Saturday’s concerto rehearsal was done — the collaboration, the translation, the careful work of integrating guest artists into an established ensemble. But the concert wasn’t just one piece. It was a full programme. And the rest of that programme needed rehearsal too.
Sunday. No soloists. No concerto. Just the orchestra, the conductor, and the grind.
I loaded HP5+ pushed to 3200. Same Nikon FE, same 50mm f/1.8. But three stops of push this time — more grain, more contrast, more raw. If Saturday’s 1600 was work, Sunday’s 3200 was iteration.
You can feel the difference when the guest artists aren’t there. Saturday had a particular energy — the stakes of building a shared language with people from outside the ensemble. Sunday was just us. The regulars. The people who were eating lunch in the car park the day before. Corentin back in his seat next to me. Viktor on oboe. Nicolas patient behind the timpani. The conductor at the whiteboard, same as always, but now talking only to people he knows.
No translation needed. Just the work.
Here’s what general rehearsal looks like: we play. The conductor stops us. Again. We play. He stops us. From 47. We play. No, from 45. We play. Better. Now from the top of the phrase. Over and over, getting it right, then getting it better. It’s not glamorous. It’s not even particularly musical most of the time. It’s iteration — and the HP5+ at 3200 suits it. The grain is heavy but not ugly. Textural. Urgent. Honest about what it’s depicting.
What strikes me looking at the images now is the concentration. The hunched shoulders, the heads bent over sheet music, the conductor’s hands cutting through the air. Nobody is thinking about dinner or what they forgot to do at work. For these few hours everyone is just here, trying to make something work. The grain matches that energy — it says this is real, this is process, this is nowhere near the victory lap.
The full arc of the weekend, in one table:
Fomapan 100 — Lunch
HP5+ 1600 — Concerto
HP5+ 3200 — General
Camera
Pentax ME Super
Canon AE-1 Program
Nikon FE
Light
Natural daylight
Mixed indoor
Mixed indoor
Grain
Fine, subtle
Textural, controlled
Pronounced, raw
Mood
Relaxed
Focused
Urgent
Story
Community at rest
Collaboration at work
The machine in flow
Three cameras. Three films. One story.
The choices weren’t accidental. I chose Fomapan 100 for the lunch because I wanted calm. HP5+ at 1600 for the concerto because I wanted texture with control. HP5+ at 3200 for Sunday because I wanted the grain to do some of the work — to say without saying it that this is unglamorous, repetitive, necessary. The photojournalists who shot jazz clubs in the 1950s understood this. You don’t hide the process. You lean into it.
From my seat in the horns I photographed the machine I’m part of — the horn resting in its case between takes, valves gleaming; coffee cups on the floor by the woodwinds; sheet music thick with pencil marks. These are the million small adjustments that add up to a rehearsal. And eventually, if everything goes right, to music.
Seeing the Symphonique des bords de Loire through a viewfinder across a whole weekend changed something. I saw not just the work but the commitment behind it — all these people who could be doing anything else on a Saturday and Sunday afternoon, here instead, playing the same bars until they’re right.
Rehearsal is where the music is actually made. The concert is just the victory lap.
The trilogy is complete.
Shot on Nikon FE, 50mm f/1.8, HP5+ pushed to 3200. Edited in Lightroom — contrast via tone curve, subtle vignettes, grain left exactly where it was.
P.S. All three parts are now published: Part 1 (Fomapan 100, Lunch), Part 2 (HP5+ 1600, Concerto), Part 3 (HP5+ 3200, General). Thank you for following along.
Same diagnosis as Part 1, same prescription. The opening four paragraphs are genuinely good — terse, cinematic, the rhythm earns its keep. “The sunlight was gone. The fluorescents were on. The break was over.” — that’s a real sentence. Then the Roman numerals arrive and flatten everything into a report again. “What I’d Do Differently” is still there. The sign-off prompts are still there.
The three-column table is worth keeping — it’s doing more work here because there are now three films to compare across the whole weekend. That earns its place.
Here’s the rewrite:
Part 2: The Work — Rehearsing a Double Violin Concerto on HP5+ 1600
The lunch break ended. Tables were folded. Containers packed. The last crumbs brushed away.
And then they arrived.
Two Chinese violin soloists — guest artists who’d travelled some distance to play a double violin concerto with our little orchestra in a French community centre. They weren’t at lunch. They weren’t part of that casual, sunlit gathering outside. They were here for work.
So were we.
