I was talking to a friend of mine recently about a genre of photography that neither of us had really explored to date.  We were trying to work out whether this was just a lack of interest or something else more rooted in our similar personalities.  In the end, we concluded that it was just not in our ‘comfort zones’.  It later dawned on me that this expression neatly describes what it is like for most people when they are trying to justify not doing something difficult and I realised that it’s actually pretty awful thing to say.  The idea that we only ever do things that we are comfortable with inside some mythical boundary implies, for me, existing rather than living.  It doesn’t lend itself to learning or making mistakes, discovering new interests or hobbies, instead just the notion of ‘same old same old’.  This isn’t a particularly insightful thought, nor can it be considered a eureka moment, but it did get me thinking about what I am currently avoiding in order to stay ‘comfortable’. 

It was always my intention to do three things when I changed career.  The first was to pursue my artistic development through my continued studies on my degree course, the second was to help people get into photography through beginners’ tuition and courses and the third was to create a YouTube channel where I could share my experiences as a camera collector.  The first two have had degrees of success, but the last one has been something I’ve almost completely avoided for the past 12 months.   The reason? - appearing and speaking on camera has never been something I’ve been comfortable with.  In my previous life I had no problem standing in front of large groups of people and speaking, whether delivering scripted training or ad-libbing a short-notice presentation, so I wasn’t sure why the camera made any difference.  The answer, of course is that the camera presents us with a view of ourselves that we wouldn’t ordinarily see beyond looking at a reflection in the mirror.  With video, we also get to hear our own voice in a way that differs from what it sounds like in our heads.  If there is any level of self-consciousness about how we perceive both, it isn’t likely that we’d knowingly make such a recording of ourselves.  

In my case, I am an introvert so the idea of sharing my thoughts and ideas in a way that I can be seen and heard is a pretty scary thing.  Add to that the way that social media platforms have given everyone a voice that some often use without any restraint or consideration, and the whole idea of ‘putting myself out there’ goes beyond scary and on to terror.  This free will to comment and criticise was brought home recently to me when I noticed a post by the RNLI which was, quite reasonably, trying to raise money.  The comments below the post ranged from the admiration such an organisation deserves to the blatant trolling of their perceived ‘stance’ on rescuing immigrants from the Channel.  I initially couldn’t believe what I was reading, but then it occurred to me that since all ‘subjective’ opinion is just that, needs no evidence to back it up etc., such people will always be there.  In this case, though I was pretty sure they would be extremely grateful to be rescued by that fine organisation should they get into trouble at sea.  

We can’t really control what people say, just accept or argue the point with them if we can be bothered.  For me, remaining isolated from opinions that I might find hurtful or offensive isn’t conducive to building my tuition business, nor does it satisfy my need to pass on my knowledge and passion for photography and vintage cameras to others.  I decided to think of things like YouTube as not being outside of some mythical bubble I live in called ‘comfort’, but instead something that I’d have a go at and, if I didn’t the result, move on to the next thing.  There will likely be people who know more than I do, will pedantically point out any mistakes and generally not enjoy what I’m trying to do.  However, there will also hopefully be some who connect with it.  My perception of how people might react really shouldn’t hold me back.  All of this reflection led to me posting my first video, which you can find at the link below.  Sure, it’s a little rough around the edges and yes, I don’t actually appear on camera… but it’s a start.  I’d be interested in what you think of it, good or bad – I just won’t take it personally.

I was recently helping a friend sort out her late father’s extensive camera collection so that it could be sold.  Like many keen photographers (including yours truly), the acquisition of new gear is something that goes hand in hand with discovering a new area or genre of interest.  For example, my recent interest in wildlife photography led to the purchase of a super-telephoto lens, which means that I now frequently go looking for opportunities to shoot wildlife and make the most of my investment.  The collection that we were sorting out was comprised of many modern cameras and lenses but in amongst them were a few ‘specials’.  Of these was a peculiar compact camera from the 1990s called the Fujifilm Fotonex 3500ix Zoom.  In fact, the first thing that struck me wasn’t related to the camera itself, but the fact that manufacturers had a lack of imagination when it came to naming cameras for some reason.  The same is true today; more Z7 than ‘Super Ikonta’.  However, my interest in this unusual little camera was wider than that. It took APS film. 

The compact Fotonex APS camera by Fuji. Shown here with it's clever remote control unit that doubles as a lens cap

The Fuji Fotonex with its clever remote control that doubles as a lens cap

APS, or Advanced Photo System to give it its proper handle, was a system conceived by the major film and camera manufacturers in the 1990s.  At this time Kodak still had its stuck in the ground about the emerging digital camera technology, but like the other film and camera manufacturers they were clear that in order to strengthen their position and keep film photography fresh, something new and exciting was needed.  Kodak had been burned in the 1980s by the awful Disc format, for which they used the laughable tagline “Picture a Brand New World” (check out the link to the Kodak advert on Youtube below).  It was short-lived when people realised that their old compact 110 format cameras shot better photographs, despite the disc cameras being technologically advanced.  After this disaster, Kodak went back to 135 which is what we know and love as 35mm.  The collaboration with the other major manufacturers had to work, and it actually did. The APS format was the result. 

