Tag: Nantes

Nantes, the green line

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Seven years ago today, Killian and I followed a painted green line through Nantes for twelve kilometres. In thirty-six-degree heat. With a Canon 6D Mark II and no particular plan other than cheesecake at Sugar Blue Café, which was, if I’m honest, probably the whole plan.

The line belongs to Le Voyage à Nantes, the city’s annual art festival. They paint it on the ground so you don’t get lost. You follow it. You stop when something interests you. We stopped for cheesecake, obviously, and then for a lengthy digression into the history of General Cambronne: a man who, when asked to surrender to the British at Waterloo, may or may not have replied with one very short word that has since been immortalised as le mot de Cambronne. Right back on track now.

The photographs are from the archives: the 16-35mm, the summer light, and a city that always has something worth slowing down for.

Nantes, the Green Line!

IJM on the Streets — Nantes: The Book

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Empty Cafés Richard espresso cup on a café table in Nantes — Nikon FE, Rollei RPX 400
The thesis — Nikon FE, Rollei RPX 400, Nantes, February 2026

I have written a book. These things happen.

It started, as most of my trouble does, with sitting down. Ten years of parking at the Feydeau car park, walking into town not especially fast, finding a bench or a terrace table or a warm rock at the Jardin Extraordinaire, and staying there while the city got on with its afternoon. Somewhere along the way I noticed that this was not a failure to do street photography properly. It was the method. The book makes the argument at full length: the best street photographs come not from hunting but from inhabiting. Find the spot. Sit down. Let the place come to you.

IJM on the Streets — Nantes is nine chapters and a decade of film. The Bouffay at night on HP5+, squinting and hoping at 1/15th of a second. The empty Cafés Richard espresso cup that turned out to be the whole thesis. The café above the weir at the Chaussée des Moines, where the cake had absolutely nothing to do with how fondly I remember the day, or so I keep telling myself. Two seasons at the Jardin Extraordinaire. The year I refused to photograph the cathedral until the banners came down. And the Île de Nantes in 2016, with Kate, aged seven, and her Olympus Trip 35 — her photos turned out better than just fine, and it is all on record now.

Regular readers will recognise some of these days. The blog posts were the field notes; the book is what they were quietly adding up to. It is also, I should warn you, a book that contains opinions about coffee, cake, comfortable shoes, and why 36 frames are a pair of spectacles rather than a constraint. Everything was shot on film — HP5+, Pan 100, Kentmere 400, RPX 400, APX 100 — and developed in my kitchen, and the missed focus stayed in where it earned its place. The candles in the cathedral are slightly blurred. They are staying that way.

The book is available now as a PDF ebook in the shop, for the price of a few good espressos. Thirty-odd black and white photographs, ten years, one city. Free to read in any café you like.

On est bien là.

P.S. Kate has been informed that she features prominently. She has requested royalties. Negotiations continue over tea.

Saints, Shadows and Brass: An Evening at the Festival Saint Donatien

Posted on Posted in Music, Nantes Photography, Reportage, Street PhotographyTagged , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

It was a Friday in May. I received a Facebook message from an old friend. Well, I mean, not ancient, but somebody I have known for 15 years. He was my Director of Music when I played for the Wind Band in Cholet. We have both moved on since then, but still regularly keep in touch. I actually took some photos for him and for his Brass Quintet Arabesque, and even stood in for my old horn teacher playing Christmas carols one year. The rotundness of me and the big white beard had nothing to do with it.

Anyway, he messaged me. Right back on track now. He asked if I would like to go and listen to them play in Nantes. I of course said yes, and told my wife that I would be out. Fortunately I was given permission by “she who must be obeyed.”

His name is Hervé Dubois, tuba player, conductor, and a very good friend. And if you can’t take photos for a friend, then why even bother. I have a lot to thank him for. Not only is he a good friend, but it was through him and Quintet Arabesque that my photography first found a purpose beyond pointing a camera at things and hoping for the best. I did a full photoshoot for them at a concert in Guérande, and to my genuine surprise, those images ended up on the sleeve of their CD. Which means somewhere out there, pressed onto a disc, is proof that I occasionally do something right. More than that, Arabesque gave me a real taste for documenting music: not performing it, but being inside it with a camera. If you want to know more about Hervé, I wrote a portrait piece about him a few years back, and there is also The American Concert if you want the full picture of my ongoing relationship with this particular brass quintet.

I arrived early, as I tend to when I have a camera with me. Nantes was still in afternoon light, and the neighbourhood around the Basilique Saint-Donatien has exactly the kind of streets that reward patience: old stone, heavy shadows, ironwork that throws patterns across walls when the sun catches it at the right angle.

I have been trying something deliberately different with my photography lately. Rather than documenting what is in front of me, I have been looking for what the light is doing. The way shadow doubles the shape of a wrought iron gate on the stone behind it. The texture of centuries-old masonry caught in raking sunlight, where every crack and grain becomes its own small landscape. A wooden door under a fan-shaped iron canopy, lit just enough to pull it out of the surrounding dark. The photographs almost make themselves when you start looking that way; you just have to be in the right place and wait for the light to do its work.

By the time I made my way to the basilica, the sun was lower and the facade was glowing. The equestrian statue out front stood in silhouette against it, which felt appropriately dramatic for a saint’s festival.