I put down the Fomapan and loaded HP5+ pushed to 1600. Swapped the Pentax for the Canon AE-1 Program. Same 50mm philosophy, different camera, different film, different mood. The sunlight was gone. The fluorescents were on. The break was over.
You can feel it when rehearsal starts — the shift from community to concentration. From chatting about weekends to counting measures. The conductor, same man who was smiling over a food container an hour ago, is now at the whiteboard, baton in hand, writing notes about tempo and bowing. The soloists take their places at the front. Tuning. Focused. Not quite part of our tribe yet — guests, professionals, here to do a job.
I photographed from my seat in the horn section and from the aisles during breaks. The AE-1 Program in Program mode — no thinking about shutter or aperture, just framing and timing. The camera handled exposure. I handled seeing.
What you witness, photographing a concerto rehearsal, is translation. Not just musical ideas passing between conductor and players, but something more specific: two soloists from one tradition finding a shared language with an orchestra from another. The conductor stops us. Softer in the strings. The soloists adjust. He stops again. A touch more projection. They adjust. We play. He listens. He stops. This goes on. Not because anyone is wrong, but because everyone is finding the same musical space.
HP5+ at 1600 sits in the right place for this. Not the fine, almost invisible grain of the Fomapan lunch shots. Not the raw, declared grain of 3200. Textural, controlled, appropriate — honest about the work without dramatising it.
The three-roll arc of the weekend, laid out:
Fomapan 100 — Lunch
HP5+ 1600 — Concerto
HP5+ 3200 — General
Light
Natural daylight
Mixed indoor fluorescents
Mixed indoor fluorescents
Grain
Fine, subtle, clean
Textural, present, controlled
Pronounced, bold, raw
Contrast
Gentle, even
Moderate, balanced
Punchy, dramatic
Mood
Relaxed, communal
Focused, collaborative
Urgent, iterative
Story
Community at rest
Collaboration at work
The machine in flow
Same orchestra. Same weekend. Three worlds — and the technical choices were the point from the start.
From my seat in the horns I see the whole machine differently than an outsider would. I know which passages are coming. I know which sections are struggling. I know the rhythm of this room. But through the viewfinder I see something else — the strings moving in that eerie synchronised way, the brass gleaming under the fluorescents, Viktor on oboe, Nicolas patient behind the timpani, Corentin next to me absorbed in something difficult, glasses slipping, completely gone.
The small details tell it too. A French horn resting in its case between takes. Coffee cups on the floor near the woodwinds. Sheet music thick with pencil marks. These are the million small adjustments that add up to a rehearsal — and eventually, if everything goes right, to music.
Saturday was the concerto. The focused, collaborative work. Sunday would be the rest of the programme — no soloists, just the orchestra and the conductor and whatever needed fixing. The grind. The iteration.
Part 3 is coming.
Shot on Canon AE-1 Program, 50mm f/1.8, HP5+ pushed to 1600. Edited in Lightroom — contrast via tone curve, subtle vignettes, nothing added that wasn’t already there.+ 3200—is coming next. The grain gets heavier, the light gets harsher, and the work gets real.
Photography doesn’t just record the world — it records the person behind the camera. The subjects you choose, the moments you wait for, the way you frame a scene: all of it is a form of self-portrait. This essay explores what photography reveals about identity, how a lifetime behind the lens shapes and reflects who you are, and why the most interesting thing in any photograph is often the photographer themselves.
Photography as a Reflection of Self
What could be a more contemporary expression of self than the modern selfie? For some, it represents a genuine connection, while for others, it becomes a carefully curated fantasy shared on Instagram in pursuit of self-importance—think #lifestyle, #ootd, or #memyselfandI. These representations can evoke mixed feelings about the authenticity of self-expression.
However, this is not how I view photography as a reflection of self. Photography is the only art form that allows the viewer to look through the lens just as I did when I pressed the shutter button. You see exactly what I saw in that moment, and, depending on how I edited the photo, you may catch a glimpse of the emotions swirling in my mind at that time.
Consider two people facing each other, a coin held up between them. One sees the heads side, while the other sees the tails. Each perspective offers only a partial view of the whole object, much like how each photograph can convey different meanings and emotions depending on the viewer’s interpretation. This highlights the importance of taking in the entire picture. But it’s not just this perspective that changes the way each individual looks at the coin, but all the personality and life experience that the person brings.
