A Photography Philosophy Series – Part I – An Introduction


With the aim of delving deeper into the meaning behind photography, I’ve decided to launch a new series of articles. Here, I want to explore questions like why rather than just how or with what. In my Photography 101 series, we looked at the basics—technique, lenses, and so on. I’ve written extensively about gear in my camera reviews. But now, I’m searching for something beyond that.

The wheels in my mind are already beginning to turn. Not frenetically yet, but there’s a steady intellectual process underway. Answering “why” feels more challenging than “how” or “with what.” It demands more from me than simply focusing on technique or gear.

Here goes anyway!

To set the stage for this exploration, I’ll begin by sharing my own journey in photography. Understanding where I come from may help illuminate my perspective on the medium.

I was born in an age before the all-powerful image took over. Yes, we had photos, and I enjoyed looking through them in our albums. Each image was a physical object, and the idea of viewing images on a screen was foreign to us all. When we spoke of phones, we meant the ones hanging on the wall at home or in the phone boxes on the street. They certainly weren’t for taking photographs.

Back then, cameras fell into two categories: point-and-shoot cameras for the masses and “proper” cameras for photographers. Point-and-shoots were basic, easy to use, and, for me as a small child, they were an introduction to photography. Proper cameras, on the other hand, were for those who had learned the craft of photography, and using one made you feel part of a certain fraternity.

My first Form Master at prep school, Father Gerald, had a proper camera and recorded school life with it. Occasionally, a board with a selection of 6-by-4-inch photos would appear, always in black and white. Father Gerald must have had his own darkroom for developing and printing. I have no idea what kind of camera he used, but it was undoubtedly a proper one.

In 1984, a German orchestra visited Hull, and Stefan Haller from Neustadt an der Aisch stayed with us. Stefan had a proper camera, and I was fascinated by it. When I asked my father if I could have one too, he agreed—but I would have to learn how to use it first. The local YPI organized a summer school offering various activities, including proper photography. And that, Dear Reader, is how I first encountered this “proper photography” lark!

So now you know the why and how behind my beginnings in photography. Let’s look at how this journey evolved. My first proper camera was a Praktica MTL 3. It was fully manual and had a built-in light meter, which helped me get my exposure right each time—or nearly each time. With that camera, I trained my eye and explored the world around me.

Photography at the time was film photography. Although Kodak invented the digital camera in 1979, digital photography didn’t become accessible until the early 21st century. Growing up, color photography was for capturing moments with friends and having a laugh; black and white was considered more “arty” and suited for serious photography. I was deeply affected by the black-and-white images in newspapers, while color images seemed relegated to magazines.

I remember having breakfast with my father every morning as he read The Independent, a paper known for its high standard of photographic journalism. This was my daily visual inspiration. I had a subscription to National Geographic, where I encountered even more incredible photography in its pages. This was top-class photojournalism, and these images now serve as a historical reference for us all.

This is the time and place I come from. For young Gen Z readers, it might sound like ancient history, but to me, it’s deeply real and continues to influence my approach to photography in the digital age.

Now that you’ve had a glimpse into my why, let’s dive deeper. In the next article, we’ll look at why others feel compelled to pick up a camera. Throughout the series, we’ll explore the connections between images and emotions, how we tell stories through our photos, and how photography can be a form of self-expression leading to personal growth. We’ll examine how photography connects us to others, reflect on the philosophy of impermanence, and, at the end of the series, I’ll invite you, Dear Reader, to reflect on your own photographic journey…

The Opening of the Film Archives – Penthièvres July 2016


I don’t know about you, but I’m really getting into this Film Archive business. It’s great sharing these archives with you all, and it’s certainly bringing back lots of memories to me. Maybe less for you because I haven’t published them here yet. But I know you’ll like them as much as I do.

This particular set of photos was taken on Penthièvres beach, located on the Quiberon Peninsula in the Morbihan. It has a special place in my heart. Not just because I like the sea, but the smell of the sea, and the feel of the sea air on my face. It’s a place I often escape to for a bit of tranquillity especially with the chaotic nature of family visits.

In some respects it’s strange going to the beach to “relax” as it’s something I usually hate.  The idea of the outing to beach with the family and putting towels down, with rocks on each corner of the towel, and having to watch over children going to swim and bathe, making sure they don’t drown because you’ll get shouted at.  The shouting of the children, and worse other people’s children.   Getting sand in between your toes and then getting back to the car and having the impression you’ve brought back the whole beach…

But here it was different.  Boots stayed on.  No screaming children.  Just the wind, the heat of the sun, just being an observer and not having to chat with anyone.  Being able to capture the beach on film.  Pure, solitary bliss.

So, now that you know where we are, let’s look at the camera and film du jour. The film stock that day was the usual Ilford HP5 that I always used at the time, a classic choice for its versatility and ability to capture the subtle nuances of light and shadow. The camera was the Ukrainian made rangefinder, FED 5 manufactured during the Soviet era. Loading the film with this camera is done by unscrewing the base plate, similar to the way one does with a Leica. The focusing with the “ghost” image is spot on and it’s a joy to use. I still love the smell of the leather case too. As in much of my film photography it’s as much about the experience of shooting as the final images.

In the end, Penthièvres became more than just a backdrop for my photographs. It became a sanctuary, a place where I could reconnect with my love for photography and find solace in the beauty of the natural world. These images are a testament to that experience, a reminder of the power of film to capture not just the physical landscape, but the emotions and memories that are woven into every frame.