Inside, the space had already been transformed. The organisers had bathed the apse in deep red stage lighting, and against the white stone of the neo-Gothic vaulting, the effect was extraordinary: ancient and modern at once, sacred and theatrical. The stained glass windows in the choir, normally gentle with colour, became something stranger under that wash of red.

The programme for the Festival Saint Donatien was built around the relationship between music and place. Quintet Arabesque were performing alongside the cathedral organist and, this time around, a choir as well. The idea was simple and quietly brilliant: drone footage of the basilica, filmed from outside and above, played on a large screen while the music filled the interior beneath. You could see the building from the sky while sitting inside it. Something about that shift in perspective changed the way you heard the music, and the way you felt the space around you.

We were asked not to applaud between pieces, and to let the whole evening unfold as a kind of meditation. It was the right call. In a space like that, with light and music working together at that level, the silence between movements became part of the performance. You sat with it. The acoustics of the stone carried each note long after it had been played, and for a while you stopped thinking about anything at all.

I had my camera with me, as I always do, and I tried to photograph what I was seeing. The difficulty, and the interest, was that the light inside was almost entirely the red of the stage wash and the cool blue filtering through the high windows. There was very little middle ground, and no safety net. You either committed to what was in front of you or you put the camera down. I chose to commit, and some of the results are not what I would call technically accomplished. But a few of them feel like the room actually felt.

Afterwards, the great red doors opened onto the square, and the audience spilled back out into the evening. I stood for a moment in the doorway looking back: the dark interior, the rows of empty pews, the faint glow of the apse still red behind the screen. Then I turned around, and there was the city again.

The streets were quiet on the walk back to the car. Nantes at night has a different quality to it: the stone buildings hold the warmth of the day, and the streetlights pool in places that the sun never quite reaches. I kept shooting. That is the thing about looking for light rather than subjects; the light does not stop being interesting just because the concert has ended.

Hervé and I ended up in a pub, as these evenings generally do. Two old friends catching up in person, which is a very different thing from a Facebook message, and a much better one. The evening had started with a notification on a screen and ended somewhere warmer and louder, with proper conversation that goes sideways in the best possible way. Full circle, really.

On the way back to the car, I stopped in the street and looked up. The twin towers of the basilica were still lit up in red against the black sky, visible above the rooftops from two streets away. It looked less like a church and more like something you might dream.

I took a photograph. Of course I did. Prints from Nantes are available in the IJM Photography shop.

Stone building with red-trimmed gabled dormer and shutters against blue sky, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Green ornate iron gate casting scrollwork shadow on old stone wall in raking sunlight, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Dark stone building corner with white arched doorway and green iron railing, deep shadows, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Close-up of green iron railing against rough textured stone wall in warm raking light, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Two cream-coloured French houses with patterned chimneys and tree shadow on warm wall, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Warm-lit wooden double door numbered 13 beneath a wheel-spoke iron canopy in dramatic low light, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Wooden door with iron security gate and stone steps framed through an arched entrance with topiary urn, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Basilique Saint-Donatien seen from narrow side street with parked cars and summer trees, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Peeling white and pale blue wooden shutters open on tall building façade with carved stonework, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Festival Saint Donatien poster advertising La Basilique Vue du Ciel concert with Quintet Arabesque, Nantes 22 May 2026
Neo-Gothic façade of Basilique Saint-Donatien with equestrian statue in warm evening light, Fujifilm X100F 23mm, Nantes
Interior nave of Basilique Saint-Donatien with stone vaulting, wooden pews and projection screen at altar end, Fujifilm X100F, Nantes
Illustrated Saint Donatien banner hanging from a pillar in basilica interior with deep red uplighting, Fujifilm X100F, Nantes
Looking up at triforium arches and stained glass windows in red and blue low light, Fujifilm X100F, Basilique Saint-Donatien Nantes
Apse of Basilique Saint-Donatien bathed in deep red stage lighting with stained glass choir windows, Fujifilm X100F, Nantes
Wide view of red-lit apse and choir of Basilique Saint-Donatien during Festival Saint Donatien, Fujifilm X100F, Nantes
Red-lit basilica apse with Festival Saint Donatien projection screen showing drone footage, audience in foreground, Fujifilm X100F, Nantes
Full nave of Basilique Saint-Donatien with Quintet Arabesque performing under red stage lighting, Festival Saint Donatien, Fujifilm X100F
View from inside Basilique Saint-Donatien through open red doors to the lit square and equestrian statue beyond, Fujifilm X100F, Nantes
Empty night street in Nantes with single streetlamp illuminating stone building facade, Fujifilm X100F 23mm
Silhouetted figure on night street lit by car headlights and streetlamps near Basilique Saint-Donatien, Fujifilm X100F, Nantes
Twin towers of Basilique Saint-Donatien lit deep red against black night sky above Nantes street, Fujifilm X100F 23mm

On Est Bien Là: Back at the Jardin Extraordinaire

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, Landscape Photography, Nantes Photography, photography philosophy, UrbanTagged , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I said I’d come back with the Kodak Ultramax 400. Instead I’m here with a Canon EOS 500 and a roll of AGFA APX 100. These things happen. This was the second time. Time to come back after my first visit.