So, what about the expression of my identity and worldview? You might detect my state of mind through the subject matter of the photograph. If you see one of my photos taken during the anti-government demonstrations in Nantes, you might draw conclusions about my political leanings, when in reality, I was completely neutral about the situation. Here, the viewer adds their own interpretation to what they see, imagining this world and identifying with the picture in a way that is relevant to them. I think we all are guilty of that. My worldview, too, may show through—an insight into the world around me and how I choose to see and document it, since you are witnessing a moment in time as I saw it.
But why press the shutter button at a particular moment and not 1 second before, or 1 second after? Cartier Bresson talked about capturing the decisive moment. I try and make sure that I have no distracting elements. I try and get my subject right where I want them, or wait for them to cross the scene at a certain spot. Does this mean that I miss shots? Yes, but it’s all part of the game! Have I become a self-hating perfectionist? Fortunately, no. But do I try and make that extra effort? Definitely. I owe it to myself, but to the viewer of the resulting photo. Some might talk about a certain professional conscience, but if you’re going to do something, then try and do your best?
Personal Growth
This is a tricky subject, as I’m not entirely certain that my subject matter has evolved as I have. Am I still taking the same old photos as I used to? Possibly. Yet there are new techniques I’ve picked up along my learning journey. I may have started learning about photography over 40 years ago, but I’ve never stopped. In the last ten years alone, I’ve learnt so much, often with YouTube as my teacher. I’ve expanded my knowledge of film—how to use it and develop it—and I’ve learnt more about editing. I might just mention that I trained in “Desktop Publishing” back in 2003. Twenty years ago… time flies! Lots of Photoshop, Illustrator, and QuarkXpress.
New equipment and different lenses have allowed me to explore wide-angle photography and, as they say, “get it out of my system.” But is it really out, or have I simply explored it enough to satisfy my curiosity for the time being? I will, no doubt, revisit it again. This exploration has clearly shaped the way I view a scene, and I now know how to use the distortion it offers as another stylistic string to my bow. Wide angles enable me to alter how the subject is seen, making a more significant impact on the viewer, who experiences something distinctly out of the ordinary. It’s a small but meaningful addition to my work that could offer that extra something to a potential client.
I’ve grown more confident in my photography over time through consistency and practice. Getting out there with your camera is, without a doubt, the way to go. Some might accuse me of relying on gear, but I feel that I’ve genuinely put the hours in to master certain aspects of this craft and to have a certain self confidence in my abilities as a photographer.
Do I take the same photos that I did back in 1987 and now? In certain ways, yes. Because my personality shines through the photograph. However back in 1987 I was concerned just about nailing the exposure, and didn’t have the knowledge and photographic culture that I do today in 2024. I was also a 15 year old back in 1987, and am now over 50. The essential part of who I am remains, but my life experience has changed me, as it would anyone over 35 years.
Cultural Context
You might not know this about me, but I have lived in France for the last thirty years. More time than I lived at “home” in the UK. Has that affected my photography in any way? Maaaaybe…
France is the home of Cartier Bresson, and Doisneau, and their wonderfully crafted street photography. Yes, I have explored their work and have been amazed by it, and amazed by the simplicity in certain shots of theirs, but a deceptive simplicity that takes so much time to emulate. So yes, I have been influenced by French culture. It forms the way I look at the world around me, especially when in the streets of Nantes and I feel their influence accompanying me as I wander around the streets. It’s also the subject matter that changes from country to country. Just look at the difference between my two countries, the UK and France.
But it doesn’t stop there. I have been influenced by photographers that I see on the Internet. Names like Sean Tucker, Thomas Heaton, James Popsys, Mango Street, Peter McKinnon, and Jamie Windsor spring to mind and their videos have certainly been a huge influence on me. And there’s not even one Frenchman in that short list… It’s not that I reject French youtubers, but when at work I have to make the effort to speak French, when I am outside my house I have to make the effort to speak French, aso when at home I prefer to keep things in my mother tongue. It’s a me problem, and not a them problem.
Conclusion: The Lens of Self-Reflection
Photography, at its core, is about more than just taking pictures; it’s about capturing fragments of identity and moments of personal evolution. While the images we create may reflect the world around us, they also tell the story of how we see ourselves and the ever-changing lens through which we view the world.
What I’ve come to realise is that photography isn’t just a technical pursuit or a series of compositions—it’s a mirror. Through it, I’ve discovered not only the nuances of the world but the nuances within myself. From the early days of worrying over exposure to now, when the process feels more like a conversation with the scene, I have grown not just as a photographer, but as an individual.
