of negatives got cut, slotted into a frame to keep them flat, and exposed straight onto a sheet of photographic paper. Thumbnails of everything from the roll, all in one place, so you could work out which frames were actually worth printing.
Lightroom’s my contact sheet now. Same idea really, I import the whole take and go through deciding what’s worth developing further. Different tools, same decision.
What’s that got to do with telling a story? Everything, actually. A contact sheet is where the story starts getting built, because a narrative needs a shape, a beginning and a middle and an end, and so does a set of photos from a day out. Looking at the whole roll at once, you see how the shots sit next to each other, not just whether any one of them is sharp. Which ones you choose to develop isn’t really about which are technically best. It’s about which ones actually tell you what happened.
That’s roughly how I pick what goes on this blog too. A shot of my mate JD mid haircut, or my dinner right before I demolish it, they’re doing the same job: filling in a piece of whatever the day was. I try not to forget the photo of dessert before I eat it. Miss that window and all you’ve got is a plate with cake crumbs on it, which, as a photo, says nothing.
Back to the idea of an arc, though, because that’s the bit that matters. When I head out for the day I usually start with a few throwaway shots just to get my eye in. Sometimes I’ve got a plan. Usually I haven’t. Mostly I’m just trying to catch the feel of wherever I’ve ended up, a café, a church, a pub, whatever’s in front of me. Each shot leans on the last one, and by the end of the day there’s a sort of thread running through the roll, even if I didn’t plan it that way.
Paid work’s different, obviously. If I’m hired for an event I’ll sit down with the client first and talk through what actually matters to them: what the venue’s like, whether there’s awkward lighting or someone’s got mobility issues to work around, which moments they’d never forgive me for missing. Having that list of must-haves, the Kodak moments I mentioned in the last post, gives me something to hang the day on.
Say I’ve got a wedding booked. I know I’m shooting the bride getting ready. I know I need to be at the venue before the couple turns up. I need the rings photographed before they’re on anyone’s finger. I’ll want portraits of the guests milling about too. Planning all that out in advance is the only reason I’m not a nervous wreck on the day itself.
Just married
Not every story needs a series, though. Sometimes one photo does the whole job. It holds what’s in the frame plus everything that isn’t: the emotion, the context, sometimes a proper mystery.
Take an empty café table in soft morning light, half a cup of coffee gone cold, a notebook left open. That’s a story on its own. Who was sitting there? Why did they leave? What were they writing? The photo doesn’t answer any of it. It just hands you the question and lets you sit with it.
Different people will read that image differently depending on what they’re bringing to it. It’s really a conversation between whoever took the photo and whoever’s looking at it. I set the scene, choose the light, press the button, but it’s the viewer who finishes the story in their own head.
Same goes for people. A portrait of someone staring out of a window, somewhere else in their head entirely, makes you wonder what they’re thinking about, or where they’re going, or what just happened to put that look on their face. It’s more than a face in a frame at that point. There’s a whole narrative sitting underneath it that words wouldn’t do justice to.
Am I sure about this cake?
Telling a story with a camera isn’t really about the picture-taking bit at all. It’s about deciding which moments are worth keeping and finding a way to shoot them so they carry more than what’s literally in frame. Sometimes that takes a whole roll. Sometimes it’s one frame and you’re done.
Next time you’re out with a camera, don’t just take pictures. Ask yourself what you actually want someone to feel looking at this later, whether that’s a quiet morning in a café or a wedding with two hundred people watching. Look back through your old photos sometime too, in order, like a reel rather than a folder. It changes how you see them. Might even change how you see the next roll you shoot.
Cameras. Why? What is it that makes us pick one up in the first place? For me, a camera isn’t just a nice object to own. It’s a tool, a box with a lens, letting light hit film or a sensor and turn into an image. Doesn’t matter if the box is a hundred years old or fresh out of the factory, the principle doesn’t change. Even the phone in your pocket is just the latest version of that same box. But the mechanics aren’t really the question. What actually drives someone to lift the thing to their eye and press the button?
Kodak had an answer ready made: “capturing that Kodak moment.” Clever, that. First it was marketing genius, tying a photograph to something personal and meaningful. Second, it gave people a reason to buy film and take pictures to show off to everyone else, which if you squint is an early version of the FOMO we’re all drowning in now thanks to social media. Kodak linked photographs to the memories that mattered and got us reaching for our wallets in the process. Very kind of them.
