Good evening Dear Reader. Some of you may know that I live in France, despite being originally from the UK, and despite probably having gone native after living here for 30 years. I have even been accused of being a little “Continental” whatever that may mean.. I live in the west of France. You could think that I live in Nantes just judging by the quantity of photos taken in that city.
I actually live in a smallish village at the very northern edge of the Vendée and my village borders the “la Loire Inférieure” or to use the more modern term “la Loire Atlantique.” Our department number is 85 and theirs is 44. I’m not saying there is any animosity between the two, in the same way that there isn’t any animosity between the inhabitant of Lancashire, and God’s own county of Yorkshire. Absolutely none at all.
You now know where I am. Let’s have a closer look at that area through the lens of my Canon AE1. This series of photos was taken along my route to work. You can see the milestone on the road where the border between the two departments finds itself.
The trees along this stretch form a natural tunnel, creating an otherworldly atmosphere as sunlight filters through the canopy. Capturing that interplay of light and shadow was my goal with the Canon AE1. Despite some doubts about its metering capabilities, the camera performed admirably, and I’m thrilled with the results.
Since I took these photos, some of the trees have been cut back, making these images even more precious. They preserve a fleeting beauty—a reminder of how photography can immortalise moments before they change forever.
At the base of the hill runs a quiet stream, tame in spring but often overflowing in winter. Its stillness offers another perspective, reflecting the surrounding trees and clusters of mistletoe hanging high in their branches. These reflections, captured on film, reveal a different kind of magic—a mirror-like calm that contrasts with the lively interplay of light above.
This installment of the Film Archives is a tribute to the quiet beauty of my daily commute. Through these photographs, I hope to share not just a sense of place but a moment in time that speaks to the power of film photography to hold onto the ephemeral.
What could be a more contemporary expression of self than the modern selfie? For some, it represents a genuine connection, while for others, it becomes a carefully curated fantasy shared on Instagram in pursuit of self-importance—think #lifestyle, #ootd, or #memyselfandI. These representations can evoke mixed feelings about the authenticity of self-expression.
However, this is not how I view photography as a reflection of self. Photography is the only art form that allows the viewer to look through the lens just as I did when I pressed the shutter button. You see exactly what I saw in that moment, and, depending on how I edited the photo, you may catch a glimpse of the emotions swirling in my mind at that time.
Consider two people facing each other, a coin held up between them. One sees the heads side, while the other sees the tails. Each perspective offers only a partial view of the whole object, much like how each photograph can convey different meanings and emotions depending on the viewer’s interpretation. This highlights the importance of taking in the entire picture. But it’s not just this perspective that changes the way each individual looks at the coin, but all the personality and life experience that the person brings.
So, what about the expression of my identity and worldview? You might detect my state of mind through the subject matter of the photograph. If you see one of my photos taken during the anti-government demonstrations in Nantes, you might draw conclusions about my political leanings, when in reality, I was completely neutral about the situation. Here, the viewer adds their own interpretation to what they see, imagining this world and identifying with the picture in a way that is relevant to them. I think we all are guilty of that. My worldview, too, may show through—an insight into the world around me and how I choose to see and document it, since you are witnessing a moment in time as I saw it.
But why press the shutter button at a particular moment and not 1 second before, or 1 second after? Cartier Bresson talked about capturing the decisive moment. I try and make sure that I have no distracting elements. I try and get my subject right where I want them, or wait for them to cross the scene at a certain spot. Does this mean that I miss shots? Yes, but it’s all part of the game! Have I become a self-hating perfectionist? Fortunately, no. But do I try and make that extra effort? Definitely. I owe it to myself, but to the viewer of the resulting photo. Some might talk about a certain professional conscience, but if you’re going to do something, then try and do your best?
Personal Growth
This is a tricky subject, as I’m not entirely certain that my subject matter has evolved as I have. Am I still taking the same old photos as I used to? Possibly. Yet there are new techniques I’ve picked up along my learning journey. I may have started learning about photography over 40 years ago, but I’ve never stopped. In the last ten years alone, I’ve learnt so much, often with YouTube as my teacher. I’ve expanded my knowledge of film—how to use it and develop it—and I’ve learnt more about editing. I might just mention that I trained in “Desktop Publishing” back in 2003. Twenty years ago… time flies! Lots of Photoshop, Illustrator, and QuarkXpress.
