capturing emotions – IJM Photography

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…

In the heart of Nantes, a city bustling with life and movement, lies a haven of tranquilly—the Jardin de Plantes. With my trusty Pentax ME Super in hand and a roll of Kentmere 100 film, I embarked on a photo walk with my niece, weaving together the threads of modernity and nostalgia.

As the sun cast its gentle rays on the vibrant petals and verdant foliage, my niece and I strolled through the garden, our spirits lifted by the scent of blooming flowers and the melody of chirping birds. The Pentax ME Super, a relic of a bygone era, clicked and whirred, capturing the essence of the ambiance around us.

In the heart of this botanical wonderland, a delightful surprise awaited us – artworks from the Voyage à Nantes, seamlessly integrated into the landscape. Sculptures and installations whispered tales of creativity, adding an artistic flair to the already enchanting scenery. With each click of the shutter, the Kentmere 100 film immortalised these moments, creating a bridge between the past and the present.

Amidst the garden’s serenity, the city’s rhythm seemed to fade into the background. The laughter of children echoed, the fragrance of earth danced in the air, and a sense of peace enveloped us. The bustling streets felt miles away, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soothing trickle of fountains. It was a moment to pause, to breathe, and to find solace in the embrace of nature.

As my niece marvelled at the artistic wonders and explored every nook and cranny, I couldn’t help but recall a time when the world seemed simpler, captured through the lens of vintage cameras. The Pentax ME Super, a faithful companion, clicked away, a reminder that while times change, the emotions and memories we capture remain timeless.

In the heart of the garden, as my niece’s wonder met my own nostalgia, I realised that these fleeting moments, captured on film, became whispers of timelessness. The Kentmere 100 film transformed scenes into memories, the Pentax ME Super gave them life, and the Jardin de Plantes offered its serene backdrop.

Our visit came to an end, and the laughter and footsteps of visitors began to fade, leaving behind a quietude that felt like a hidden treasure. With a final click, I knew that I had captured not just images, but fragments of serenity and beauty, framed by the lens of a camera that has witnessed decades.

The Jardin de Plantes, a breath of fresh air in the heart of a bustling city, became a canvas on which moments of joy, peace, and art intertwined. The Kentmere 100 film told their story, the Pentax ME Super etched them onto film, and I, a mere observer, was fortunate to be a part of this beautiful narrative.

In the end, it’s the ability to capture the ephemeral that gives photography its magic. It’s not just about freezing time but about encapsulating emotions that stand the test of time. As I looked at the photographs that adorned my album, I knew that every click was a brushstroke on the canvas of memory— a reminder of the day my niece and I discovered the beauty of the Jardin de Plantes and the timeless charm of classic photography.