But let me be clear, it’s not a cure for FOMO, whatever Kodak or Instagram would have you believe. Not entirely, anyway. I use my camera to document the world as I find it, at a particular moment. Photography is the one art form that lets you, the person looking at the picture, see something exactly as I saw it. Photojournalists document the world for a living, sure, but that’s not the whole story of why the rest of us do it.
It’s storytelling. A single photograph can hold a whole narrative inside its frame, hinting at more than what’s actually in the shot. Often, though, I need several images to tell the story properly. When I write a piece for this blog, I’m trying to tell it in both words and pictures, walking you through a curated handful of images and hoping you connect with them the way I did when I took them. That connection between photographer and viewer is, to me, one of the best things about photography. Through the lens, we hand someone else a small window into our world, our experience, our mood at the time. Storytelling isn’t just documentation. It’s building a shared space where someone else gets to feel something too.
Beauty matters too, obviously. There’s something deeply satisfying about nailing a composition, about a scene coming together the way you pictured it. I like to think I can build a pleasing image, using whatever tricks and techniques get me there. The aim is always the same: show the scene the way I saw it, and hope it makes you feel something. Photography might be the only medium that lets someone else see what only I saw, at a moment that, thanks to time passing, no longer exists anywhere except in that frame.
Sometimes it really is just art for art’s sake. In a world that wants everything to be productive and monetised, making something purely because it pleases you feels almost like rebellion.
Then there’s the meditative side of it. For me the camera isn’t only a tool for making pictures, it’s a kind of therapy. When I’m in a low mood, or my head’s too full, stepping outside and looking at the world through a viewfinder usually calms things down. Looking through the lens lets me step back from whatever’s nagging at me and get curious instead of anxious. That small shift, from being a participant to being an observer, changes a place that felt overwhelming into something I actually want to explore. The frame becomes a safe little space where nobody’s judging what I do with it. Call it mindfulness if you like the word, I just call it useful.
The process itself matters more than people give it credit for. I keep coming back to Vivian Maier, who left behind rolls and rolls of undeveloped film. Born in 1926, she spent her life photographing without ever showing the work to anyone. Of the roughly 140,000 shots she took, only about 5% were ever developed, a whole body of work that even she never fully saw. That fact still stops me in my tracks. Maybe she was shooting purely for herself, completely wrapped up in the act of it with no need for anyone else’s approval. Her archive is proof that the process can matter as much as the result, and that a photograph has value even if nobody, including the photographer, ever sees it.
In a world where everyone’s told to share, edit and curate their whole life, it’s worth asking whether you’d still take the photo knowing nobody would ever see it. For me, the answer’s a flat yes. Photography isn’t just about impressing people, documenting things, or sharing them. It’s how I make sense of my own head half the time. Every photograph is a small act of noticing, helping me see something more clearly or spot beauty I’d have walked straight past otherwise.
At bottom, photography is a language, one that gets past culture, past language itself, past time. A single photograph can hold something timeless, an unfiltered second of a life that someone on the other side of the planet can look at and understand. That’s a shared visual language, and it’s one of the few ways we get to connect with each other without saying a word.
So why do we photograph? Maybe the answer’s as different as the people asking it, shaped by whatever they’ve lived through. But whether you’re documenting, creating, or just messing about with a camera because it feels good, the act itself tends to make you look at the world, and yourself, a bit harder than you would otherwise. That’s reason enough for me.
This was another Ian and Kate day. Similar in concept to the Ian and Killian day, but a day where I can dedicate myself solely to Kate. She’s fifteen now of course, but I should spend more time with her. If she’ll let me of course. At the time she was only seven—simpler times where I could make her happy with just a nice tea, a boat trip across the river, and just wandering around exploring the intricate streets of an old fishing village on the “bords de Loire.” There are no cars in the narrow streets, and the children can run wild.
This day was one spent in Trentemoult, that rather colourful village that you can see here. The colours are intense and provide a great backdrop for portrait photography. So of course I went in with a film camera and black and white film. Which only goes to show that when you photograph a location, however colourful, and take away the distraction of that colour, you have to really concentrate on composition, texture, and forms. I couldn’t rely on colour for my photos today. But I was sure that I could reveal some good photos despite that.
So what do you do? You just try and capture some moments of your daughter messing around and being a perfectly normal seven year old. I tried to capture her exploring the streets and being absorbed by the whole ambiance of the place. She became part of the scenery, and blended in perfectly.
