The Opening of the Film Archives – On the way to work

Sometimes we can have a tendency to ignore our habitual surroundings as photographers.  In this series of photos from the film archive, I’m going to show you part of the route I use to go to work.  What is ordinary to one person might be an pastoral idyl to somebody else.  It only goes to show that there is beauty everywhere in this world and one of our roles as photographers is to document it for future generations.

My wife, bless her, has always said that my black and white photos have a timeless feel to them, be they in the city or out here in the country.  I think that using film, especially this grainy HP5 Plus, even shot at box speed, adds to that sentiment.  The fact that I used Rodinal as my developer might have accentuated the grain too.  Also don’t forget that this is the beginning of my return to film development so I might have been a little vigorous in my “agitations” whilst developing the film.  I now use mostly Ilfosil 3 and lower grain film, and have brought a little more “calm” to my “agitations.”

The camera that day was the FED 5 rangefinder camera from Ukraine.  I’ve talked about it before, and although I mainly use SLRs, I still feel guilty about not using it more.  It’s a beautiful camera and I don’t want it to feel neglected.  I might just have to correct that soon.

I lived just outside Paris for 7 years before moving out to the country in 2001.  The change in ambiance was startling.  I went from blocks of flats to village life in the French countryside.  I went from riding the metro, and suburban Parisian trains, to learning to drive though this beautiful landscape.  Driving through this scenery still gets me every time I get into the car.  I wonder what I’ll see.  I see the changes in the fields and countryside through the seasons.

I want you to promise me, Dear Reader, that you will take a closer look at your route to work, and maybe I can convince you to record it too for prosperity.  Don’t worry about film or camera, even just using your phone will do the trick.

Ian James Myers: A Candid Exploration of Life, Humor, and Cultural Observations

I did something daft the other week. I fed ChatGPT a stack of my own blog posts and asked it to tell me who I am. Not in a therapy sense, more out of curiosity: what does a machine make of a couple of years of rambling about cameras, French bureaucracy and my own bad moods. What came back was three paragraphs of the kind of praise you’d get from a wedding speech written by someone who’s never actually met the groom.

Apparently I’m “a unique blend of wit, introspection, and cultural curiosity.” Apparently my writing “invites readers into my world” and “reflects the complexities of my mind.” It called my grouchiness “self-professed” and said my life has been “anything but conventional.” All true enough, in the way a horoscope is true enough. None of it sounded like me. It read like someone had skimmed a summary of a man and never sat in a room with him.

So here’s the real version, since you lot deserve better than a chatbot’s book report.

I’m 52. I grew up in the UK and I’ve lived in the Vendée since 2019, before that near Nantes, so I’ve had a good long stretch of being the Englishman who doesn’t quite get it, and the Englishman who gets it a bit too well. French bureaucracy still makes me want to put my head through a wall. French bread has ruined every other bread on earth for me. Both things are true at once, and that’s more or less what living here has taught me.

I moan about birthdays. I moan about getting older, my knees, and the French obsession with paperwork in triplicate. I’ve written about mental health here more than once, not because I’ve got it figured out but because pretending I have would be a worse lie than just admitting I don’t. If a post of mine has ever made you feel less alone in whatever you’re carrying, that matters more to me than any of it sounding polished.

I’m grouchy. I’ll own that one, no “self-professed” required. But I’m also genuinely grateful for the people who turn up here, comment, tell me I’m wrong about something, or just read quietly and never say a word. Thousands of you have clicked through over the years and I still don’t fully understand why, but I’m glad you do.

What the AI got right, in its clumsy way, is that I don’t hide much. The bad days, the arguments with myself over whether a photo’s any good, the culture-shock gripes, they’re all here on the blog because that’s more interesting to me than a highlight reel would be. What it got wrong is the tone. I’m not a beacon of anything. I’m a bloke with a camera and a horn and a house in the Vendée, still working out what I think about most things, still willing to say so out loud.

Was it eye-opening, having a machine mark my homework? Not really. Was it funny? Yes, in places. Am I letting ChatGPT write about me again? Probably not, or at least not without editing out every third adjective first. If you know me, or you’ve been reading a while, tell me in the comments whether any of it sounded like me. Be honest, that’s what the comments are there for.