New equipment and different lenses have allowed me to explore wide-angle photography and, as they say, “get it out of my system.” But is it really out, or have I simply explored it enough to satisfy my curiosity for the time being? I will, no doubt, revisit it again. This exploration has clearly shaped the way I view a scene, and I now know how to use the distortion it offers as another stylistic string to my bow. Wide angles enable me to alter how the subject is seen, making a more significant impact on the viewer, who experiences something distinctly out of the ordinary. It’s a small but meaningful addition to my work that could offer that extra something to a potential client.
I’ve grown more confident in my photography over time through consistency and practice. Getting out there with your camera is, without a doubt, the way to go. Some might accuse me of relying on gear, but I feel that I’ve genuinely put the hours in to master certain aspects of this craft and to have a certain self confidence in my abilities as a photographer.
Do I take the same photos that I did back in 1987 and now? In certain ways, yes. Because my personality shines through the photograph. However back in 1987 I was concerned just about nailing the exposure, and didn’t have the knowledge and photographic culture that I do today in 2024. I was also a 15 year old back in 1987, and am now over 50. The essential part of who I am remains, but my life experience has changed me, as it would anyone over 35 years.
Cultural Context
You might not know this about me, but I have lived in France for the last thirty years. More time than I lived at “home” in the UK. Has that affected my photography in any way? Maaaaybe…
France is the home of Cartier Bresson, and Doisneau, and their wonderfully crafted street photography. Yes, I have explored their work and have been amazed by it, and amazed by the simplicity in certain shots of theirs, but a deceptive simplicity that takes so much time to emulate. So yes, I have been influenced by French culture. It forms the way I look at the world around me, especially when in the streets of Nantes and I feel their influence accompanying me as I wander around the streets. It’s also the subject matter that changes from country to country. Just look at the difference between my two countries, the UK and France.
But it doesn’t stop there. I have been influenced by photographers that I see on the Internet. Names like Sean Tucker, Thomas Heaton, James Popsys, Mango Street, Peter McKinnon, and Jamie Windsor spring to mind and their videos have certainly been a huge influence on me. And there’s not even one Frenchman in that short list… It’s not that I reject French youtubers, but when at work I have to make the effort to speak French, when I am outside my house I have to make the effort to speak French, aso when at home I prefer to keep things in my mother tongue. It’s a me problem, and not a them problem.
Conclusion: The Lens of Self-Reflection
Photography, at its core, is about more than just taking pictures; it’s about capturing fragments of identity and moments of personal evolution. While the images we create may reflect the world around us, they also tell the story of how we see ourselves and the ever-changing lens through which we view the world.
What I’ve come to realise is that photography isn’t just a technical pursuit or a series of compositions—it’s a mirror. Through it, I’ve discovered not only the nuances of the world but the nuances within myself. From the early days of worrying over exposure to now, when the process feels more like a conversation with the scene, I have grown not just as a photographer, but as an individual.
Yet, this growth is never complete. Photography, like life, is a journey with no clear destination. The influences, the techniques, and even the subjects will continue to shift as I evolve. What remains constant is the intention: to connect, to reflect, and to capture not just an image, but a piece of time that speaks to who I am, and who I am becoming.
In the end, photography is an act of constant reinvention. Each shutter press is an opportunity to redefine the self and understand the world a little better, one image at a time.
When I first started out in photography, I would go and get my film developed by the photographer on Newland Avenue near where I lived, and the photographer would do what people called a contact sheet. Basically, the film was cut into strips, placed into a special frame to keep the negatives as flat as possible, and exposed directly onto a sheet of photographic paper. These “thumbnails” allowed us to see the photos of the outing in one place and we could decide which ones might be worthy of developing.
We have this digital contact sheet in Lightroom where we import our photos and decide which ones are worthy of being developed. It’s the same idea, just with different tools.
But what does this have to do with storytelling? Think of the contact sheet as the beginning of the story-crafting process. Just like a narrative needs a beginning, middle, and end, so too does our selection of images. With a contact sheet, we gain a bird’s-eye view of an outing—seeing not only the individual shots but how they relate to each other. Choosing which moments to develop isn’t just about technical quality; it’s about deciding which parts of the experience best tell the story.
