Through the Lens of Love: Reframing Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18
I’ve been experimenting with video lately — combining image, voice, rhythm, and mood. So I made a simple film of myself reading Sonnet 18. No music. No flair. Just words and breath.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
It’s one of Shakespeare’s most quoted sonnets and one of his least thought about. Everyone knows the first line. Fewer people follow it to its conclusion — which is essentially an argument against time. Beauty fades, summer ends, but the poem itself refuses to. Art, Shakespeare is saying, holds what life cannot.
Photography makes the same claim. We press the shutter because we don’t want to let go.
I’m no literary scholar. But I’ve been married for over thirty years, and that gives you a particular relationship with the idea of love lasting. Virginie and I are not the same people we were in our twenties — and I’m grateful for that. What I felt then wasn’t what I feel now. It was the seed of it. Love doesn’t stay still. That’s its difficulty and its grace.
My son has just left home after his first real heartbreak. It was messy, as first loves tend to be. He’ll come through it — hopefully a little wiser, maybe a little gentler. My daughter still believes she knows exactly what love is. I hope I can guide her without crushing that certainty too soon.
In the North of England where I grew up, summer is short and unreliable. Shirtless Geordies drinking lager in May, ice cream vans doing brisk trade under grey skies — we know the value of warmth because we get so little of it. Here in the Vendée the summers are longer, but just as hard to hold on to. The light is different. Softer. Still slipping.
“By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d.”
Untrimmed sails. Love as a voyage. Not always calm water.
A photograph feels permanent. Look at it years later and the people in it have become slightly foreign — younger, in clothes they no longer own, with expressions they’ve since lost. Art doesn’t stop time. It echoes it.
We don’t photograph to freeze a moment. We photograph because we know it’s already leaving.
Shakespeare understood this. He didn’t name the beloved. We don’t know who the sonnet was written for. But we feel the love — and that’s the part that survives.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see —So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
As we reach the end of A Photography Philosophy Series, I hope this journey has been as rewarding for you as it has been for me. Through these articles, we’ve explored the philosophy behind why we photograph—going beyond equipment and technique to dig into the heart of what makes photography so meaningful. Each theme in the series has shed light on a unique layer of photography, from capturing emotions to telling stories, reflecting identity, building connections, and even embracing impermanence.
We began with Why Do We Photograph?—a question that sits at the root of every image we capture. For some, photography is about preserving memories; for others, it’s about self-expression, documenting moments, or sharing perspectives. Over time, our reasons for photographing often shift and evolve, bringing more layers to our work as we grow. This first article set the tone for the series by reminding us that photography is a deeply personal journey, and our motivations shape each image we create.
Then we delved into The Emotions of Photography, exploring how images can carry feelings, from joy and nostalgia to solitude and contemplation. Photography allows us to express emotions that words often fail to capture, communicating through light, composition, and mood. Each photograph holds the potential to resonate with viewers in a way that feels both personal and universal, offering a window into the photographer’s emotional landscape.
The Art of Storytelling in Photography came next, where we looked at how images can create narratives—small windows into people, places, or moments that form part of a larger story. Photography has a remarkable way of capturing both detail and the bigger picture, allowing us to document stories that speak to shared experiences or unique perspectives. In a world full of words, photographs can often tell a story with a quiet eloquence.
In Identity and Self-Expression, we explored how photography offers a chance to express who we are and what we see. Our images inevitably reflect parts of ourselves—our backgrounds, our worldview, and our personal journey. For many, photography is as much a journey of self-discovery as it is a creative practice, helping us find our own voice and share it with others. Photography encourages us to see ourselves more clearly and to reveal something of that to the world.
Then came Connection Through Photography, a theme close to my heart. Photography, as we’ve seen, can forge connections—between photographer and subject, among fellow photographers, or with viewers who see something of themselves in the image. These connections remind us that we’re not alone in this world; they foster a sense of community, shared understanding, and empathy that goes beyond language. Photography has a unique power to unite us, even if only for a moment.
Lastly, we explored The Philosophy of Impermanence, where we reflected on the fleeting nature of each photograph. Every image captures a moment that can never be repeated, lending photography its unique poignancy. Impermanence reminds us to treasure the moment and see beauty in the transient. Photography, like life itself, is filled with unexpected moments, and it’s often the imperfections or mistakes that give images their authenticity and depth.
As we close, I invite you to reflect on your own photographic journey. What drives you to take photographs? Which themes resonate most with you—capturing emotions, telling stories, connecting with others, or perhaps embracing impermanence? These reflections aren’t just theoretical ideas; they form the personal philosophy that shapes how each of us approaches photography.
Ultimately, photography is about connecting with the world and each other through shared moments and meanings. If this series has encouraged you to think more deeply about your motivations, experiences, and the meaning behind your work, then I hope you’ll carry those reflections forward. Photography gives us a way to see, to understand, and to share in ways that words alone can’t.
Thank you for joining me on this exploration. I’d love to hear about your own experiences—what drives you, what connects you, and how photography shapes your view of the world. Let’s keep the conversation going and continue building a community of thoughtful photographers, one image at a time.
