The Enduring Elegance of Vintage Cameras: A Personal Journey

I often find myself discussing the concept of “vintage” with my father during our phone calls. I live in France, while my parents are in Northumberland. The term means different things to different generations. For my 25-year-old son, vintage clothing is anything from the 90s, he even wears a few of my old sweaters from that era. At 52, I’m starting to think of myself as slightly vintage too. And to my 15-year-old daughter, my father, who grew up during the war, must seem positively ancient.

A camera from the 1990s feels relatively modern to me, while those from the 70s and 80s seem older but not quite ancient. Using these older cameras forces me to slow down and be more deliberate. Each shot becomes a considered act rather than a reflex, and there’s something satisfying about that slower pace, even if the cameras themselves aren’t the latest technology.

My own “vintage collection” began with an SLR from the 1980s: an East German Praktica MTL3 that served me faithfully until 2009. After it finally gave up, I quickly replaced it with another. From there, I explored more iconic cameras from the 1970s and 1980s, back when they were still relatively affordable, before the hipsters discovered film photography and the prices started rising.

My exploration didn’t stop there. I began to seek out cameras from the 1960s and even the 1950s. The oldest camera in my collection dates back to 1949! It’s quite vintage, even for me, though perhaps not so much for my father. Each piece is a link to a past era, a tactile connection to history that digital tools can’t replicate.

There was a time during the digital age when people tried to recapture the film aesthetic, and right on cue, apps like Hipstamatic, Instagram, and VSCO turned up. They embraced the nostalgic look of film, but it’s never quite matched the real thing.

Which led me to a simple thought: if I wanted that film aesthetic, why not use actual film and cameras from the eras I admire? I’ve always been drawn to old things, having loved exploring a special drawer at my grandmother’s house filled with genuine relics. My fascination with older technology, particularly when it’s still functional, has never gone away.

So just because something’s old doesn’t mean it doesn’t still work, and it might open up a whole world you didn’t know existed. It can be a bit quirky, but once you get past that, the world’s your oyster.

The Opening of the Film Archives, Lisbon, August 2016

Welcome back to the Film Archives, where I showcase my analogue photography from the period BB (before the blog). In this edition, we’re diving into a street photography session in Lisbon, captured using the Olympus Trip 35 paired with Ilford HP5 Plus film. This camera and film combination was my go-to at the time, and with the fantastic lighting conditions in Lisbon, I was confident in its ability to deliver excellent results.

Our cruise around the Canary Islands had one final stop in Lisbon before heading back to Southampton. After disembarking, we faced the usual checks—showing ID and ensuring we had no contraband. The docks were conveniently close to the city center, and I followed the crowd to the left as we exited. My family, however, decided to explore in a different direction and turned right.

Lisbon is renowned for its distinctive tiles, and I was immediately drawn to their intricate patterns. My first shot aimed to capture these tiles, which were a striking shade of blue. Of course, the beauty of these tiles is somewhat lost in black-and-white photos, but the pattern’s appeal was undeniable. Perhaps a color photograph would have better showcased their vibrancy, but the monochrome shots still convey the city’s essence.

Having visited Lisbon before, I was eager to find the massive statue of a man on a horse located in the square. Finding it again brought back memories of my previous visit. The weather was quite warm—typical of that summer—but I sought refuge under the cool arches, which made for excellent photographic compositions. The leading lines and repetitive patterns of the arches created compelling visual elements in my photos.

One aspect I had forgotten about was the trolley buses. Their bright yellow color adds a unique touch to the city’s character. Although these buses are less striking in black and white, their presence adds to the city’s charm and energy.

The Olympus Trip 35 is a straightforward, fully mechanical camera with a fixed lens and automatic exposure. It’s perfect for street photography due to its simplicity and reliability. The HP5 Plus film is known for its versatility and fine grain, which works well in various lighting conditions. On this bright day in Lisbon, the film’s wide exposure latitude allowed me to capture the city’s details with great clarity and depth.

As I walked through Lisbon, it felt as if I had stepped back in time. The city’s mosaic pavements and vintage shop signs created a nostalgic atmosphere reminiscent of the 1960s. While I’m sure some areas are more modern, my exploration was limited to the historic parts I could reach on foot. In these moments, I felt detached from the “real” world, fully immersed in observing and photographing the city. This sense of liberation of being a stranger in a new place is incredibly freeing.

During my shoot, a German lady, who was a resident of Lisbon, approached me on Instagram and was surprised when I told her these photos were taken just 15 days ago. It’s fascinating how a fresh perspective can capture the timeless quality of a place.

In summary, Lisbon, at least in the areas I explored, possesses a timeless charm akin to that of a gentleman in a linen suit with a Panama hat. The city’s classical style and foreign allure were captivating. Although I don’t speak Portuguese, I chose to keep to myself, relying on the universal language of photography to connect with the city.

The Olympus Trip 35 was ideal for this day of exploration. Its simplicity, coupled with the bright light of Lisbon, allowed me to focus on capturing the city’s spirit without being bogged down by complex settings. The vintage camera, combined with the city’s classic charm, perhaps contributed to the nostalgic vibe of the photos, adding to the allure that intrigued even my German friend.

A Peaceful Stroll Through Jardin de Plantes

The Jardin de Plantes is a quiet spot in the middle of a busy city, and my niece came along for a walk through it with me — Pentax ME Super loaded with Kentmere 100.

That day there was a bonus: sculptures and installations from the Voyage à Nantes were dotted around the garden, mixed in with the usual plants and paths. Away from the noise of the city, it was an easy, unhurried couple of hours.

My niece explored every corner while I got on with the Pentax, the Kentmere 100 doing its usual job. Nothing dramatic, just a good afternoon out with a camera.

Capturing Nantes: A Photowalk Through Urban Charms

This was a photowalk through Nantes with the Pentax ME Super, first loaded with Rollei RPX 100 and then Fomapan 100, taking in some of the sculptures and public art around the city, including a few pieces from that year’s Voyage à Nantes.

First stop was Place Royale, where the fountain is decorated with marine sculptures by the Belgian artist Maen Florin.

Next was Place Graslin, where the statue of Cambronne — the newer version, by Maya Eneva and the Cellule B collectif — stands outside the Cigale café.

A walk along Cours Cambronne took in two Voyage à Nantes pieces: “homme pressé” by the English sculptor Thomas Houseago, and “éloge à la transgression” by Philippe Ramette.

No Nantes photowalk is complete without the bike shots. It also allows people to keep fit and be very smug about not polluting…

Two rolls, one classic camera, and a decent look at some of the city’s public art along the way.