Yet, this growth is never complete. Photography, like life, is a journey with no clear destination. The influences, the techniques, and even the subjects will continue to shift as I evolve. What remains constant is the intention: to connect, to reflect, and to capture not just an image, but a piece of time that speaks to who I am, and who I am becoming.
In the end, photography is an act of constant reinvention. Each shutter press is an opportunity to redefine the self and understand the world a little better, one image at a time.
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.
Cameras. Why? What is it that makes us pick one up? For me, a camera is not merely a beautiful object; it’s a tool—a simple box, with a lens through which light passes, creating an image on film or a sensor. Whether the box is a hundred years old or fresh off the production line, the same principles hold true. Even our phones are, in essence, an evolution of that same box. But beyond mechanics, what truly drives us to take a photograph?
The Kodak company told us it was all about “capturing that Kodak moment.” But what exactly is this moment, whether created by Kodak or any other company? Firstly, it was a stroke of marketing genius, associating a photograph with a personal, meaningful memory. Secondly, it gave us a compelling reason to pick up a camera and capture memories to share with others, possibly even sparking the first instances of FOMO (fear of missing out), which is now so prevalent in social media. Kodak cleverly linked photographs with significant memories, encouraging us to reach for our cameras. How kind of them.
Yet, let me assure you, it’s not a cure for FOMO, despite what Kodak or social media might suggest. Or at least, not entirely. I use my photography to document the world around me at a given moment in time. Photography is the only art form that allows you, the viewer, to see something through my eyes as I saw it. But while photojournalists capture our world, photography is not solely about documentation.
It’s about storytelling through images. A single photograph can hold an entire narrative within its frame, suggesting more than what’s immediately visible. But often, I find I need multiple images to fully convey a story. When I write my blog pieces, I aim to tell the story in both words and images. I guide you through a carefully curated selection, hoping that you might connect with them in the same way I did. This connection—between the photographer and the viewer—is, for me, one of the most powerful aspects of photography. Through our lenses, we offer others a brief glimpse into our world, our experiences, and our feelings. It’s a reminder that storytelling is more than just documentation; it’s about creating a shared space for interpretation and emotion.
Of course, beauty is also an integral part of why I pick up a camera. There’s something undeniably fulfilling about capturing a scene that feels, to me, perfectly composed. I like to believe I can craft a visually pleasing image and employ various techniques to do so. The idea is to present a scene so that the photograph conveys how I saw it, inspiring you to feel something. Photography is the only medium or art form that allows you, the viewer, to see something that only I saw, and because of the passage of time no longer exists.
It’s about creating art for art’s sake. In a world that constantly demands productivity and output, creating something purely for the joy of creating feels almost radical.
Then there’s the meditative side of photography. For me, the camera isn’t just a tool to create images; it’s a form of therapy. When I’m suffering from melancholia, or I’m lost in thought, stepping into the world as an observer through my camera often gives me a sense of calm. Looking through the lens allows me to disassociate from daily worries and approach the world with curiosity rather than anxiety. This small shift—seeing myself as a photographer rather than a participant—transforms the environment around me from something overwhelming into something inviting. The camera’s frame becomes a safe space in which I can explore without judgement or expectations. In this way, photography becomes a practice of mindfulness.
The process itself is deeply important. I often think of Vivian Maier, who left behind so many undeveloped rolls of film, underscoring the significance of the process itself. Born in 1926, Maier spent her life photographing the world without promoting her work. Of the 140,000 shots she took, only 5% were ever developed—a body of work unknown even to its creator. This fact alone astounds me. Perhaps she, too, was capturing moments for herself, deeply invested in the act of photography without any need for external recognition. Her legacy reminds us that the process can be as meaningful as the result and that photography has value even when the images are unseen.
In today’s image-saturated world, where everyone is encouraged to share, edit, and curate their lives, it’s worth asking if we’d still take photos knowing that nobody else would ever see them. For me, the answer is a resounding yes. Photography is more than a tool to impress, to document, or to share; it’s a means of expressing myself and, often, of making sense of my own experiences. Every image is a small act of discovery, helping me see the world more clearly or find beauty where I might not have noticed it before.
Ultimately, photography is a language, a form of communication that transcends barriers of culture, language, and time. A single photograph can capture something timeless—an unfiltered moment of life that can be understood and felt by someone across the globe. In this way, photography becomes a shared visual language, offering us a way to connect beyond words.
So, why do we photograph? Perhaps the answer is as varied as the photographers themselves, shaped by individual motives, experiences, and emotions. But whether we’re documenting, creating, or simply exploring, the act of photography invites us to see the world—and ourselves—with fresh eyes. And in the end, that might be the most compelling reason of all.
