Tag: Photography nostalgia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Photography Philosophy Series – Part I – An Introduction

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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…

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

The Opening of the Film Archives: On va Marcher sur la Lune, Kate

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Last week’s journey through the film archives took us to Nantes, specifically the Île de Nantes. While you’ve seen my photos from that day, I’m excited to share my daughter Kate’s photos with you.

Are these images works of art deserving of a gallery? Perhaps not, but they represent a delightful exercise in spontaneity. Captured by a seven-year-old “playing” with a camera, they offer a unique glimpse into how my young daughter sees the world. There are no rigid rules of photography or composition here—just an extension of her eyes. These photos are raw yet delicate, showcasing the world as she perceived it at that moment.

These photos mean a great deal to me, particularly the one she took of me with that glorious moustache! I’ve often discussed how the journey and process of photography can sometimes be even more meaningful than the final destination. That day was a significant part of that journey, and reflecting on my own first photos from that age fills me with nostalgia.

The Opening of the Film Archives – Penthièvres July 2016

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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.

Why the Pentax ME Super Is the Perfect First Film Camera (Even in 2026)

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The Pentax ME Super is one of the finest 35mm SLRs ever made. Small, quiet, and genuinely capable; it’s still available on the used market for a fraction of what most beginners spend on their first camera. If you’re getting into film photography, it belongs on your shortlist.

What It’s Actually Like to Shoot

Mine came from Robert with two lenses already attached. I trusted him, put some film in, and tried it out. Some of the photos worked and some didn’t — but that was about getting used to the camera, not the camera failing. The more I used it, the more it became second nature. It has the same feel as my X100F, which is a high compliment: a camera that stops being something you operate and becomes something you just use.

I’ve shot with it on the streets of Nantes and taken it into the mountains. In the mountains especially, I was impressed — I could just put the film in and take photos. No fussing, no second-guessing the settings. A 24mm from my cousin in the States, a 28mm and 50mm that came with the camera from Robert. Between those three focal lengths, it covers everything: architecture, people, light, the kind of landscape you find when you’re walking a city and the streets go quiet.

The shutter isn’t noisy. It’s not silent either — this is a 1980 SLR, not a rangefinder — but it doesn’t announce itself. The Nikon FE is louder; that’s the sound of different machinery. The ME Super just gets on with it.

The Films Worth Putting Through It

Most of what goes through mine is HP5+ or Fomapan, and the ME Super handles both well.

HP5 is the obvious choice for a camera like this — fast enough to keep pace with aperture priority in unpredictable light, forgiving of the exposure errors you’ll make while learning to trust the meter, and consistent enough that you stop thinking about it. That’s a compliment. The best film stock for a camera you’re still getting to know is one that gets out of the way. And with a top shutter speed of 1/2000th, you can shoot HP5 at box speed and still open the lens right up in decent light — something a lot of cameras at this price point can’t offer.

Fomapan earns its place differently. It’s cheap enough that you stop treating frames like they matter, which turns out to produce better shooting habits than expensive film does. Fomapan 400 in particular has a quality to it — grainier than Ilford, lower in contrast, a little rougher around the edges — that suits a camera from 1980. They feel like they belong together. Fomapan 100 wants better light, but when it gets it, the results are clean and sharp in a way that doesn’t announce itself.

The two together cover most situations without requiring much thought about which to reach for.

ME Super vs. the Standard ME

The two cameras are nearly identical. Same compact body, same K-mount, same aperture-priority automation, same viewfinder. If you handed both to someone who didn’t know what they were holding, they’d be hard pressed to tell them apart.

The difference is that the ME locks you into aperture priority entirely. The Super adds manual mode — two small buttons that step the shutter speed up or down — but that’s not really why you’d choose it. Most of the time, you won’t touch those buttons. The meter is good enough that you don’t need to.

The reason to get the Super over the ME is for the moments when the meter gets it wrong, or when you’re shooting something unusual enough that you want to override it rather than argue with it through exposure compensation. It’s a fallback, not a feature. But it’s a useful one to have, and since the two cameras sell for similar prices, there’s no real reason to choose the more limited version.