It’s a warm Sunday in April and the Jardin is busy. Free to enter, free to stay; and people do. Blue sky, green everywhere, the sound of the waterfall carrying up from below. Two mothers nearby are talking about their children and about wishing they had more time to themselves. A group is eating at a table. Kids are in the sun. People are stretched out on the lawns.

I think: how lucky I am to have this time off. I mean it.

I find a spot at the rock climbing end of the park. There are people with helmets: cycling or climbing, I genuinely can’t tell from here. A little girl tugs at her mother’s arm: “Aller Maman, on va ailleurs?” She wants the paddling pool. They move on. Three friends arrive and settle at the table beside me, look around at the afternoon, and one of them says it out loud: “Ok est bien hein.” “Oui.” I agree, though nobody asked me.

I’m back in this spot with the Canon EOS 500. Last time it was the Nikon FE and Ilford Pan 100: a morning visit, birdsong, quieter. The EOS 500 is a different kind of company. It’s light, unobtrusive, asks very little of you; autofocus, auto-exposure, just gets on with it. For someone who’s spent years with a digital body, it eases you in rather than throwing you in at the deep end. You still get the 36 frames, the awareness of what each one costs, the not-knowing-until-the-scans-arrive. But you’re not also wrestling with a new instrument at the same time. It’s a gentle way back into film. I liked it.

The difference today is the 24–70mm, which I’m working through properly: 24, 35, 50, 70, and trying the macro too. It changes how you read the place; you reach into corners of the scene you’d otherwise just glance past. I’ve gone through the roll much faster than expected. The zoom will do that. The AGFA APX 100 has taken it all in its stride: fine grain, happy in the light, doing exactly what a slow film should do on a day like this.

Despite the sound of children somewhere behind me, it’s the 20-somethings who dominate this end of the park: sunbathing, climbing, sitting on the old quarry rock. It’s not disturbing. If anything it’s rather nice. At the base of the face, one of the climbers looks up at the crowd gathered above and says to nobody in particular: “Ya du monde hein!” There is. I got a photograph of one of them mid-climb. Somewhere behind me, for the second time: “On est bien là!”

I wonder what they make of me. Do they know I’m a foreigner? Or am I just a rotund gentleman with a white beard and a panama hat, keeping himself to himself in the sun with an old camera?

Isn’t it just nice to be out in it.

A robin lands near my foot, thinks better of it, and disappears into the bushes. He must have been spooked. I stayed a while longer.

Nice Sunday afternoon in Nantes. Free entry.

All photographs shot on AGFA APX 100, Canon EOS 500, 24–70mm. Developed [to complete], scanned on the Opticfilm 8100. Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes. April 2026.

P.S. The Ultramax 400 is still in the fridge. Its turn will come.

Black and white film photograph of a bicycle and its shadow on a Nantes quayside, with a concrete office building in the background.
Black and white film photograph of crowds on the quarry rock pool at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes, on a sunny April afternoon.
Black and white film photograph of a group of young people sitting on a stone ledge at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of ivy growing through a crumbling window opening in a decaying plaster wall, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of a robin on pale ground beside a dramatic branch shadow, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of two women walking along a sunlit path at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of the base of the waterfall at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes, framed by ferns and rock.
Black and white film photograph of the waterfall at the Jardin Extraordinaire framed by tree ferns in the foreground, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of the waterfall at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes, seen from a path lined with tropical plants.
Black and white film photograph of visitors on a garden path seen through bare branches, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white macro film photograph of an agave leaf edge with a small insect, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes. April 2026.
Black and white film photograph of stepping stones crossing a pond at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes, surrounded by lush vegetation.
Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes. April 2026.
Black and white film photograph looking up through a metal trellis with climbing vines, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of hands playing cards at a wooden table in the sun, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of the stream, stepping stones and waterfall at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes, with visitors in the middle distance.
Black and white macro film photograph of plant seed fluff caught on stems, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of a young tree on quarry rock with people resting in the background, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white close-up film photograph of tightly furled emerging plant leaves with detailed surface texture, Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.

P.P.S. As a little bonus for you, I started a new roll and walked away with a few more shots….

Visitors on a sunlit path through the garden, the dark canopy forming a tunnel above, a rounded topiary arch visible ahead on the right. A woman in the foreground walks toward the camera; a group moves away in the middle distance.
Black and white film photograph of the Jardin Extraordinaire waterfall glimpsed through layers of tropical vegetation, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of children jumping between stepping stones on the pond at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes, with an office building visible behind.
Black and white film photograph of backlit branches and large leaves of a tree at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of tall tropical plants reaching up into the sky at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of two streams of the Jardin Extraordinaire waterfall falling down the quarry rock face, Nantes.
Black and white film photograph of a man sitting on a rock looking up at the waterfall at the Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes.

Also in this series: Birdsong in Black & White — A Morning at the Jardin Extraordinaire

YOU CAN’T BUY HAPPINESS, BUT…

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, Nantes Photography, Reportage, Street Photography, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , 8 Comments

What Nantes teaches me about the good life

“ON NE PEUT PAS ACHETER LE BONHEUR MAIS ON PEUT ACHETER DU BON VIN.”

You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy good wine.

I found this handwritten on a café window in Nantes, and it stopped me. The French don’t really promise happiness, they promise pleasure, and the city seems built around that idea.