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…
This was another Ian and Kate day. Similar in concept to the Ian and Killian day, but a day where I can dedicate myself solely to Kate. She’s fifteen now of course, but I should spend more time with her. If she’ll let me of course. At the time she was only seven—simpler times where I could make her happy with just a nice tea, a boat trip across the river, and just wandering around exploring the intricate streets of an old fishing village on the “bords de Loire.” There are no cars in the narrow streets, and the children can run wild.
This day was one spent in Trentemoult, that rather colourful village that you can see here. The colours are intense and provide a great backdrop for portrait photography. So of course I went in with a film camera and black and white film. Which only goes to show that when you photograph a location, however colourful, and take away the distraction of that colour, you have to really concentrate on composition, texture, and forms. I couldn’t rely on colour for my photos today. But I was sure that I could reveal some good photos despite that.
So what do you do? You just try and capture some moments of your daughter messing around and being a perfectly normal seven year old. I tried to capture her exploring the streets and being absorbed by the whole ambiance of the place. She became part of the scenery, and blended in perfectly.
I was just there purely to observe and record the day on film, with one eye in my camera and the other on Kate. It was a good day.
Looking back at those moments reminds me of how quickly time seems to slip by without me realising that I am getting older. She of course is slightly older, and possibly slightly less “insouciante” or carefree, but my love for that girl is still as strong as ever.
Welcome back, Dear Reader, to the film archives, still with the Canon AE1 and HP5 Plus from Ilford, but in Clisson this time. You will remember Clisson from previous articles and will have seen the pictures, so it shouldn’t be a stranger to you. Who knows, it could even feel like revisiting an old friend. It certainly is for me.
But why Clisson I hear you say. Well, it’s not very far away from where I live. It’s also one of those market towns that is renowned for the beauty of its architecture with an Italian slant. It has the massive castle that towers above the river. It has me taking photographs of it.
Clisson, like most things, has options. On a Friday the main option is the huge market, and wandering around the 14th-century Halles, which can keep you out of the sun, the rain, the heat or the cold, depending on the time of year. I either go down to the river and wander along the river banks in the Garenne and Lemot park, or park at the top of town and stroll around the Halles and surrounding streets. In the series of photos at the end, you will see some stone steps that join the two options, but I have dodgy knees, and those steps are like leg day at the gym. You can avoid those steps by just following the road that wraps itself around the church, and going under the tree that just got tired and decided to rest on the house opposite.
But this time I decided to break out of my habits and visit the Quartier St Jacques with its decommissioned chapel, and garden. It’s yet another pretty place in a pretty town, and when I was sitting there in the sun, I felt that I didn’t have a care in the world. Serenity flooded my mind and all was well with the world…
Welcome back to the Film Archive of IJM Photography! This time, we find ourselves in the beautiful city of Nantes, in the heart of the Cité des Ducs. Our adventure takes us through the majestic Château des Ducs de Bretagne, a site rich in history and culture.
As we explore the castle, I’m armed with another one of my favorite cameras from the golden days of film photography—the Canon AE1. This was before the surge of interest from the YouTube hipster crowd, who quickly snatched up every classic camera they could find, driving up prices and making these gems harder to come by.
The Canon AE1 is justifiably sought after, and for good reason. It’s a camera that offers both simplicity and elegance, paired with the beautiful FD 50mm F1.8 lens. This lens, in particular, has a way of capturing light that enhances every shot, allowing me, the photographer, to create images that feel alive. You can see the results in the photos here—every frame is a testament to the quality and craftsmanship of this camera.
It feels solid in the hand, and focusing with the split prism is a breeze. The camera is “shutter priority,” and it adapts the f-stop to the speed at which you’re shooting. As a street photographer, I don’t need to shoot at 1/1000th of a second for all my shots, so I have a wider range of options than someone taking pictures of sports. It still provides me with the necessary depth of field.
On this particular day, I was motivated and thought I could walk up the steps to the battlements to get some more interesting shots from a raised standpoint. I captured the urban landscape that spans from the 13th to the 21st century, and in one of the shots, you can see the ever-present figure of the Tour de Bretagne. It once represented the modernity of the 20th century and is now closed for asbestos removal. My feet, however, were firmly rooted much earlier in the castle.