I was just there purely to observe and record the day on film, with one eye in my camera and the other on Kate. It was a good day.
Looking back at those moments reminds me of how quickly time seems to slip by without me realising that I am getting older. She of course is slightly older, and possibly slightly less “insouciante” or carefree, but my love for that girl is still as strong as ever.
Is film photography too expensive? Think again! Many assume that shooting film is a hobby reserved for the wealthy, but it doesn’t have to be. With the right approach, you can enjoy the unique aesthetic and creative process of film photography without breaking the bank. In this article, I’ll share my personal experiences and tips for saving money on film, developing, and gear, proving that the joy of film is accessible to everyone.
Often, even the tiniest things can spark a desire to write. In the infamous world of internet comment sections, people can have different opinions—a good thing, as it makes us reflect on our own positions. It challenges our perceived wisdom and questions us in ways that can be disarming. What’s obvious to me might not be to someone else.
I was talking to an Australian lady, likely of my generation since our photography journeys started the same way—with film. Except this lady has gone fully digital, keeping her film cameras as a reminder of her film days being over. Less hassle, less expense, less stress, and less “faffing about,” she said.
At first, I was taken aback. I love the film aesthetic in my photography. I like the predictability of film grain, as opposed to digital noise. But most of all, I’m in love with the process. I love the slower pace of film photography—none of this “spray and pray” nonsense. I appreciate how I become more mindful when shooting film, as each shot counts. I like the way an old film camera looks around my neck. And as the internet meme says, “I know about photography. I’ve been initiated into the exclusive circle of purists.”
The lady talked about the prohibitive prices of film and labs, which, let’s be honest, is a valid point.
Costs of Digital vs. Film Photography
I’ll talk about my kit and initial outlays compared to my film expenses. I bought my latest two digital cameras in late 2017 and 2018. My X100F cost around €1400, and my Canon 6D Mark II around €1200. I spent about €300 on a teleconverter for the X100F, and I probably have about €2500 worth of kit for the Canon, including speedlites, lenses, and filters. Then there’s the Fujifilm XT2, bought second hand for €400, with a couple of lenses totaling around €500.
This kit, though older, works well and is largely sufficient for my needs. As mentioned in my article “I Want It, But Do I Need It?”, I’d like a Leica, but do I need one? Would I refuse one if someone gave me one? Heck no! You can see the results throughout this site, and the images are great.
Let’s move on to film. Yes, if you love that Kodak Portra look, you’ll be spending a pretty penny. I have a certain nostalgia for the days when the prices hadn’t doubled. But—and this is important—not all film photography has to be done using Kodak Portra. There are more accessible films, especially black and white, that cost less. A roll of Fomapan 100 costs me around €5.50. So for less than the price of a pint of Guinness, I can get 36 shots. For a little more, I can go with Kentmere or even Ilford black and white film. I still have one roll of Portra left and a pack of five Tri-X medium format rolls.
Developing at Home
Ah, but then you have to send them to a lab to be developed. Again, a valid point. The cost for developing colour film where I go is less than €7 per film. I’ll share a little secret: I invested in a kit to develop my films at home. It cost about €140 initially, but now all I worry about is buying the chemistry. Yes, €30 for a developer seems steep, but I can develop 16 to 24 films with a bottle, depending on the dilution. I also invested €250 in a film scanner to produce digital files for editing.
Collecting Film Cameras
You might have noticed that I’ve talked about film but not film cameras. I started collecting a while back before hipsters raised the prices in the secondhand market. The most I paid for a film camera was just over €100, and the cheapest was €15. These film cameras are generally solid, and the lenses are great. The technology, though a little less modern (understatement of the year!), still works, and older cameras don’t even need batteries. And even those that do, the batteries last for ages. None of this “Do I have spare batteries for the X100F?” nonsense.
Each shot is taken on a brand new “sensor,” compared to shots on a digital sensor. And less dirt gets onto this sensor.
The Joy of Film
Don’t get me wrong, I love digital photography for its convenience and spontaneity. I can see my images right away and get instant feedback and gratification. With film, that gratification isn’t instant. You have to be patient and wait, but for people of my generation, that might be infuriating, it’s something we grew up with and accepted. I continue to accept it.