I walked through Nantes for days with my camera, trying to understand what makes a city not just beautiful, but livable. What I found changed how I think about urban life.

The lampposts told me a lot. Twisted metal trees with globed lights, more sculpture than street furniture.

This question was everywhere. In the Passage Pommeraye, a 19th-century shopping arcade where statues line ornate balconies and natural light floods through glass ceilings. In the Théâtre Graslin, where neoclassical columns frame a cultural temple that feels both monumental and welcoming.

Nantes treats beauty as something everyone gets access to, not a luxury reserved for a few. The city is carefully designed but never precious about it, and the old and the new sit together without much fuss.

An elderly couple sat on a bench in Cours Cambronne, backs to my camera, just watching the world go by from behind an iron fence.

Later, in the Passage Pommeraye, someone sat alone in a bistro chair among the statues and columns, resting or reading or just thinking, in no hurry to be anywhere else.

What I like about Nantes is that it doesn’t insist you be sociable. You can sit in public on your own without it being strange. The city makes room for company and for solitude equally.

The espresso cup sat empty on its saucer. Someone had been there a few minutes earlier, had their coffee, and moved on. You can’t buy happiness, but a coffee and five minutes to sit down costs less than you’d think.

That might be the real lesson of Nantes: you don’t need to be happy all the time, just to have regular access to small, reliable pleasures. Good coffee. Good food. Good company or good solitude. Somewhere pleasant to sit.

Happiness is the big abstract thing you chase and rarely catch. Pleasure is smaller and more immediate, and you can actually have it on a Tuesday afternoon.

The bicycle stood locked to its post, basket empty, waiting for whoever left it there to come back and ride it somewhere, work, home, a café, a friend’s place.

Nantes offers small pleasures rather than promising grand happiness. You can’t buy joy, as the sign said, but you can buy a good espresso and sit down and see what happens next.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

Here is the full lot of photos taken at the beginning of March on HP5 (box speed) and 4 photos on Rollei RPX 400, all shot with the Nikon FE, and developed in Ilfosol3 1:9. For me they represent different aspects of Nantes – Bouffay, Place Graslin, la place Cambronne, la rue Crébillon, le passage Pommeraye, et la rue de la Paix.

Black and white photograph of an empty café interior in Nantes, leather banquette seating in the foreground, a single espresso cup on a table visible through the window beyond.
Black and white photograph of a crowded café terrace in Nantes with people seated at bistro chairs in bright winter sun, a tram passing in the background.
Black and white street photograph of Rue Crébillon in Nantes, pedestrians casting long shadows across the wide pavement in low winter light, Haussmann-style buildings receding into the distance.
Black and white photograph of a busy café terrace in Nantes, a woman in a white coat reading at a table in the foreground, the square and shops visible behind.
Black and white photograph of people sitting on the steps of the Théâtre Graslin in Nantes, one person feeding a pigeon, the ornate lamppost and neoclassical columns framing the scene.
Black and white photograph of people playing in the open space of Cours Cambronne in Nantes, a statue visible in the middle distance, bare winter trees and Haussmann buildings lining the square.
Black and white photograph of two people standing together in a Nantes square, bare pollarded trees behind them, Haussmann buildings in the background.
Black and white photograph of two elderly people with white hair seen from behind, seated together on a park bench in Cours Cambronne, Nantes, an ornate iron fence and figures beyond.v
Black and white photograph of heavy iron gates in Nantes, several people visible through the bars, a grand white building with tall windows in the background.
Black and white photograph looking up at one of the distinctive ornate metal tree-form lampposts of Place Graslin in Nantes, twisted branches and globe lights against an overcast sky.
Black and white photograph of the neoclassical façade of the Théâtre Graslin in Nantes framed by shrubs, a lone figure walking across the square in front of the Corinthian columns.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes café window with the handwritten French phrase "On ne peut pas acheter le bonheur mais on peut acheter du bon vin" — you can't buy happiness but you can buy good wine.
Black and white photograph of an empty café terrace on a Nantes street, bistro chairs and tables in the foreground, string lights above, pedestrians and shop fronts beyond.
Black and white photograph of two women seated at an outdoor café table on a narrow Nantes street, a sushi restaurant sign and pedestrians visible further down the lane.
Black and white photograph looking down through the ornate multi-level interior of the Passage Pommeraye in Nantes, classical statues lining the balconies, shoppers on the ground floor below.
Black and white photograph of a solitary person seated in a bistro chair on an upper level of the Passage Pommeraye in Nantes, classical columns and statues behind them, empty chairs around.
Black and white photograph of the Crêperie au Vieux Quimper terrace on a Nantes street, a couple seated at a café table with empty rattan chairs around them
Black and white photograph of a man in a flat cap walking down a narrow Nantes lane past a bare pollarded tree and a Guinness sign, café terraces lining both sides
Black and white photograph of a large crowded café terrace on Place da Bouffay in Nantes, young people at tables in the foreground, a statue and city buildings behind, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes tram on a cobbled boulevard lined with bare plane trees, tram lines converging in the foreground, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes tram on line 1 to François Mitterrand arriving at the Bouffay stop, passengers on the platform, a second tram alongside, bare plane trees above.
Close-up black and white photograph of a near-empty Cafés Richard espresso cup on a saucer and tray on a café table in Nantes, a blurred figure in the background, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a row of Martin Hot Sauce bottles displayed on a wooden shelf in a Nantes shop, each with a different illustrated label, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a bicycle with a front basket locked to a post on a Nantes pavement, front wheel facing the street, shot on Rollei RPX 400.