This principle guides me when choosing photos to share here on the blog. Whether it’s capturing moments with my friend JD, the barber, or snapping a shot of my lunch before I dive in, each image plays a role in the day’s story, hoping that I don’t forget to take the photo of my dessert before eating it. Otherwise you just get a photo of the plate with some traces of cake or just some crumbs.
But lets’s get back to the idea of story telling with an arc that covers the outing. When I set out for the day, I begin with a few warm-up shots to set the scene. If I have a plan, great—but often I don’t. Instead, I focus on capturing the ambiance of my surroundings, whether it’s a café, church, or pub. Each photo builds on the last, creating a narrative of my day’s journey.
For events, especially when I’m hired to photograph, I’ll start by discussing the plan with my client. I want to know what’s important to capture, any specific conditions at the venue—lighting, mobility restrictions, etc.—and what moments they consider essential. Having this list of must-capture moments, like the classic Kodak moments that we talked about in the last article, helps me stay focused and give me structure.
For the sake of arguments, I have a wedding to photograph, and I know that I will be taking shots of the bride before the ceremony. I know that I have to be at the venue before the happy couple arrives. I’d better get a shot of the rings before they appear on the couples’ fingers, etc. I’ll want environmental portraits of the guests, etc. This planning ahead allows me to be more serene during the day itself.
Just married
Not every story requires a series of images; sometimes, a single photograph can capture an entire narrative. Think of it as a self-contained story, a moment that holds not only what’s visible but also what’s implied—emotion, context, and sometimes, a sense of mystery.
For example, take a photograph of a lone, empty café table in the soft morning light, a half-full cup of coffee, and an open notebook on the table. This image can suggest solitude, introspection, or perhaps the moment right after someone has left. The viewer might wonder: Who was sitting here? Why did they leave? What were they writing? This photograph tells a story, inviting the viewer to step in and imagine the rest.
A single image can evoke different responses based on the viewer’s own experiences and emotions. In many ways, it’s a conversation between the photographer and the viewer. We as photographers might set the scene, choose the light, and capture the moment, but it’s the viewer who fills in the blanks, completing the story in their mind.
This approach also applies when photographing people. A portrait of a person lost in thought, gazing out of a window, can evoke curiosity about what’s on their mind, where they might be going, or what they’re experiencing at that moment. In these cases, the single image captures more than just a face or place; it holds an emotional narrative that transcends words.
Am I sure about this cake?
Storytelling in photography isn’t just about taking pictures; it’s about deciding which moments matter and capturing them in a way that communicates more than what’s on the surface. Whether we’re crafting a narrative through a series of images or capturing an entire story in a single frame, each photo we take says something about how we see the world and what we want to share with others.
Next time you’re out with your camera, think about the story you’re building, whether it’s a quiet day at a café or a bustling event. What do you want your viewers to see, to feel, to wonder about? In some ways, we’re all storytellers—stringing together moments, big or small, to create something meaningful.
So, go on—look through your images as if they were frames in a film, each one a piece of a larger story. You might find that your perspective shifts, and that’s when photography becomes more than just a hobby; it becomes a way of understanding and connecting with the world.
I’m going to tell you a story about an essay that was given to us by the music master at the beginning of my Music A level course. There were four of us studying music, and the lessons took place in his study, much like a tutorial at university. The title of the essay was something like describe the perfect piece of music.
Back then I described the Glenn Miller song, Moonlight Serenade. One of my fellow pupils described the Planets from Holst. In the following tutorial after our essays had been marked, I was criticised since the Master thought my piece was repetitive, had no particular musical merit, and was corny. I, on the other hand, argued that it was the way the piece made me feel.
With hindsight I should have just handed in a clean sheet of paper saying that there is no such thing as a perfect piece of music, as taste is purely subjective and that he should take his essay question and possibly reconsider his stance! I didn’t of course. But it certainly got me thinking, even to this day!
Subjectivity in Art
As in any art the appreciation of the viewer is purely subjective and we have to be so careful about reading an interpretation into a given work. There are effectively themes that are explored in literature that could be described as obvious. But in Photography, I maintain that any connection to a particular photograph is an emotional one first, before going any deeper.
The Essence of Emotional Connection
But what makes this emotional connection possible? And how do I go about achieving this in photography. I’m going to harken back to my musical training. My horn teacher in France would say, your concerto is your text. Your job is to recite that text to the audience. That is all you have to concentrate on. You’ve worked through your concerto, the techniques necessary to play it, and once the sound leaves the bell of the instrument, it is no longer yours. It belongs to the audience. They are the ones listening and they are the ones that will form the emotional connection.
