grainy film photos – IJM Photography

Welcome back to another look at the film archives. This time, I’m sharing a few black-and-white street shots from an October Saturday in Nantes, likely taken with the Praktica MTL3 and HP5 Plus film. These outings with my son Killian, which we called ‘Ian and Killian days,’ became a cherished routine, a time for us to reconnect amidst the busyness of life.

He was 17 then, a weekly boarder at his lycée in La Roche sur Yon. On the weekends, we’d often head into Nantes, following the same familiar programme: a visit to the barbershop, a meal at the Sugar Blue café, and finally, a drink at the John Mc Byrne Irish Pub. In the photo, that handsome chap in the barber’s seat is Killian—a little reminder that it wasn’t always Kate joining me on these trips. These outings were a way to stay connected, despite his growing independence. Even with him being only 17, I still felt that sense of responsibility. Once a Dad, always a Dad.

As we went through our usual routine, I found myself facing the familiar challenge of capturing these moments on film. The low light inside the barbershop always made me second-guess whether I could get a decent shot without using a flash. But over time, I learned to trust the Praktica and the HP5 Plus film. There’s a rawness to film photography, especially with Ilford’s HP5. It adds a certain grit and texture to the image, something that digital just can’t replicate.

That’s what I love about film—the imperfections. The grain gives it character, a certain honesty that smooth, polished digital photos lack. It’s not about creating something flawless but about preserving the authenticity of the moment. This shot of Killian in the barbershop, for example, may not be technically perfect, but it’s real. It’s us, it’s Nantes, it’s one of those ‘Ian and Killian days.’

Looking back at these photos, I’m reminded that sometimes, it’s the imperfections that make an image truly memorable. Quite the day, right?

The photos in this article, from the famous film archive, were taken eight years ago almost to the day, during a weekend visiting my mother-in-law near Carnac, and near where my father-in-law lives. They’re divorced, and as usual, I stayed with her, not him. The photos feature my brother-in-law, who bears a striking resemblance to a beefy Dominic Farrugia, and my niece – not my favourite, but likeable enough (and those who claim not to have favourites are just liars!).

I shot these with my Canon AE1, a camera that saw a lot of action back then. Loaded with Ilford HP5 Plus and developed in Rodinal, they turned out a bit grainier than I expected, even for HP5 at box speed. I blame my overly enthusiastic agitation during development – I’ve always been a bit of a stirrer! Even back then, I had this habit of sneaking off to “do some photography,” a habit that hasn’t changed much, it seems.

Funny thing is, this wasn’t my first time in Carnac. As a kid, plagued by ear infections, flying was out of the question, so we had many a family holiday in France. One such trip was to Carnac, in the Morbihan region. Who would have thought that over 30 years later, I’d be back here so often?

Now, 30 years ago, you could wander freely around those mysterious Carnac stones. My mother, bless her imaginative soul, convinced me they were people caught dancing on the Sabbath and turned to stone as punishment. Ever since, I’ve had a healthy aversion to Sunday line dancing! Sadly, you can’t get close to the stones anymore – they’re cordoned off, perhaps a warning to those Breton folk dancers not to get too carried away.

Back then, HP5 was my go-to film. I wanted to know it inside out. Visiting the stones was a welcome escape from the lively, shall we say, family gatherings. Don’t get me wrong, I love my in-laws, but their intensity can be a bit much for this introvert. The stones, silently standing there, offered a tranquil contrast.

Years later, I watched a film, “The Fablemans,” about Steven Spielberg. The advice at the end, to keep horizons high or low in your images for more interest, struck a chord. Unbeknownst to me, I was already doing this! When I first started out, I meticulously documented every shot in a notebook – aperture, speed, film, camera, the lot. I kept this up for over a year before finally giving it up. These days, all that info is tucked away in your image file’s metadata, but not with film. There’s a certain freedom in that, wouldn’t you agree?

Reflecting on these old photos from Carnac, I am reminded of the enduring allure of photography and the quiet majesty of ancient stones. Each visit to Carnac, captured through the lens of my Canon AE1 and HP5 film, evokes memories of childhood holidays and solitary moments amidst family gatherings. The evolution from meticulous note-taking to embracing the simplicity of film photography has taught me to approach each shot with intention and mindfulness.

In the digital age, where metadata stores the technical details of our images, there remains a certain freedom in the analog process. It encourages a deeper connection with the art form, requiring us to engage fully in the moment of capture. The stones of Carnac stand as timeless witnesses to history, echoing the evolution of photography itself – ever-present, ever-evolving.

As I continue to explore new landscapes and subjects through my lens, I carry with me the lessons learned amidst the stones of Carnac: to capture not just images, but stories; not just moments, but emotions frozen in time. Photography, in its simplest form, remains a profound journey of discovery and expression, rooted in a rich tradition that continues to inspire.