I enjoy using a machine sometimes older than me, knowing the image quality will be there. I know that with a certain film, I’ll get a certain result. I like the slower pace. If you visit the Film Photography page or the Film Archive page, you can decide for yourself if it’s worth the hassle, the expense, the stress, and the “faffing about.” I think it is, and I maintain that film has as much a place in photography as it ever did.
The Future of Film
Does film have a future? I think it does. Leica has relaunched the M6, Pentax has the new Pentax 17, and Kodak has the Kodak Ektar H35. The disposable cameras of yesteryear are still being produced and it has become the fashion to us them at weddings for that affordable yet classic look of film. Film photography continues to be popular with Gen Z and millennials. Case in point: my 25-year-old son nicked one of my Kodak Retinette 1B’s and a roll of film. I suspect my daughter might have her eye on one of my film cameras, too.
One thought came to mind whilst answering one of comments with the person saying that they “will never go back.” I am old enough to remember when microwaves fist came out. They were sold to us as being thoroughly modern and machines that could do everything so quickly and conveniently. Except they couldn’t. For certain tasks on the kitchen they are wonderful and far exceed the way we “used” to cook. But they can’t do everything. They have their place in the kitchen. And will always will do. But a slowly simmered boeuf bourguignon that infuses its odours through the kitchen will always have a special place in my heart. Much like using film to capture my images…
Welcome back to the film archives. Today I’m going to share some photos of the first reel from my “new” Canon AE1. Well, not new, but certainly new to me. The Canon AE1s were produced between 1976 and 1984. It is one of those iconic cameras and at the time I must have paid about 50€. When I say iconic, I really mean iconic. It is a shutter speed priority camera using Canon’s FD lenses. I used it an awful lot that summer. I liked it so much that I even bought a second one that I ended up giving to a photographer friend.
Colour
To some people of my generation they represent their first cameras, and were so popular. Talking of popular, the photographs from this part of the archive are from the very popular and photogenic town, Clisson. Also you will have noticed that the photos are in colour. Which only goes to show that not all film photography is black and white photography.
Clisson, as you can see in the photos, is one of those beautiful French villages that oozes Gallic charm. It also exudes a certain Italian charm, and is known for its Italian style architecture.
Canon AE1
I have both a Canon AE1 and AEI Program. The AE1 is the big brother of the AE1 Program, and doesn’t have a program mode, but as you can see from the photos it still works a treat.
Feature
Canon AE-1
Canon AE-1 Program
Differences
Release Year
1976
1981
AE-1 Program released 5 years after AE-1
Exposure Modes
Shutter Priority AE
Shutter Priority AE, Program AE
Program AE added to AE-1 Program
Metering
Center-weighted Average
Center-weighted Average
No difference
Shutter Speeds
2s – 1/1000s
2s – 1/1000s
No difference
Viewfinder Display
LEDs
LEDs
No difference
Film Speed Setting
Manual
Manual
No difference
Self-timer
Yes
Yes
No difference
Depth of Field Preview
Yes
Yes
No difference
Motor Drive Compatibility
Yes
Yes
No difference
Other Notes
First Canon SLR with microprocessor; revolutionary for its time
Simplified controls for easier use; appealed to wider audience
AE-1 Program aimed at beginners and enthusiasts
As you can see there’s not a huge differece between the two. The major difference being the Program option, and the other allowing for easier changing of the ASA film sensitivity setting.
On the day in question I must have parked just next to the river and concentrated on this picturesque area. You can see the castle, the bridge, and the river, all making for a peaceful spring moment.
I think the film was Fuji Superia, and I just wanted to use colour. Thetones are slightly muted and warm, and the flowers, trees and plants were just screaming out to be photographed. I remember the excitement of loading the film into this “new” camera, and the novelty of simply using an iconic camera.
Here is what fuji tells us about the film:
FUJICOLOR SUPERIA X-TRA400
An all-round general purpose, high-performance, high speed color negative film delivering truly fine-grain. Superb for snapshots or action, in low light with flash, outdoors or indoors. Ideal for general use with compact zoom lens cameras.
Excellent skin tones For beautiful, clear people-shots.
Fine grain Great results even when enlarged.
High-speed Superb results, whatever the shooting conditions.
Sensitivity and Film Sizes ISO : 400 Film Sizes : 135 : 36 exp.
When using digital, it’s so difficult to get that particular film look, and using film and an older camera just changes your whole outlook. The fact of not having your image straight away leaves you with that anticipation that we all used to feel when we sent off our films to the lab.