Exploring the Château des Ducs de Bretagne with the Canon AE1 was a journey through both time and photography. The castle’s ancient walls and rich history provided a stunning backdrop for capturing moments that feel timeless. With every click of the shutter, I was reminded of the magic of film photography—the anticipation, the artistry, and the satisfaction of seeing the world through a vintage lens. As I descended from the battlements, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the simple joy of capturing life on film, in a place where history and modernity blend seamlessly. Until next time, keep exploring and shooting. There’s always more to discover.
Stonehenge is something different for most people. For some it is a historical site in Wiltshire, and despite not being part of the 7 wonders of the ancient world, still remains pretty special. For some more “alternative” folks, it’s an ancient spiritual centre, and just happens to be on converging energy lines. For some it’s a day out with the children.
We had come back from a cruise that had taken us around the Canary islands, Lisbon, and Galicia in Spain. Thank you Mummy, and thank you Daddy! I think they felt guilty about us always coming up to see them in Northumberland, and wanted us to get a different holiday experience. Well, different it was! But that is a totally different story, and the photos can be found in the Olympus Trip 35 article.
So our ship docked at Southampton and we still were in the holiday mood. I remember as a small boy visiting Stonehenge, and thought it was “the” opportunity to introduce my family to the site.
It seemed slightly smaller than I remember it. As do most things if I’m going to be honest with you, but the majesty of the stones remained. As did the wonder at the fact that these stones had been dragged overland from Wales, and put into place, with the joints still being “rock solid” and down to the nearest millimetre. I work in a factory that does industrial woodworking and I know what we can do with modern tools and technology and yet here, this massive construction was put together using basic tools.
The children were just taking in the whole experience, and rather bemused at the sight of Japanese tourists being shoved around the site and taking the obligatory selfie. They also seem quite bemused by the amount of school groups being led around.
I preferred, as often as I do, to just take my time and take it all in and get some photos of the place. With the 40 mm zuiko lens I was getting some lovely environmental shots that you can see below.
My wife, however, was in tears. Crying her heart out. She later confided in me telling me how she just felt overcome with emotion. Maybe those lines of energy for those alternative folks might have something in them…
In my last venture into the film archives, I talked about how there was a time that my daughter hadn’t yet seen me the way I see myself and how she actually still liked me, before turning into a teenager. This is the second part of that special day.
We had explored the Jardin des Plantes and discovered what they had to offer. This of course builds up an appetite in a young lady, and convinces her that she really needs to drink something Daddy. And why couldn’t we go to the Altercafé (now the D3) at the Hangar à Bananes.
So what else was I to do but drive us to the Hangar à Bananes. You will have seen the Hangar in this article, and you will now be completely up to date and know nearly everything there is to know.
Don’t forget that this is a girl who gets an idea into her head and then just goes through with it. That idea is so rooted that it is nigh on impossible to change that idea. I knew what was coming. I would order a chocolate brownie, and Kate would have an Orangina. I could have a beer. How gracious of her.
She had been my model for most of the day and even a top model needs a rest, and just has nothing left to give a photographer. You just know when enough is enough…
There was a time when my daughter wasn’t a teenager. There was a time when she quite liked her Dad, and she would accompany me everywhere. It was good being that child’s hero. It was a more innocent time. It was a time when she actively tried to spend time with me. It was a time when she didn’t see me the way I see myself…
One of her favourite places in Nantes was the Jardin des Plantes, a huge botanical garden in the middle of Nantes just across the road from the station. I could talk about the fact of it being a haven of peace in the bustling city. I could talk about it being an oasis of green in a sea of concrete. I could talk using clichés ‘til the cows come home…
These photographs are not clichés, but real attempts of capturing a specific moment in time allowing me to travel back through time. And looking at these images, I’m definitely back in time.
Let me introduce you to my daughter from 2016. She was a 7 year old that already knew what she wanted but was slightly more subtle about it. She would suggest that we go into town. That I could take my camera. That we could go to such and such a place. That we could do such and such a thing. And all this as if it were completely natural. And I was a very willing victim.
This time she suggested going to the Jardin des Plantes. She would take her camera (my old Sony bridge) and I would take my Olympus Trip 35. I used the Olympus Trip quite a lot at that time and its ease of use, the zone focussing, and general lack of buttons to press, made it quite the fool proof piece of kit.
As usual, I let her lead the way. This was here outing after all, and kept a respectful distance, so I could photograph her and record her for posterity. The Jardin des Plantes has not only plants, the clue is in the title, but also is the backdrop to the Voyage à Nantes, and certainly was that year.
I think the images speak for themselves and I’ll let you peruse them at your leisure. They were taken on Ilford HP5 Plus film shot at box speed.