If you know for certain that you want a point-and-shoot experience and nothing else, the ME does that. For everyone else, the Super is the sensible default.

Buying Used: What to Check

These cameras have been around for over 40 years and most copies you’ll find have lived some kind of life. The things worth checking are specific.

Battery corrosion is real. My cousin sent me his old Pentax K1000 from the States — same era, same dependency on small cells — and the battery compartment corrosion meant it went straight into a drawer waiting for repair. I kept the 24mm lens. The ME Super takes two LR44 cells in the base; check the contacts before you commit. Light oxidation can be cleaned. Green crust is a different problem.

Mirror foam is the other common issue — the light-sealing foam around the mirror box breaks down over time into a sticky residue. Open the back and look. If you see black gunk around the mirror frame, budget for a re-foam job. DIY kits exist; a repair shop will charge €20–40. It’s not a reason to walk away, but it’s worth knowing about going in.

Check the shutter at all speeds in manual mode, and look at the door seals along the back for crumbled foam — that’s light leaks on your first roll.

A working body in decent condition currently sells for around €70–130, with the sweet spot around €80–100. With a 50mm lens: €85–130. Serviced or near-mint examples from Japan go higher — €150 and above. Parts-only bodies start around €15. Anything listed as “untested” is a gamble worth skipping unless the price reflects the risk.

A Note on Batteries

One thing worth knowing before your first outing: the ME Super is almost entirely battery-dependent. Without working LR44 cells, you have exactly one shutter speed — a mechanical 1/125 failsafe. In good light with the right aperture, that can save a situation. In anything trickier, you’re stuck.

Carry a spare pair. They’re cheap, they last a long time under normal use, but running out mid-shoot on a cloudy afternoon in a city you’ve walked an hour to reach is frustrating in a way that’s easily avoided.

Technical Specifications

  • Shutter speed: 4 seconds to 1/2000th, plus Bulb
  • ISO range: 12–1600
  • Exposure control: Aperture priority (with manual override)
  • Viewfinder: 0.9x magnification, 95% coverage
  • Other: self-timer, cable release socket, exposure compensation (±2 stops), K-mount lens compatibility
Wind socks photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 film in Nantes, black and white street photography
La Grue Jaune crane at the Hangar à bananes in Nantes, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 black and white film
The waterfront near the Hangar à bananes in Nantes, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 black and white film
A second view of La Grue Jaune at the Hangar à bananes in Nantes, shot on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 black and white film
A street musician playing guitar in Nantes, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 black and white film
Bokeh shot at the Hangar à bananes in Nantes, taken on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100, demonstrating the 50mm lens's shallow depth of field
Street portrait of a man in Nantes, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 black and white film
A bicycle in the streets of Nantes, shot on a Pentax ME Super with Fomapan 100 black and white film
A landscape in Clisson, France, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Ilford HP5 black and white film
A street scene in Clisson, France, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Ilford HP5 black and white film
Portrait of a young man in Clisson, France, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Ilford HP5 black and white film
The Le Voyage à Nantes art trail installation photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Ilford HP5 black and white film
Café Bécot in Nantes photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Ilford HP5 black and white film, street photography
A bicycle on a Nantes street photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Rollei RPX 100 black and white film
The Pitta Pit restaurant frontage in Nantes, photographed on a Pentax ME Super with Rollei RPX 100 black and white film
A pub frontage in the streets of Nantes, shot on a Pentax ME Super with Rollei RPX 100 black and white film
Post Scriptum

If the Pentax ME Super has caught your attention, I’d recommend checking out my other posts on classic film cameras like the Olympus Pen EE S (Aug 9, 2023) or my reflections on the lasting appeal of film photography in In Defense of Film (Aug 23, 2023). For a more in-depth look at the Pentax in action, mark your calendars for Capturing the Essence of Nantes: A Street Photography Journey with the Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 Film (coming Nov 17, 2023). And for those curious about the Fujifilm X100F, you can preview how it compares in Seeing the World Through 35mm: Street Photography with the Fujifilm X100F (Jun 21, 2023). A more detailed comparison between these two cameras is also coming this November!