Tag: Ian Myers

Photography Philosophy – Part VII – The Philosophy of Impermanence

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Capturing Fleeting Moments

When we talk about a moment in time, that moment is no longer the present; it has become the past. We cannot repeat it, nor can we reclaim it. It has happened and will never come back. Photography is an art form that allows us to capture a specific moment and preserve it for all time. We know that it is impossible to capture exactly the same conditions in which the shot was taken. We can attempt a recreation, but it will never be identical. Time has moved on to the next moment.

As photographers, we are left with the task of capturing the present, knowing it is already slipping away. What does this mean for the way we approach our art? Will we constantly look back, regretting the passage of time, or will we, on the contrary, feel privileged to have documented it for the future?

This brings us back to the idea of preserving the decisive moment that Cartier-Bresson spoke of. Like comedy, it would appear that photography is all about timing.

When we capture that moment, we must decide how we want to portray it. Do we want to freeze the action with a very high shutter speed, or can we slow down and add a sense of movement to our image? How fleeting is the image we are trying to capture?  What will this motion add to the image?

My approach

Over time, I’ve come to appreciate these fleeting moments in time and try to document them, whether in the big city or out in the countryside with my children—especially when they play together. I want the spontaneity of it all, to capture those precious moments of complicity. As any parent knows, our children grow up before our eyes, and before we can truly realise it, they are grown up. Even when they’re not together, and I look through these past moments in time, I get an overwhelming feeling of, “Where did it all go?” My son is 25, and my daughter is 15 already.

Embracing Mistakes: A Journey to the Image

I’ll admit, I’m not one to embrace mistakes easily. I’ve always strived for precision in my photography, seeking to control every variable and meticulously plan each shot. I don’t like leaving things to chance, and so, when things don’t go as expected, there’s often a twinge of frustration. A blurred shot, an overexposed image, or a missed moment—those mistakes are a part of the process I try my hardest to avoid.

But over time, I’ve started to realise something: these mistakes, as unsettling as they may feel in the moment, are often a necessary part of the journey toward the image I’m truly after. When I reflect on the photographs I’ve captured, it’s clear that the path to the perfect shot wasn’t a straight line. It was made up of trial and error, of learning how to see the scene in front of me not just through my lens, but also through the lens of my mistakes.

It’s the misfires, the accidents, that force me to reconsider my approach, to adjust my frame or my focus. They open my eyes to perspectives I might not have considered, angles I might not have thought of, and emotions I might not have expected to capture. Each mistake teaches me something new, something that nudges me closer to that elusive, perfect image. They’re not setbacks, but rather signposts that guide me, sometimes uncomfortably, to a place where I can see the photograph with fresh eyes.

I’ve come to understand that each imperfection is part of the journey. The photograph I end up with is rarely the first shot I took, or the second, or the third. It’s the culmination of countless adjustments, failures, and moments of doubt, all leading me to the image that feels right. In the end, I realise that without those mistakes, the image I’m truly after might never have come into focus.

So while I still seek control, I’ve learned that there is value in embracing the unexpected. It’s in the mistakes, the missed moments, and the misjudgments that I find the essence of my photography. They are just as much a part of the creative process as the moments of perfection, guiding me closer to the image that speaks to me—and perhaps even to the viewer—most clearly.

Conclusion: The Beauty of the Journey

Photography, at its core, is a celebration of the fleeting moments that pass us by in the blink of an eye. The act of capturing these moments is an acknowledgement that time is forever slipping away, and in that impermanence, there is both beauty and significance. As photographers, we are tasked with documenting not just what we see, but also what we feel—the raw, unrepeatable essence of time itself.

The pursuit of the perfect image is a delicate dance between intention and spontaneity, control and surrender. It’s a journey that, more often than not, veers off the well-trodden path and into uncharted territory. Along the way, mistakes become our teachers, guiding us toward discoveries we might never have made if we had stayed within the confines of our comfort zone. These missteps, rather than being failures, are integral to the creative process, pushing us to reimagine, reframe, and reinvent our approach.

In the end, photography is about embracing the imperfection of both the world around us and our own creative efforts. It’s in the mess, the mistakes, and the fleeting nature of the moment that we often find the most powerful images. And while the perfect shot may remain elusive, it is in the journey—the trial and error, the fleeting moments, and the lessons learned—that the true beauty of photography lies.

So, as we continue to document our world, let us not only cherish the decisive moments but also embrace the imperfections that make them meaningful. For it is through the transient, the imperfect, and the unexpected that we capture not just images but stories—stories that resonate with the heart and echo the passage of time.

Photography Philosophy – Part VI – Connection Through Photography

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Building Relationships

I once read that if two Germans meet, they will form a club. I am not German, but they perfectly illustrate this universal need to belong. They are generally not the most extroverted of people, but even introverts have this need to form a relationship with somebody. As photographers, we have this same urge, but perhaps in a more subtle way. When I’m out on the street, I will always notice someone with a camera, even when I’m without one myself. I find myself looking to check the brand, possibly the make of the camera, and the type of lens the person is using. Even when we simply nod at each other, it’s a recognition of our shared enthusiasm for the art form. Am I judging them? Sometimes, yes, but to err is human.

When I see a film camera around someone’s neck, I am immediately drawn to it. When I venture out with the behemoth Mamiya C220, the camera is almost as much a statement as the actual image I’ll eventually take with it. People will come and inquisitively ask, “What kind of camera is that? Can you still get film for it?” or say, “Yes, my grandfather had one like that.” The obvious charm of a medium format TLR in this modern world.