Birdsong in Black & White: A Morning at the Jardin Extraordinaire

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, Nantes Photography, photography philosophy, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , 2 Comments

Birdsong in Black & White: A Morning at the Jardin Extraordinaire

I’d never been to the Jardin Extraordinaire before. And I’d never shot Ilford Pan 100.

Honestly? I wasn’t sure what to expect from either.

What I found was a place that felt alive — birds everywhere, water cascading down massive rock faces, people just being there. Reading on rocks. Walking along paths. Letting kids splash in the shallow pools. And if you look closely at a few of the wider shots, you’ll spot the Grue Titan across the Loire at the Hangar à bananes. It’s not in the garden, but it’s in the photographs. I like that. A small nod to the bigger story of this city.

The Jardin Extraordinaire is built on an old granite quarry in the Prairie au Duc. You can still see the rock faces where they cut into the hillside, metal walkways clinging to the stone, plants reclaiming what machines once carved out. And that waterfall — 35 metres of water pouring down the old quarry walls. Dramatic and peaceful at once, if that makes any sense.

What I didn’t fully register while I was shooting is how the garden fits into Nantes’ wider landscape of transformation. The Hangar à bananes, the Machines de l’Île, the whole Île de Nantes redevelopment — they’re all part of the same conversation about what to do with industrial space. The garden is the quiet, green chapter. The crane across the water is the bold industrial punctuation. When I got the scans back and saw the Grue Titan peering into a few frames, that clicked.

Full disclosure: I was the older gentleman in the Panama hat, moving slowly around the paths with a cane and an analogue camera. Taking my time. Stopping to frame things. Not in any hurry.

I watched the Nantais doing their thing while I did mine. A parent reading on a rock while children scrambled nearby. Couples strolling. And me, clicking through 36 frames like I had all the time in the world. Which I did. That was rather the point.

I did spot one other photographer — shooting with a very modern, very impressive DSLR. And I had to consciously stop myself from slipping into smug film photographer mode. Oh, you’re chimping your screen? How… digital. I held it together. Mostly. The honest answer is we were both just doing the same thing with different tools, and there’s room for all of it.

As for the Pan 100 — I’d heard it was contrasty, fine-grained, sharp. What I didn’t expect was how well it would suit this particular place. The Jardin Extraordinaire is all about contrasts: dark rock against bright sky, rough stone against smooth water, industrial metal against wild greenery. Pan 100 didn’t fight any of that. It leaned into it. I shot mostly between f/5.6 and f/16, trusted the FE’s meter, and when the scans came back I was — pleased? Surprised? Both. The images feel like the day felt.

My favourite shots aren’t the big dramatic ones. They’re the clusters of berries photographed close enough to see their star patterns, the metal butterfly on a gate, a single log on the path casting a long shadow. The things you almost miss when you’re moving too fast. With 36 frames and a roll that costs money, you look. You wait. You notice things. And then those become the photographs you actually care about.

I developed it at home, as always — Ilfosol 3 at 1:9, scanned on the Opticfilm 8100. No lab, no outsourcing. Just chemicals and patience. The smell of the developer, the little thrill of seeing what’s on the film. It’s all part of the same story.

I’ve got some Kodak Ultramax 400 in the fridge. Expired 2022. No idea what it’ll do. I think I’ll take it back to the Jardin and find out.

All photographs shot on Ilford Pan 100, Nikon FE. Home developed in Ilfosol 3 (1:9), scanned on an Opticfilm 8100. Jardin Extraordinaire, Nantes. The Grue Titan at the Hangar à bananes appears across the river, uninvited and welcome.

P.S. If you’ve been to the Jardin Extraordinaire, shot Pan 100, or you just love Nantes — drop a comment or send a message. Always happy to talk shop.

P.P.S. And if you’re curious about home development or scanning, ask away. Happy to share what’s worked for me.

P.P.P.S. And if you ever spot me at a photo spot with my FE and a Panama hat? Please gently call me out on the film snobbery. I’m working on it.