Creating Meaningful Portraits
So how do I make this connection with my audience when it comes to photography? Well, in portraiture they say to focus on the eyes of your model. Eyes being the entrance to the soul. If I can capture that and have my model looking directly at my camera and therefore my audience then I’m well on the way to creating a meaningful portrait.
The Art of Street Photography
In my street photography, it can be about catching a detail that everybody sees but that nobody notices until they look at your image. You can go to my photography tutorials and look at the composition articles to learn about how we direct the audience to a particular point in our photograph by using leading lines, the rule of thirds, and emphasising our subject with our lighting, or by isolating our subject.
The Role of Colour in Evoking Emotion
We also solicit emotion through the colors we choose. Warmer tones can infuse images with energy and happiness, while cooler tones can make them feel peaceful or introspective. For example, adding reds and oranges to a portrait can evoke warmth and approachability, while blues and greens can give a landscape a calm, reflective quality. Considering these colours “in camera” can make the entire process more intuitive, helping you set the mood before you even begin editing.
The Power of Black and White
Shooting in black and white, using only tones of light strips away the influence of colour and presents us with the “essence” of a scene, and it’s one of the reasons I love shooting in black and white, be that on film or digitally. I aim for a timeless quality to my black and white images, and the emotion can be just as intense. Without color, we focus on texture, shadow, and contrast—elements that can evoke nostalgia, solitude, or contemplation.
Mindfulness in the Photographic Process
What I think I’m getting at is that to evoke an emotion we need to be so mindful of our photographic process. Sometimes taking that step backwards allows us to reflect before pressing the shutter button.
Conclusion
I don’t have all the answers of course, but in the end, capturing emotion in photography is as much about the heart as it is about the eyes behind the lens. Each photograph we create is a bridge between ourselves and our viewers—a connection forged in the moment but lasting beyond it. Just as a musician lets their notes drift into the silence, we photographers must let our images speak, leaving space for others to interpret, feel, and connect.
So, as you move forward in your own photography, remember to pause, to feel, and to let emotion guide your hand. Don’t be afraid to take a step back before pressing the shutter, and ask yourself: What do I want my viewer to feel?
I hope this reflection gives you a new perspective on how you approach your next shot. After all, photography, like any art, is a journey without fixed answers—one of constant discovery. Take time to explore, experiment, and, most importantly, to feel.
Good afternoon, Dear Reader. I’m writing this article thinking of you and wondering what to show you next in this ongoing series. The clue is in the title: Canon AE1 Street Photography in the streets of Nantes.
I know you have the eyes of a hawk who never miss a trick because your vision is so sharp. You might even have scrolled down to the photos already, and your eagle eyes will have noticed that this isn’t the usual area I visit on these outings. And, of course, you’d be right!
Yes, I still parked in the Feydeau car park but crossed the road to the south, heading along Baco-Lu, past the Tour Lu (sans “t”), towards the St Felix Canal, and then back into town… Some of the places no longer exist or have changed hands, but you would still recognise them even today.
I think that with these photographs, I’m getting closer to what some might call “proper” or “traditional” street photography. The images have a certain gritty quality to them, including the people in the shots. This was something I was actively aiming for. Maybe it’s the grain—something I don’t get with the X100F—that helped bring this about. Or could it be the people, whose presence seems to reveal the stories behind them? Whatever it is, I felt that this was a very good day.
I think I may have shared with you that I’m going to China this Christmas on tour with the orchestra I play for. I’m still undecided about which camera to take and wondering if I should bring a film camera along. With the X100F, I’ve become so accustomed to the 35mm lens, while my film cameras only have 50mm lenses to work with. Reviewing these older images may help me make up my mind. It’s going to be an epic trip, and I want to be sure of the kinds of images I’ll be able to capture.
As much as I’d love the flexibility to hop in the car and retake a shot if needed, this trip to China will be different. I’ll need to trust my choices and embrace the moment as it unfolds—something that feels both exciting and a little daunting. But that’s the beauty of photography, isn’t it? The challenge of capturing fleeting moments, knowing they might never come around again. So, whatever I decide, I know the experience will be unforgettable.
