Part 2: The Work — Rehearsing a Double Violin Concerto on HP5+ 1600

Same diagnosis as Part 1, same prescription. The opening four paragraphs are genuinely good — terse, cinematic, the rhythm earns its keep. “The sunlight was gone. The fluorescents were on. The break was over.” — that’s a real sentence. Then the Roman numerals arrive and flatten everything into a report again. “What I’d Do Differently” is still there. The sign-off prompts are still there.

The three-column table is worth keeping — it’s doing more work here because there are now three films to compare across the whole weekend. That earns its place.

Here’s the rewrite:

Part 2: The Work — Rehearsing a Double Violin Concerto on HP5+ 1600

The lunch break ended. Tables were folded. Containers packed. The last crumbs brushed away.

And then they arrived.

Two Chinese violin soloists — guest artists who’d travelled some distance to play a double violin concerto with our little orchestra in a French community centre. They weren’t at lunch. They weren’t part of that casual, sunlit gathering outside. They were here for work.

So were we.

I put down the Fomapan and loaded HP5+ pushed to 1600. Swapped the Pentax for the Canon AE-1 Program. Same 50mm philosophy, different camera, different film, different mood. The sunlight was gone. The fluorescents were on. The break was over.

You can feel it when rehearsal starts — the shift from community to concentration. From chatting about weekends to counting measures. The conductor, same man who was smiling over a food container an hour ago, is now at the whiteboard, baton in hand, writing notes about tempo and bowing. The soloists take their places at the front. Tuning. Focused. Not quite part of our tribe yet — guests, professionals, here to do a job.

I photographed from my seat in the horn section and from the aisles during breaks. The AE-1 Program in Program mode — no thinking about shutter or aperture, just framing and timing. The camera handled exposure. I handled seeing.

What you witness, photographing a concerto rehearsal, is translation. Not just musical ideas passing between conductor and players, but something more specific: two soloists from one tradition finding a shared language with an orchestra from another. The conductor stops us. Softer in the strings. The soloists adjust. He stops again. A touch more projection. They adjust. We play. He listens. He stops. This goes on. Not because anyone is wrong, but because everyone is finding the same musical space.

HP5+ at 1600 sits in the right place for this. Not the fine, almost invisible grain of the Fomapan lunch shots. Not the raw, declared grain of 3200. Textural, controlled, appropriate — honest about the work without dramatising it.

The three-roll arc of the weekend, laid out:

	Fomapan 100 — Lunch	HP5+ 1600 — Concerto	HP5+ 3200 — General
Light	Natural daylight	Mixed indoor fluorescents	Mixed indoor fluorescents
Grain	Fine, subtle, clean	Textural, present, controlled	Pronounced, bold, raw
Contrast	Gentle, even	Moderate, balanced	Punchy, dramatic
Mood	Relaxed, communal	Focused, collaborative	Urgent, iterative
Story	Community at rest	Collaboration at work	The machine in flow

Same orchestra. Same weekend. Three worlds — and the technical choices were the point from the start.

From my seat in the horns I see the whole machine differently than an outsider would. I know which passages are coming. I know which sections are struggling. I know the rhythm of this room. But through the viewfinder I see something else — the strings moving in that eerie synchronised way, the brass gleaming under the fluorescents, Viktor on oboe, Nicolas patient behind the timpani, Corentin next to me absorbed in something difficult, glasses slipping, completely gone.

The small details tell it too. A French horn resting in its case between takes. Coffee cups on the floor near the woodwinds. Sheet music thick with pencil marks. These are the million small adjustments that add up to a rehearsal — and eventually, if everything goes right, to music.

Saturday was the concerto. The focused, collaborative work. Sunday would be the rest of the programme — no soloists, just the orchestra and the conductor and whatever needed fixing. The grind. The iteration.

Part 3 is coming.

Shot on Canon AE-1 Program, 50mm f/1.8, HP5+ pushed to 1600. Edited in Lightroom — contrast via tone curve, subtle vignettes, nothing added that wasn’t already there.+ 3200—is coming next. The grain gets heavier, the light gets harsher, and the work gets real.

More Light Than We Imagine

Posted on Feb 6, 2026Feb 3, 2026 Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, Nantes Photography, Street Photography, UrbanTagged 400 ASA, analogue photography, Black and White Photography, box speed, Brittany, camera shake, Candid Photography, December light, film development, film latitude, Film Photography, France, French street photography, grain, handholding, HP5 Plus, Ilford HP5+, Instagram influence, Loire-Atlantique, low light film, missed focus, Nantes, night photography, Nikon FE, Place Bouffay, restaurant light, rue des Petits Écuries, September evening, Street Photography, streetlamps, urban photography, wet cobbles4 Comments

Shooting Nantes at Night with HP5+

One September evening I walked between Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries with the Nikon FE and a roll of HP5+. Box speed—400 ASA. No pushing. No stand development. Just me, tired eyes, and the hope the city would be kind.

It wasn’t always.

Some frames failed outright. Missed focus—my eyes couldn’t lock the split-image patch in the dim light. Others blurred from camera shake at 1/15th, handholding like a fool. I won’t pretend those shots have hidden merit. They’re gone. But the ones that landed? They held more than I expected.