Photography is sometimes seen as quite a niche activity, and film photography even more so. A film camera gives out a more exclusive vibe, telling the world that, yes, we actually are serious about this, and know what we are doing, as the camera isn’t doing anything for us. We are artists and therefore superior to you, at least that’s what we tell ourselves for validation… One could argue that there is a need for even more knowledge with film photography, and that the need to develop our films just goes to show our dedication to the craft.

Well, not always. But it does give a starting point to a chat, which invariably leads to a discussion about this shared interest, and gives us a common starting point to our relationship, however brief that relationship might be.

I also want to explore the relationship between the subject and the person photographing that subject. For a long time, I was petrified of using a model. I’m an introvert by nature, so the idea of having to make small talk with and direct a model was awful. I wanted to learn more about photographing a model and to break out of this comfort zone. Strangely, buildings won’t talk back at you or tell you what they think of your shot. People, on the other hand, are completely different.

I had learnt basic lighting technique and then had to find models. Luckily, I could rely on my daughter and wife as my first subjects, then branch out to include my son and his then-girlfriend. I then moved onto unsuspecting friends, fellow musicians, and eventually felt my confidence slowly building enough for me to photograph complete strangers by establishing that rapport between us. I discovered that sometimes they were as terrified as I was. Again, something we had in common…

I followed some advice from Sean Tucker, who specialises in portraiture. I simply had a conversation with my model, which seemed to put us both at ease. This allowed the model to detach from the shoot and just chat away.

Community and Collaboration

But connection isn’t limited to brief exchanges with strangers on the street; it can also be found in deeper collaborations with other photographers. As I said earlier, I am more of an introvert, and the idea of making an effort to be sociable is something I find exhausting. At parties, I have been known to chill out on the outer realm of guests and chat to the dog. Hey, we have great conversations together!

However, I have been known to make that special effort and even meet up with other photographers. If you’ve ever talked to me about photography and the merits of various pieces of kit, and actual cameras, you’ll know that I can talk about it until the cows come home—to the point that most people switch off after 30 seconds. But when you have a captive audience who actually cares and knows what you’re talking about, it just brings me out of my shell.

Sometimes one might think it’s a very blokey thing to meet up with other men and talk about, and participate in, some rather niche activity. That might sound a little suspect, but I assure you it isn’t.

I once had a meet-up in Nantes (the very first article on this blog), and it was so rewarding. It was a typical male bonding activity, and everyone, except for me, brought along their biggest cameras and most expensive lenses. It almost felt like a competition to see who had the most impressive camera. I just brought my relatively tiny X100F, the thinking man’s camera. Much like my car, it’s not the most inspiring thing to look at, but I enjoy using it, and it certainly gets the job done in a very satisfactory way!

I have also collaborated with Nantes Grand Angle, a collective of photographers that have outings in and around Nantes. In exchange for a free tour or free visit, we take pictures during the outings and write about them in our blogs or publish the photos on Instagram. I have done a couple of outings with them, and it’s always interesting to see other photographers in action. They are there seeing the same things as me, but not in the same way. That sense of belonging has a huge feel-good factor too.

A Shared Lens

Photography may often feel like a solitary pursuit, but beneath it lies a powerful thread of connection, weaving us together through moments captured and stories told. Whether it’s the subtle camaraderie exchanged between strangers with a simple nod on the street, the thrill of collaborating with others who share our passion, or the quiet understanding forged with a subject in front of the lens, these encounters remind us that we are never truly alone in this journey.

Through photography, we find not just a way to see the world but a way to be part of it—a community of like-minded souls bound by a shared appreciation for light, shadow, and time itself. In the end, our photographs are a bridge, linking us to others and creating a lasting connection beyond the mere act of pressing the shutter. For as long as we hold a camera, we’re part of something bigger, capturing fragments of life that, no matter how fleeting, will always connect us back to one another.

The Opening of the Film Archives – April 2017 On the Border

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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.

Photography Philosophy – Part V – Identity and Self-Expression

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Photography as a Reflection of Self

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.

Photography Philosophy Part IV – The Art of Storytelling in Photography

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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.

newlyweds and their wedding bands
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.

my daughter contemplating cake
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.

Opening of the Film Archives, Château de Clisson, February 2017

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I had obviously taken a break with the Canon AE1 and spent the whole of December and January in hibernation, as most grumpy bears of my age do. Get Christmas over with, then go back to bed… I like my bed. No, I love my bed!!

Spring was just around the corner, and Kate had managed to awaken the beast and proceeded to tell me what she had planned for the day. It included me, a camera, and the Chateau de Clisson. I had just been “told” by my daughter, and off we headed to Clisson.

Now, the Chateau de Clisson is no small affair by any means. It dominates the centre of the town, sitting atop a hill as an imposing structure. I remember Kate having begged me on numerous occasions to actually go inside, and this time I acquiesced.

It was the perfect opportunity to not only document the inside of this historic site but also to let my playful daughter do what children do best: be cute, or as they say in French, espiègle. At that age, she was still content to pose for the camera, unlike the moody teenager she has become. Yet, sometimes, that same playful nature still manages to shine through.

If you’re curious to learn more about the history of the Chateau de Clisson, I’ve included a link for further reading.

After our outing in Clisson, I retreated to the quiet of my darkroom, where the real magic happens—transforming the captured moments into tangible memories. The familiar routine of developing the film, loading it into the tank, and watching the images slowly emerge never fails to captivate me. Once the negatives are ready and the scans are complete, I file them away in both my digital and analogue archives.

Then, a few years later, I get to share these memories with you. It’s a special kind of nostalgia—the kind that comes with taking time to slow down, reflect, and preserve what matters most. Thank you for joining me on this journey and for allowing me to share these pieces of the past with you.