Give film a try. There are still cheap film cameras out there, and your photography experience will be totally different. I certainly appreciate it.
Following our last trip to Carnac, the film archive now has a look at Nantes in the autumn of 2016. These photos offer a glimpse into how I approached photographing a city back then, and if I’m being totally honest with you, still do. I treat the city much like a model on a photoshoot. The goal is to capture not just the physical landscape, but the essence and atmosphere of a place, allowing viewers to get a feel for the city simply by looking at the images. In this series of pictures, Nantes reveals herself and her architecture, resplendent in the autumnal sunshine.
Over time, I have come to know the city and appreciate her architecture. Buildings are not only a reflection of the architect but also of the people who live in them. They add character to the city, allowing her personality to shine through. I enjoy looking at the lines, and the shapes of them. They inspire me. They tell the story of the people who, either work, or live in them. They are not just mere edifices.
You will notice as we go through the archives, I might not respect the timeline slavishly. My aim is to give you an aperçu of my world at the time through film. I know you will be able to take this affront in your stride and not hate me!
We’ll go from the bains douches municipales, through to the Sainte Croix church, to the Stalinian 1950’s architecture of the Social Security building, passing by the odd shop, Hausmanian architecture, and even a shot looking towards the Cathedral.
In my previous articles (Part I, Part II, Part III), we’ve embarked on a journey to understand the basics in photography. I have talked about exposure, set out some of the “rules” of composition, and even delved into the world of colour theory. Today, I’d like to introduce you to the rule of odds and the rules of space, two fundamental elements that will take your photography to the next level.
Before we talk about these new concepts, let me reiterate the importance of building a solid foundation. Just as we did with framing, negative space, and colour theory, it’s crucial to master each concept before moving on to the next. Take your time to learn and apply these principles in your photography journey. The other articles will stay up, and you can read them at your leisure.
The Rule of Odds in Photography
The rule of odds is a composition guideline that suggests using an odd number of subjects or elements in your frame, typically three or five, rather than even numbers. Why? Because odd numbers tend to create a more balanced and visually pleasing composition.
When you use the rule of odds, you create a natural focal point within your photograph. Our eyes are drawn to the centre subject, and the uneven arrangement adds a sense of harmony and intrigue to the image. The result? A more captivating and dynamic photo that engages your viewers. It’s all about balance.
Rules of Space: Balance and Direction
Now, let’s look at the rules of space. This concept involves how you position elements and subjects within your frame to achieve balance and direct the viewer’s gaze. It leaves space for the subject and can be used in multiple ways as a storytelling tool. It can also be used in conjunction with the other composition techniques that I have talked about in my previous articles.
Tips
Think outside the frame. What is going on outside the frame becomes as important as what is oing on inside the frame. Let’ take the picture of the guitarist. Who is he looking at? What’s going on outside the frame? Is there an audience? Where is the audience? Using rules of space the viewer will more curious and be more engaged in the photo.
Conclusion
One can talk about composition and the effect it has on photography till the cow come home. People will always bring up “composition” and will always tell you how “they” would have done it differently. In these four articles you will now know what they are talking about and be able to decide for yourself. In absolute terms, “your” photographs are about what “you” saw, and only “you” can see that. But keep the rules that we have discussed in the back of your mind, and take your photograph with purpose and being conscious about what you are doing. Mindfulness is the key.
My next article will talk about the differences between 35mm film photography and medium format photography. For film enthusiasts or anyone else who is curious you will be entering into a new world. There are, of course, trade offs between each format, and we will discover them. Maybe you’ll be bitten by the Medium Format bug too… As always Dear Reader, I appreciate your enthusiasm, and I look forward to our next exploration together. Until then, happy shooting!
In my last article, we talked about three of the rules of composition, rule of thirds, leading lines, and symmetry. We talked about the origins in classical art, as well of how to use them in our photography. We also explored the implementation of these rules “or guides” and how we should practice each one, master it, and then move on to the next one. You will still have your photos for the “Gram,” but more importantly, you will be growing as a photographer, gaining experience, and building a body of work. You will, by definition start becoming more deliberate in capturing your shots, and will be more mindful than somebody just shooting blindly and praying that they get at least on shot!
In this article we will continue to explore certain concepts that be used to make our photographs even more engaging and interesting. We will explore framing, i.e. using frames with in frames, and the use of negative space, used to isolate of emphasize our subject, and go minimalist.