Black and white film photograph of a shallow water channel winding through granite boulders, marsh plants and grasses at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100 with a Nikon FE
Black and white film photograph of the 35-metre waterfall cascading down the granite quarry face at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, ivy and trees clinging to the rock on either side, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a garden path curving under a dense green canopy of trees and shrubs at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100 with a Nikon FE
Black and white film photograph of the full height of the waterfall on the granite quarry face at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, ferns and vegetation at the base, a still pool below, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a still pond with reeds in the foreground and a granite boulder beyond, ferns and vegetation reflected in the water at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a wood chip and stone-edged path in the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, large log sections and an urban building in the background, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a wide view across the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes from higher ground, bare branches in the foreground, granite quarry cliff and garden paths visible beyond, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a shaded winding garden path at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, cobblestones edging one side, a log bench to the right, dense tree canopy overhead, light visible at the far end, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of dense undergrowth and bare tree trunks with early spring buds in the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of the granite quarry cliff at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes with a decorative installation on the rock face, the Grue Titan crane at the Hangar à bananes visible across the Loire, a lone figure seated on the grass in the foreground, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph looking through wire garden sculptures toward rock climbers on the granite quarry face at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, a man resting on a bench in the foreground, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of the granite quarry rock face at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, vegetation in the crevices, a metal walkway railing at the top against a pale sky, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of dramatic metal staircases and walkways clinging to the granite quarry face at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, small figures ascending, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Close-up black and white film photograph of a single new leaf bud just opening on bare tree branches at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, the quarry and garden softly out of focus behind, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a narrow stream winding through reeds and marsh plants at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, sparkling in sunlight, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of the waterfall at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes partially visible through dense foliage, ferns and climbing plants in the foreground, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of two people walking away along a garden path toward the granite quarry cliff at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, a residential apartment block visible on the hillside above, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of water from the quarry waterfall hitting granite boulders in the pool below at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, mist rising from the impact, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Close-up black and white film photograph of the decorative metal entrance gate of the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, featuring cut-out starburst and organic shapes, the garden visible through the bars, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a wide sunlit path through trees at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, two figures walking in the distance and a person seated on a log to one side, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a couple walking away down a sunlit path through the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, a fallen log in the foreground and the quarry rock face beyond, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of fatsia japonica plants with large lobed leaves in bright sunlight at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, layered foliage and tree trunks in the background, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Close-up black and white film photograph of dark berry clusters with distinctive star-shaped calyxes on fatsia japonica leaves at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100 with a Nikon FE
Black and white film photograph of a wood chip path bordered by log rounds and post fencing in the wilder section of the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, bare trees and an urban building beyond, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of rock climbers in harnesses at the base of and ascending the granite quarry face at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a large-leafed fatsia japonica plant in sharp focus at the edge of a garden path in the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, trees and foliage soft in the background, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes seen through tree branches and leaves, people and boulders at the water's edge visible in the distance, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph looking up at the granite quarry rock face at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, a metal footbridge at the summit, climbers on the stone below, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a person lying on a granite ledge at the water's edge in the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, trees and an urban building in the distance, shot on Ilford Pan 100 with a Nikon FE
Black and white film photograph of families and children playing on granite boulders at the water's edge at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, the quarry cliff and metal walkways rising behind them, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Close-up black and white film photograph of a cut-out butterfly motif on the decorative metal gate of the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100 with a Nikon FE
Black and white film photograph of a woman with a backpack walking away along a path toward the granite quarry cliff and decorative rock installation at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a winding path through granite boulders and sparse trees at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a woman reading on a granite boulder at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, a modernist building visible behind her, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Close-up black and white film photograph of dark reed stems crossing and tangled with cobwebs, backlit, at the Jardin Extraordinaire Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100
Black and white film photograph of a tree-lined path leading toward an industrial building in Nantes, shot on Ilford Pan 100 with a Nikon FE

Also in this series: On Est Bien Là — Back at the Jardin Extraordinaire

Something I’ve Been Working On

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Hello,

Thank you for being here. If you’re reading this, you’ve been following my work for a while — and that means more to me than I can easily say.

I wanted to share something with you before anyone else.

Over the past months I’ve been quietly building a small print shop — seven photographs that have stayed with me long after the shutter closed. A path in Huizhou. A canal in Shaoxing. A Vespa in the Quartier Bouffay. A tiny wooden shed in Northumberland that stopped me in my tracks.

Each print comes with the story behind it — because a photograph without its story is only half the picture.

If one of them speaks to you — I’d be genuinely honoured to have it on your wall.

Thank you for six years of reading, liking, commenting, and quietly being there.

— Ian ijmphotography.net

You can read the full story behind each print here: https://shop.ijmphotography.net/

Browse the full Film Archives →

Let’s Connect: Mentorship, Prints & Collaborations

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Let’s Connect: Mentorship, Prints & Collaborations

A brief and practical note.

After six years of writing here, I’m formalising something that has been happening informally for a while — people getting in touch to ask about prints, about learning, about working together. Which is lovely, and I’d like to make it easier.

So here’s where things stand:

Mentorship — I’m happy to work with photographers who want to develop their practice, whether that’s film, digital, or somewhere in between. One-to-one, remote or in person if you’re near the Vendée. We work on what you actually need, not a fixed curriculum.

Prints — A selection of black-and-white work from the Nantes series and elsewhere is available as archival prints. If something on the blog has caught your eye, get in touch and we’ll talk.

Collaborations — Photo walks, workshops, joint projects — I’m open to conversations. No guarantees, but I’m listening.

Article suggestions — If there’s something you’d like me to write about, say so. Reader questions have produced some of my better pieces.

The best way to reach me is ian@ijmphotography.net. I aim to reply within a couple of days. French is fine too — n’hésitez pas.

That’s it really. No agenda beyond making good work and occasionally sharing it with people who care about the same things.

— Ian

More Light Than We Imagine

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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. A print from a Nantes evening, Vespa & Whiskey, is available in the print shop.

The Philosophy of Photography: What the Camera Teaches Us

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I didn’t plan this series when I sat down to write the first part. I thought I had one post in me about why I bother with a camera at all, and then I kept finding more questions underneath that one. Seven parts later, here’s roughly what I’ve landed on, plus what surprised me about writing it down in the first place.