While the anticipation of the China photos may be killing you, I know you’ll be patient, whatever I decide to use. Rest assured, those photos will capture the spirit of the trip. Only two and a half weeks before I start my travels…
Cameras. Why? What is it that makes us pick one up? For me, a camera is not merely a beautiful object; it’s a tool—a simple box, with a lens through which light passes, creating an image on film or a sensor. Whether the box is a hundred years old or fresh off the production line, the same principles hold true. Even our phones are, in essence, an evolution of that same box. But beyond mechanics, what truly drives us to take a photograph?
The Kodak company told us it was all about “capturing that Kodak moment.” But what exactly is this moment, whether created by Kodak or any other company? Firstly, it was a stroke of marketing genius, associating a photograph with a personal, meaningful memory. Secondly, it gave us a compelling reason to pick up a camera and capture memories to share with others, possibly even sparking the first instances of FOMO (fear of missing out), which is now so prevalent in social media. Kodak cleverly linked photographs with significant memories, encouraging us to reach for our cameras. How kind of them.
Yet, let me assure you, it’s not a cure for FOMO, despite what Kodak or social media might suggest. Or at least, not entirely. I use my photography to document the world around me at a given moment in time. Photography is the only art form that allows you, the viewer, to see something through my eyes as I saw it. But while photojournalists capture our world, photography is not solely about documentation.
It’s about storytelling through images. A single photograph can hold an entire narrative within its frame, suggesting more than what’s immediately visible. But often, I find I need multiple images to fully convey a story. When I write my blog pieces, I aim to tell the story in both words and images. I guide you through a carefully curated selection, hoping that you might connect with them in the same way I did. This connection—between the photographer and the viewer—is, for me, one of the most powerful aspects of photography. Through our lenses, we offer others a brief glimpse into our world, our experiences, and our feelings. It’s a reminder that storytelling is more than just documentation; it’s about creating a shared space for interpretation and emotion.
Of course, beauty is also an integral part of why I pick up a camera. There’s something undeniably fulfilling about capturing a scene that feels, to me, perfectly composed. I like to believe I can craft a visually pleasing image and employ various techniques to do so. The idea is to present a scene so that the photograph conveys how I saw it, inspiring you to feel something. Photography is the only medium or art form that allows you, the viewer, to see something that only I saw, and because of the passage of time no longer exists.
It’s about creating art for art’s sake. In a world that constantly demands productivity and output, creating something purely for the joy of creating feels almost radical.
Then there’s the meditative side of photography. For me, the camera isn’t just a tool to create images; it’s a form of therapy. When I’m suffering from melancholia, or I’m lost in thought, stepping into the world as an observer through my camera often gives me a sense of calm. Looking through the lens allows me to disassociate from daily worries and approach the world with curiosity rather than anxiety. This small shift—seeing myself as a photographer rather than a participant—transforms the environment around me from something overwhelming into something inviting. The camera’s frame becomes a safe space in which I can explore without judgement or expectations. In this way, photography becomes a practice of mindfulness.
The process itself is deeply important. I often think of Vivian Maier, who left behind so many undeveloped rolls of film, underscoring the significance of the process itself. Born in 1926, Maier spent her life photographing the world without promoting her work. Of the 140,000 shots she took, only 5% were ever developed—a body of work unknown even to its creator. This fact alone astounds me. Perhaps she, too, was capturing moments for herself, deeply invested in the act of photography without any need for external recognition. Her legacy reminds us that the process can be as meaningful as the result and that photography has value even when the images are unseen.
In today’s image-saturated world, where everyone is encouraged to share, edit, and curate their lives, it’s worth asking if we’d still take photos knowing that nobody else would ever see them. For me, the answer is a resounding yes. Photography is more than a tool to impress, to document, or to share; it’s a means of expressing myself and, often, of making sense of my own experiences. Every image is a small act of discovery, helping me see the world more clearly or find beauty where I might not have noticed it before.
Ultimately, photography is a language, a form of communication that transcends barriers of culture, language, and time. A single photograph can capture something timeless—an unfiltered moment of life that can be understood and felt by someone across the globe. In this way, photography becomes a shared visual language, offering us a way to connect beyond words.
So, why do we photograph? Perhaps the answer is as varied as the photographers themselves, shaped by individual motives, experiences, and emotions. But whether we’re documenting, creating, or simply exploring, the act of photography invites us to see the world—and ourselves—with fresh eyes. And in the end, that might be the most compelling reason of all.
IJM Photography 