Framing
When I say the word framing, I’m not talking about the gilded golden frame that you will use to frame your photography to give as gifts to your mother-in-law, but using visual frames inside your image to “frame” your subject…
These examples illustrate how framing can be a powerful tool in photography, guiding the viewer into the image and providing depth and context to the subject or scene being captured. A technique that can make your photos more engaging and immersive. You can use trees, windows, element on the ground, buildings. Go out and explore the world around you and try and “frame” your shots.
Negative space
Negative space is the space that surrounds our subject, this empty space or unoccupied space is almost as important as the subject itself. It’s role is to create balance in the image and adds to the importance of the subject.
Key points
This negative “space” around the subject gives the subject room to breath, and takes away the clutter so we can concentrate on our subject. It emphasizes the subject and leaves no doubt where the subject is to be found. For those of you who want a “minimalist” approach to photography, it is one of the best ways to do this. Less is more after all. Think of simplicity, tranquillity, and elegance. It can be used to create mood and atmosphere, and in landscape photography can portray ideas of solitude or freedom. Think of a vast empty sky and rolling hills. Negative space doesn’t have to be completely devoid of detail. It can be an area of uniform colour or texture that complements the subject and adds visual interest, or we can use depth of field to emphasize our subject
When using negative space, it’s essential to pay attention to the balance between the subject and the surrounding empty areas. The goal is to create a harmonious composition where the negative space complements and enhances the subject, rather than overpowering it. This technique can lead to powerful and emotionally resonant photographs, adding depth and impact to your work.
When you look at my photos of the girl against the colourful walls in Trentemoult in Nantes, think about how placing the model on the left or right of the frame makes you feel. Looking forwards or looking backwords…
Colour Theory
Colour theory is not just for those trendy designers in those advertising agencies. If you go onto my Instagram feed, you will see that most of my work is predominantly black and white. “So no colour,” I hear you say. Well, yes and no. Black and white photography concentrates on tones, but we can look at colour in the same way and seek balance in our colours. So what’s this colour wheel then? Well, it’s a way of looking at colours that go together, like green and red (think of Christmas cards), blue and orange, yellow and purple, all these colour are opposite on the colour wheel. Also, think about complimentary colours that are next to each other on the wheel, such as yellow, light green and dark green. You will find yourself becoming aware of colours in nature and how they complement each other. There will be some photographs that depend on this colour for their artistic value, and that won’t work in black and white photography.
Think about the portraits in the previous section and the natural colour in the photos in the country side.
Conclusion
We’ve continued our journey into composition by exploring how to use elements in our photos to frame our subjects. We’ve delved into the concept of negative space, emphasizing our subjects in our images. To conclude, we’ve begun to consider how colour can add harmony to our compositions. My advice is to incorporate these elements into your photography one step at a time. Don’t rush; there’s no need to feel overwhelmed. It’s a lot of information to take in, but as you explore each aspect mindfully, you’ll witness an evolution in your approach. Keep up the excellent work, and I look forward to our next session where we will talk about pattern and repetition, scale and proportion, and depth and layering.
Good composition is the difference between a photograph that holds attention and one that gets scrolled past. The rule of thirds, leading lines, symmetry — these aren’t arbitrary rules, they’re the language of visual weight, and understanding them is the foundation of all strong photography. This guide covers the core principles with examples, whether you shoot film or digital.
In my last article we talked about exposure, and balancing the elements that form the “exposure triangle”, i.e. the sensitivity of the film that we’re using, of the ISO setting on our camera sensor, the shutter speed, i.e. how long we let the light hit the film, or camera sensor, and aperture, i.e. the size of the hole that light comes through measured in F-Stops. When these elements are in perfect osmosis, we should get a decently exposed photograph.
Introduction to composition principles
Now we shall take this knowledge and build upon it with notions of composition, i.e. how we will organise the elements in our photograph. Sometimes we have control of where these elements are, for example when creating a still life image. Other times we have no control whatsoever and just have to move ourselves instead. The way we do this is by thinking about our “Composition.”
As humans we are all guided by rules, some universally moral, some defined by the country we live in (like in France where they seem to be forbidden to make a decent up of tea), and Art is no exception. There are rules in Art that make an image pleasing naturally to the eye, and, believe it or not, these “rules” have been around for a long time. Now I hear you little rebels sat at the back of the classroom near the radiator saying how you don’t live by rules, and that you break every rule in the book. And I have no problem with that. I would however suggest you learn the “rules of composition” first and then, and only then break them knowingly.