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…
Is film photography too expensive? Think again! Many assume that shooting film is a hobby reserved for the wealthy, but it doesn’t have to be. With the right approach, you can enjoy the unique aesthetic and creative process of film photography without breaking the bank. In this article, I’ll share my personal experiences and tips for saving money on film, developing, and gear, proving that the joy of film is accessible to everyone.
Often, even the tiniest things can spark a desire to write. In the infamous world of internet comment sections, people can have different opinions—a good thing, as it makes us reflect on our own positions. It challenges our perceived wisdom and questions us in ways that can be disarming. What’s obvious to me might not be to someone else.
I was talking to an Australian lady, likely of my generation since our photography journeys started the same way—with film. Except this lady has gone fully digital, keeping her film cameras as a reminder of her film days being over. Less hassle, less expense, less stress, and less “faffing about,” she said.
At first, I was taken aback. I love the film aesthetic in my photography. I like the predictability of film grain, as opposed to digital noise. But most of all, I’m in love with the process. I love the slower pace of film photography—none of this “spray and pray” nonsense. I appreciate how I become more mindful when shooting film, as each shot counts. I like the way an old film camera looks around my neck. And as the internet meme says, “I know about photography. I’ve been initiated into the exclusive circle of purists.”
The lady talked about the prohibitive prices of film and labs, which, let’s be honest, is a valid point.
Costs of Digital vs. Film Photography
I’ll talk about my kit and initial outlays compared to my film expenses. I bought my latest two digital cameras in late 2017 and 2018. My X100F cost around €1400, and my Canon 6D Mark II around €1200. I spent about €300 on a teleconverter for the X100F, and I probably have about €2500 worth of kit for the Canon, including speedlites, lenses, and filters. Then there’s the Fujifilm XT2, bought second hand for €400, with a couple of lenses totaling around €500.
This kit, though older, works well and is largely sufficient for my needs. As mentioned in my article “I Want It, But Do I Need It?”, I’d like a Leica, but do I need one? Would I refuse one if someone gave me one? Heck no! You can see the results throughout this site, and the images are great.
Let’s move on to film. Yes, if you love that Kodak Portra look, you’ll be spending a pretty penny. I have a certain nostalgia for the days when the prices hadn’t doubled. But—and this is important—not all film photography has to be done using Kodak Portra. There are more accessible films, especially black and white, that cost less. A roll of Fomapan 100 costs me around €5.50. So for less than the price of a pint of Guinness, I can get 36 shots. For a little more, I can go with Kentmere or even Ilford black and white film. I still have one roll of Portra left and a pack of five Tri-X medium format rolls.
Developing at Home
Ah, but then you have to send them to a lab to be developed. Again, a valid point. The cost for developing colour film where I go is less than €7 per film. I’ll share a little secret: I invested in a kit to develop my films at home. It cost about €140 initially, but now all I worry about is buying the chemistry. Yes, €30 for a developer seems steep, but I can develop 16 to 24 films with a bottle, depending on the dilution. I also invested €250 in a film scanner to produce digital files for editing.
Collecting Film Cameras
You might have noticed that I’ve talked about film but not film cameras. I started collecting a while back before hipsters raised the prices in the secondhand market. The most I paid for a film camera was just over €100, and the cheapest was €15. These film cameras are generally solid, and the lenses are great. The technology, though a little less modern (understatement of the year!), still works, and older cameras don’t even need batteries. And even those that do, the batteries last for ages. None of this “Do I have spare batteries for the X100F?” nonsense.
Each shot is taken on a brand new “sensor,” compared to shots on a digital sensor. And less dirt gets onto this sensor.
The Joy of Film
Don’t get me wrong, I love digital photography for its convenience and spontaneity. I can see my images right away and get instant feedback and gratification. With film, that gratification isn’t instant. You have to be patient and wait, but for people of my generation, that might be infuriating, it’s something we grew up with and accepted. I continue to accept it.
I enjoy using a machine sometimes older than me, knowing the image quality will be there. I know that with a certain film, I’ll get a certain result. I like the slower pace. If you visit the Film Photography page or the Film Archive page, you can decide for yourself if it’s worth the hassle, the expense, the stress, and the “faffing about.” I think it is, and I maintain that film has as much a place in photography as it ever did.
The Future of Film
Does film have a future? I think it does. Leica has relaunched the M6, Pentax has the new Pentax 17, and Kodak has the Kodak Ektar H35. The disposable cameras of yesteryear are still being produced and it has become the fashion to us them at weddings for that affordable yet classic look of film. Film photography continues to be popular with Gen Z and millennials. Case in point: my 25-year-old son nicked one of my Kodak Retinette 1B’s and a roll of film. I suspect my daughter might have her eye on one of my film cameras, too.
One thought came to mind whilst answering one of comments with the person saying that they “will never go back.” I am old enough to remember when microwaves fist came out. They were sold to us as being thoroughly modern and machines that could do everything so quickly and conveniently. Except they couldn’t. For certain tasks on the kitchen they are wonderful and far exceed the way we “used” to cook. But they can’t do everything. They have their place in the kitchen. And will always will do. But a slowly simmered boeuf bourguignon that infuses its odours through the kitchen will always have a special place in my heart. Much like using film to capture my images…
IJM Photography 