The question I started with, why photograph at all, turned out not to have one answer. Some days it’s about keeping a record. Some days it’s closer to therapy, a way of getting out of my own head for an hour. Writing that part made me notice how much the reason shifts depending on my mood before I’ve even picked up the camera, which I hadn’t really clocked until I tried to explain it to someone else.

The emotional side surprised me more than I expected. I went into that post thinking I’d talk about composition and technique, and instead ended up telling a story about an A-level music essay and a teacher tearing my taste in Glenn Miller to shreds. Photography and music turned out to be doing the same job for me: reciting the text and then letting go of what anyone makes of it.

Storytelling was the one I found easiest to write, probably because I already think in contact sheets, whole rolls rather than single frames. Identity was the hardest. Writing about whether a camera reveals who you are meant admitting things I don’t love admitting, like the fact I’ve picked up more from YouTube than from thirty years of just going out and shooting. Connection reminded me how much of this supposedly solitary hobby actually happens because of other people: my kids as reluctant first models, a Nantes meet-up where I brought the smallest camera in the group, a photography collective that’s shown me the same streets through completely different eyes.

And impermanence, the last one before this, is probably the part I think about most now, weeks after writing it. Every photo is proof that a moment is already gone. I used to find that a bit bleak. Somewhere in writing it out I stopped finding it bleak and started finding it more like the whole point.

So, what’s actually changed for me, having written all this down? Not much on the surface. I still go out with the same cameras, still get annoyed at the same mistakes. But I think I’m a bit more honest with myself now about why I press the shutter when I do, and a bit less bothered when the reason doesn’t sound impressive.

If any of this made you think about your own reasons for picking up a camera, good. I’m not expecting anyone to agree with all seven parts, I don’t think I fully agree with all seven parts. If you want to tell me where you think I’ve got it wrong, the comments are open, and I mean that as a genuine invitation rather than a polite sign-off. I’ll read them properly.

Also in this series: Part I — An Introduction  ·  Part II — Why Do We Photograph?  ·  Part III — The Emotions of Photography  ·  Part IV — The Art of Storytelling  ·  Part V — Identity & Self-Expression  ·  Part VI — Connection Through Photography  ·  Part VII — The Philosophy of Impermanence  ·  Conclusion

Photography Philosophy – Part VII – The Philosophy of Impermanence

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A moment you can’t get back

The second you name a moment, it’s already gone. Not the present any more, the past, and there’s no getting it back or repeating it. You can try to recreate it, same spot, same light, same people, but it will never be identical. Time’s already moved on to the next thing. Photography is the strange art of grabbing hold of that moment anyway, knowing full well it can’t be exactly reproduced.

So what do you do with that, as a photographer? Spend your time mourning everything that’s already slipped past, or feel lucky you managed to catch some of it on the way? I go back and forth. Cartier-Bresson’s decisive moment is really just this idea dressed up in French. Like comedy, apparently, photography is mostly timing. Do you freeze the action with a fast shutter, or slow down and let some blur and motion into the frame? How fleeting is what you’re actually chasing, and what does a bit of movement add to it?

My own version of this

Over the years I’ve got better at noticing these moments and trying to hold onto them, especially with my kids, especially when they’re playing together and don’t know I’m watching. I want the mess and the spontaneity of it, not a posed version. Any parent will tell you the same thing: they grow up while you’re not looking properly, and then one day you are looking properly, at old photos, thinking where did that go. My son’s 25 now. My daughter’s 15. I still don’t quite believe either number.

Learning to live with mistakes

I’ll be honest, I don’t take to mistakes easily. I like precision, I like planning a shot properly, I don’t enjoy leaving things to chance, so when something goes wrong there’s a proper flash of frustration. A blurred frame, blown highlights, a moment I simply missed. Those are the things I try hardest to avoid, and mostly fail to avoid.

But looking back over what I’ve actually shot, the path to a photo I’m proud of was never a straight line. It’s trial and error the whole way, learning to see a scene not just through the lens but through everything I got wrong trying to shoot it the first time.

It’s usually the misfires that make me rethink what I’m doing, shift the frame, check the focus again. They show me an angle I wouldn’t have tried, or drag out a feeling I wasn’t expecting to capture at all. Each mistake teaches me something, even when I’d rather it hadn’t needed teaching. They’re not really setbacks. More like uncomfortable nudges toward seeing the same photograph with slightly fresher eyes.

The photo I end up keeping is almost never the first frame, or the second, or the third. It’s whatever’s left after a run of adjustments and false starts and moments of thinking this isn’t working. Take those out of the process and I’m not sure the image I actually wanted would ever have turned up.

So yes, I still want control. I’m not pretending otherwise. But I’ve come round to thinking there’s something in the unexpected too, the mistakes, the missed shots, the ones I got completely wrong. That’s as much a part of my photography as anything I planned properly, and it usually gets me closer to whatever it was I was actually trying to say with the picture.

Where that leaves me

Photography, when I strip away the gear talk and the technique, is really just an attempt to hold onto something that’s already leaving. Every photo I take is an admission that the moment won’t come back, and somehow that doesn’t feel morbid to me, it feels closer to the point. You’re documenting not only what you saw but roughly what it felt like to be the one holding the camera.