Photography is art made with light, and the first photographers were heavily influenced by the art and paintings in the local Art Galleries. They therefore had a very “classical” notion of composition. I want you to imagine those massive oil paintings in a gold frame showing a Victorian gentleman looking over the top of a waterfall, framed by the forests, and still looking so dapper.
The Rule of thirds
This is one the first things that people will talk about when talking about composition. The idea, as the name suggests is to divide a photo equally into thirds horizontally and vertically, and put the point of interest (subject) where the lines intersect. Or you could have a landscape photo where sky will take up two thirds of the photograph and the foreground the other third. In editing software, when framing you shot they will put a three by three grid on your photo automatically. Some digital cameras allow the use of this grid inside the viewfinder. When taking a portrait you would ideally have the eye where the lines cross. Yes Ian, but this has been done, done, and done again, and has become a cliché I hear you say. Possibly, but it works mate! Don’t knock it. As I said earlier, learn the rule, master using the rule, and then you might consider breaking the rule, but it will be a conscious decision and above all, deliberate. But it will permit a pleasing and natural result.
Leading Lines and Perspective
Leading lines are lines that lead the eye into the photograph, turning it into something dynamic. The lines will converge on a certain point in the image, which, if you want, can be on the grid that I described in the last section. This point is the vanishing point, and give geometrical forms to your image, and can lead to the subject of you photo. When using straight lines,you can emphasis to shapes in architecture and acquire a very “graphic” image. Using a wide angled lens or even a fish eye lens will emphasize these line even further and the distortion of these lenses will add even more interest to your image. I will talk about the most common lenses in a future article. We’re not there yet. The lines don’t have to be straight, they can be curved or S shaped. Think of a winding road in the countryside. Whichever version you use, there will be a feeling of being drawn in to the scene.
In the first photograph of the original Pegasus Bridge all the lines converge to a central point with a person standing which gives us an idea of the scale of the bridge. These straight geometrical lines give a feeling of stability and solidity.
In the second photograph, we can see an image that uses an S curve, and as you can see, the effect is totally different. More subtle, but they eye is still drawn in to the image.
Leading lines can appear in nature and in the landscape. Look at the way that the tree line and lines in the mountains converge on a specific part of the photograph and show the different layers of the photograph.
I seem to use them in quite a few of my photos, and with time, you won’t even have to seek them out. You will be lead…
Symmetry in photography
In last week’s article we talked about exposure and how it is a balancing act between the three elements: film sensitivity, aperture, and shutter speed. We can find this symmetry in our compositions too.
Symmetry in photography is a fundamental principle that enhances the visual impact of images. It involves balancing elements on both sides of a central axis or point. There are various types of symmetry, including horizontal, vertical, radial, and bilateral, each offering unique opportunities for creating appealing compositions. Symmetry naturally draws the viewer’s eye, adds stability, and is particularly useful in architectural, landscape, and macro photography. However, breaking symmetry with a contrasting element can introduce tension and creativity. By framing subjects thoughtfully, adjusting camera angles, and recognizing symmetry in both natural and man-made subjects, photographers can master this powerful tool for captivating compositions.
In summary, symmetry in photography is about creating balance and harmony through the arrangement of elements within the frame. It provides a sense of order, highlights patterns, and engages viewers, while also allowing for creative deviations when necessary to convey a specific message or emotion.
Conclusion
Firstly let’s not be fixated by these rules. I was right to describe them as “guides” to composition. Talking about them is fine, but we have to put them into action. Don’t try to do them all at once. Take one rule. Look at it closely. Think how can I use this one rule? How can I master it, or at least take it on board. When you think that is is engrained into your mind, then start using a different concept. I can’t stress that when learning, take your time. Let the concept become second nature.
There will be occasions when you feel that you are no longer advancing in your composition, but stick at it. You will not obtain mastery after just one outing. I’ve been doing this for 40 years and am still learning something new each time I go out with my camera. People talk about being on a photographic journey, and that is a very good way of looking at it. You can’t run before you can walk. Don’t let yourself be overwhelmed by what you might see on Instagram, or even on this blog. We are all at different places on this path.
In next week’s episode we will explore framing, negative space, colour theory, texture. There will be a third article to cover pattern and repetition, scale and proportion, depth and layering. There are so many points to talk about in composition that we may even have a fourth article but we’re not there yet!
