Throughout my life so far, I’ve seen film cameras fade in and out of fashion, but lately I feel like they’re making a real comeback. In my hometown, a new film lab has just opened, there’s a film camera only shop in Leeds, and film developing labs are in demand. What makes it, in this age, so popular? What draws people in to take up something that could end up as blank spaces on an unpredictable roll of film, when digital cameras and the best smartphones can produce perfect photos with ease, and even at night?
An article I read on infoobesity opened with this thought by an American graphic designer Milton Glaser: “to me, that has always been the essential function of art: to make you attentive. In the presence of art, you begin to become aware of something which you were not aware of before you experienced it.” And I thought, that’s EXACTLY what I feel when using my film camera!
It’s hard to rationalise why I bought my first film camera three weeks ago in the first place: I think it was partly to learn something new. A month ago, I didn’t even know what ISO meant, but I admired people who did, and I realised I didn’t have to be jealous; I could learn, too. I also wanted to give my Instagram profile a shape, capturing my own memories in a more meaningful way. But now? I think what really draws me in is the mindfulness, attentiveness, the chance to slow down and just see.
Picture this: after long days of commuting, work, or school, and talking to people you might not feel like talking to, most of us take a break on our phones. We all do it, but it is a TERRIBLE idea. Scrolling doesn’t relax our minds; if anything, it does exactly the opposite. Exhaustion squared. Digital smog, visual overload, noise. Inability to focus. But what happens when I pick up my film camera instead?
Well, it’s different. I have to PLAN what I want to shoot. My attempt is singular, unique, and finite, so each photo becomes an intentional choice. Rather than taking 10 pictures of what I just cooked, I have to start observing my surroundings. And, I want my photos to be different from fast phone snaps, so I have to observe and pay attention with curiosity, as if through a different lens, looking for all the strange details, shadows, and contradictions in the city that might tell an interesting story when captured.
When I have planned what I want to shoot, I have to think again! Damn! I have to find the right light, angle, and moment before taking the shot. And when I finally press the shutter, I’m left with a feeling of mystery. I know nothing. I have no idea if the shot worked until I get the film developed days or weeks later, and I’m leaving the place. It’s a process that costs time and money, but somehow it doesn’t feel wasteful.
After I take a picture, I see more. My vision sharpens. I notice more around me: I see the smallest details that come together to form a mosaic of stories. I see how objects interact within a space, and I feel more grounded in reality.
It may sound ironic: using a piece of technology to escape the overwhelm of our digital age. But it’s not about ignoring the contemporary world; it’s about connecting more deeply with it, being more attentive and mindful, without distractions. Glaser put it well: “…suspend previous beliefs about what the world is. Attempt to experience it directly, by observation and attentiveness. Beyond that, I can’t imagine any other way to develop the sense that we are all in the same boat, experiencing the same needs and wants.”
The outcome of my efforts with the camera feels valuable, but it is about more than the final images: the entire analogue process is deliberate, authentic and personal. Each step makes me feel more present, slowing me down to connect deeply with my surroundings. And what is exciting is that creating your own style doesn’t stop with buying the camera; it fuels a curiosity to explore different types of film and all the settings on the machine. Made to last a lifetime!