I still want the shot to be right. I still get annoyed when it isn’t. But I’ve stopped expecting the process to be tidy, because it never has been, not once, not for me. The mess is where most of the good ones come from anyway. If that’s the trade, catching a moment you can’t keep in exchange for never quite controlling how you catch it, I’ll take it. I don’t see another option, really, and thirty-odd years in I’ve stopped wanting one.

Also in this series: Part I — An Introduction  ·  Part II — Why Do We Photograph?  ·  Part III — The Emotions of Photography  ·  Part IV — The Art of Storytelling  ·  Part V — Identity & Self-Expression  ·  Part VI — Connection Through Photography  ·  Part VII — The Philosophy of Impermanence  ·  Conclusion

Photography Philosophy – Part VI – Connection Through Photography

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Spotting other photographers

I once read that if two Germans meet, they’ll form a club. I’m not German, but it’s a fair description of something more universal: the need to belong. Photographers aren’t always the most extroverted bunch, but even the shy ones want to connect with somebody who gets it. When I’m out and about, I clock anyone carrying a camera before I’ve even registered I’m doing it. Brand, make, lens, all of it, filed away automatically. Even a simple nod between strangers is a small acknowledgment: yes, you too. Am I judging them while I’m at it? Sometimes. To err is human.

A film camera round someone’s neck gets my attention faster than anything digital. When I take the Mamiya C220 out, the camera itself becomes almost as much of a talking point as whatever I actually photograph with it. People stop and ask what it is, whether you can still get film for it, or tell me their grandfather had one just like it. That’s the charm of a medium format TLR in 2026: it still gets a reaction.

Photography, and film photography especially, has a bit of a niche, insider feel to it. Carrying a film camera says something: that you’re serious enough to bother, that you know what you’re doing because the camera certainly isn’t doing it for you. We’re artists, therefore superior, or so we tell ourselves for a bit of validation. There’s an argument that film demands more knowledge, and that developing your own rolls proves some kind of dedication. Sometimes. Not always. But it’s a decent opener for a conversation, and it usually leads somewhere, even if the relationship that follows only lasts as long as the chat itself.

There’s also the connection between photographer and subject to think about. For years I was terrified of using a model. I’m an introvert, so small talk plus directing someone plus trying not to make it weird sounded like a nightmare. But I wanted to get past that. Buildings don’t talk back or judge your composition. People are a different animal entirely.

I learned the basics of lighting and then needed someone to point a camera at. My daughter and my wife were the first, unwilling volunteers really, then my son and his girlfriend at the time. After that, unsuspecting friends and fellow musicians, until eventually I had enough confidence to approach total strangers and build that rapport on the spot. Turns out plenty of them were just as nervous as I was. Another thing we had in common.

I picked up some advice from Sean Tucker, who does a lot of portraiture: just have a conversation with your model. It sounds too simple to work, but it does. It puts both of you at ease and lets the model forget they’re being photographed at all, which is usually the whole battle.

Meeting other photographers on purpose

Connection isn’t only the brief kind, a nod on the street, a stranger asking about your camera. Sometimes it’s a proper collaboration with other photographers, which for an introvert like me takes actual effort. At parties I’m the one hanging around the edge of the room talking to the dog. Genuinely good conversations, the dog and I.

Still, I make the effort sometimes and meet up with other photographers. Get me started on kit, lenses, actual cameras, and I’ll talk until the cows come home, well past the point most people have quietly switched off. But hand me an audience that actually cares and knows what I’m on about, and something in me relaxes that doesn’t relax anywhere else.

I can see how it looks from the outside: blokes getting together to obsess over a niche hobby. Sounds a bit much when I put it like that. It isn’t, I promise.

The very first post on this blog came out of a meet-up in Nantes, and it was genuinely one of the better days I’ve had with a camera. Classic male-bonding stuff: everyone else turned up with their biggest body and most expensive glass, like it was some unspoken competition. I brought my X100F, small enough to disappear in one hand. The thinking man’s camera, if I’m allowed to say that about myself. Like my car, nothing to look at twice, but I like using it and it gets the job done without any fuss.

I’ve also worked with Nantes Grand Angle, a local collective that organises outings around the city. In exchange for a free tour or a free visit somewhere, we photograph the day and write about it or post to Instagram. I’ve done a couple of these with them, and it’s always interesting watching other photographers work the same scene. Same place, same light, completely different eye. There’s a genuine feel-good factor in that shared vantage point, even if we all walk away with different pictures.

Photography can feel like a solitary thing, and plenty of the time it is. But there’s more connection hiding in it than people give it credit for: the nod between strangers, the collaboration with other photographers, the quiet trust you build with a subject in front of the lens. None of that happens if you’re not paying attention to the people around you as much as the light.

I don’t know that photography needs to mean anything grander than that. Every so often it puts me in a room, or a street, or a Nantes side alley, with someone I wouldn’t otherwise have talked to, camera or no camera. That’s plenty.

Also in this series: Part I — An Introduction  ·  Part II — Why Do We Photograph?  ·  Part III — The Emotions of Photography  ·  Part IV — The Art of Storytelling  ·  Part V — Identity & Self-Expression  ·  Part VI — Connection Through Photography  ·  Part VII — The Philosophy of Impermanence  ·  Conclusion