Because Nantes at night isn’t dark. Restaurants pour light onto wet cobbles. Shop signs, streetlamps, even those little menu stands outside cafés—they all feed the scene. I’d guess the focus, press the shutter, and move on. Later, scanning the roll, I found detail in shadows I thought were lost. Not because I’d exposed well—I hadn’t—but because HP5+ gathered what was there even when I fumbled.

That’s latitude in practice. Not a spec sheet promise, but the difference between a usable negative and a blank one when your hands shake and your eyes fail. I didn’t push to 1600. I didn’t need to. I just needed a film that wouldn’t punish me for being human.

The December shots are more traditional street work—grey skies, low sun, the light you expect. Even the coffee cup photo owes something to Instagram. I won’t deny it. We absorb what we see online; it seeps into our framing without us noticing. No shame in that—it’s just how we learn now.

But the September shots that worked feel more like my own. Standing in Place Bouffay as evening deepened, watching light pool around tables and bounce off stone—I wasn’t chasing a look. I was just there, squinting, hoping. And HP5+ met that without fuss.

I’m not claiming mastery. I’m claiming a few good frames out of a roll that also held misses. That feels honest. Cities don’t go dark—they transform. And sometimes, even with bad eyesight and shaky hands, a simple roll of film gives you just enough to keep walking.

All photographs shot on Ilford HP5+ at 400 ASA, developed in standard chemistry. Nikon FE, Nantes—December 2025 and September 2025, Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries.

The Opening of the Film Archives—Abbaye de la Grainetière, October 2016

Posted on Nov 13, 2024Dec 4, 2024 Posted in Architecture, Black and White Photography, Catholic, Film Photography, France, History, Landscape Photography, Reportage, The Film ArchivesTagged ancient traditions, architectural beauty, Benedictine monastery, black and white, Black and White Photography, Canon AE1, Catholic Church, community living, community service, cultural heritage, documentary photography, emotional connections, exploring France, faith and spirituality, Family Life, France, French, French culture, French history, Heritage Sites, historic monasteries, historical monuments, historical narratives, History Enthusiasts, history of monasticism, Ian Myers, ijm photography, ijmphotography, Ilford HP5+, l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, meditation spaces, mindfulness, monastic life, Outdoor photography, peaceful escapes, personal reflections, photographer, photography, Photography Journey, Photography Tips, quiet contemplation, religious architecture, religious art, restoration projects, Rule of Saint Benedict, serene landscapes, simplicity, spiritual experiences, spiritual reflection, spiritual retreats, The Film Archives, tranquility, Travel photography, Travel Writing, Vendée, Visual Storytelling6 Comments

“They” say that if you leave your child to the Jesuits for seven years, then that child will belong to the Jesuits for life. I am not a Jesuit, but I was heavily influenced by the Benedictines when I went away to prep school in 1980. Mummy, Daddy, let me reassure you, this isn’t about Gilling—some things are better left in the past. This article will instead focus on a different Benedictine site, one that I visited much later in life: l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, a peaceful monastery here in the Vendée.

The Abbey of Notre-Dame de La Grainetière, on the outskirts of the town of Les Herbiers in Vendée (France), encompasses nearly nine centuries of tumultuous history. For over 50 years, numerous restoration works have been undertaken. These efforts allowed for the re-establishment of a community of monks at the end of 1978, nearly 200 years after the abbey was abandoned by the monks, shortly after the Revolution of 1789. Classified as a historical monument since 1946, many volunteers are working to continue the legacy of La Grainetière.

To those of you unfamiliar with the ins and outs of the Catholic Church, the role of monks is to live in community, and their main duty is to pray for us in the wider community. The monks elect a Father Abbot, who is responsible for running the monastery. In centuries gone by, the Abbot would wield a huge amount of influence, but this power has been reined in over time and is less evident outside the monastic community.

When I visited l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, I couldn’t help but reflect on how different this Benedictine monastery felt from my school days. The quiet prayer, the stillness—it offered a kind of peace that I hadn’t experienced for a long time, and a life that was once very appealing to me.

The monks follow the Rule of Saint Benedict, a foundational guide for monastic life that addresses not only prayer, but also how to live both within and beyond the monastery walls. Though written for monks, many of its teachings have been adopted by the laity seeking a structured, spiritually focused life.

I could almost say I envy them the simplicity of monastic life compared to the complexities of modern society and family life—juggling careers, responsibilities, and the endless distractions of today’s world. While I don’t regret the joys and vibrancy that come with having a family—something perhaps lacking in monastic life—it’s hard not to admire the stillness and purpose that a simpler existence can offer. We all have different vocations in life. Mine was to be a father.

As I packed away my camera and left the grounds of l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, I found myself still pondering the contrast between the quiet, ordered life of the monks and the complexity of my own. In some ways, visiting the abbey felt like opening a door to a simpler time, a place where life seemed more focused and more deliberate. Yet, as much as I admire the peace found within those ancient walls, my own path has led me elsewhere—to the joys, challenges, and unpredictability of family life.

In the end, it’s not a question of envy or regret, but rather a reminder that we all find our peace in different ways. For the monks of l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, it lies in prayer and solitude. For me, it’s found in the laughter of my children, the shared moments with loved ones, and yes, even in the rush and noise of everyday life. Each vocation, after all, carries its own kind of grace.

Perhaps that’s what lingers with me most from my visit to the abbey—not just the tranquillity of the place, but the realisation that we each have our own rhythm, our own way of navigating the world, and there is beauty in all of it.