APS used a new self-loading cartridge system which simplified the user experience from 35mm.  It also served as the home for the unexposed film when new and the exposed negatives once developed.  The idea was that the photographer would shoot the roll and the lab would send the film back in its cartridge along with prints made from the negatives.  If they subsequently wanted other prints, they could take the cartridge to any film developer who had an APS processor, and the film would tell the machine which prints to make.  More interesting was that the photographer could also shoot different formats one one roll and the film would record this information too.  The frame on the negative would be full size but when the photographer wanted to print a different, the machine would read what the camera was set to at the time and make the print accordingly.  Another benefit was that the film recorded partially shot film, which meant in the higher end cameras, that a cannister could be wound back in mid-roll, replaced for different conditions (light etc) and then reinserted for the rest of the roll to be shot.  The whole shooting experience was simplified for the photographer while simultaneously demonstrating a significant advance in the equipment.  Cameras had to be smarter and the processing machines were also different from traditional 135.  The processing machines locked the developing houses into the technology, which was fairly common with film manufacturers of the day.  All in all, it looked like a great idea.  However, the digital age was dawning and as cameras improved in image quality and the price came down, APS and film in general started to become obsolete. 

Back in 2016, I had a momentary loss of control of my faculties and thought ‘why not have a go at shooting some film?’  It was a peculiar idea, given that I had a great digital camera and collection of high-quality glass for it.  I’d learned a great deal about exposure, composition, use of filters and tripods etc through academic study and trial-and-error, which is easy when you shoot with ‘didge’.  Why on Earth would I want to return to the days of anxiously waiting for my film to come back from the developers, or in my case growing up, a well- known High Street chemist?  

Well, it started with a chance meeting with one of my photographic heroes, a pioneer in street photography in the 1960s.  His recommendation during our brief 2 minutes together, most of which involved me awkwardly trying to think of questions to ask, was to have a go with an old film camera.  The rationale was that film make us slow down.  We want to make the best image as possible on the film because, amongst other things, it costs real money.  On his advice,  I went straight out and bought a Hasselblad 500c/m, which the word ‘iconic’ doesn’t begin to cover.  Fast-forward 5 years and I have a collection of 42 film cameras from the past 100 years or so.  My rapid development (pardon the pun) of a love for film has been largely down to the fact that it is a predictable but varied medium.  What I mean by this is that by and large we can work film to achieve the photograph that we want, but there will always be subtle variations in the emulsion being used and, more crucially, our choice of stock will have its own aesthetic quality.  The fancy digital filters that we have for our phones and social media apps often mimic the variability of film, but personally I prefer the real effect over any of those.   I’m not alone it would appear, as the film industry has been enjoying a mini revival over the past few years.  More and more stocks are being discovered and rebranded, some are being reintroduced and shooting expired film has become a genre in its own right.  

When it comes to using film over digital, there are some key differences when it comes to metering and development.  The reaction of the film to light is, unsurprisingly, different to that of a digital sensor.  A good example would be the old adage about “exposing for the shadows and developing for the highlights”, which refers to the fact that the development of film starts with the details in the shadows and progresses to the highlights over time.  If there isn’t sufficient light exposing the shadow regions, the negative will effectively look clear in those areas.  No information in the shadows means no recovery when it comes to scanning or printing.  As the development progresses to the highlight regions, we have the ability to shorten the developing time to keep them under control if needed.  Understanding the process that the film goes through when it’s exposed to light and then developing chemicals is crucial to making the best negative possible.   In the 1940s, legendary photographers Ansel Adams and Fred Archer developed The Zone System, which helps the photographer understand the scene and choose the right exposure for the negative.  Adams’ book series The Camera, The Negative and The Print are arguably the most important documents of the photographic process ever written.  

When it comes to shooting film, though there is another phenomenon that many people starting out have discover by accident: Reciprocity Failure.  This is the name given to the non-linearity of the film’s reaction to light over time, specifically when the exposure is a long one measured in seconds.  What happens is that the film sensitivity decreases with the amount of time it is exposed to light, meaning that it doesn’t react as quickly after a second or so as it does when the shutter first opens.  When Reciprocity Failure becomes a factor, the exposure that we think we have metered correctly, suddenly results in underexposure, wasted money and occasionally, tears.  I first encountered it not long after I bought the ‘Blad.  I was out shooting a derelict barn on a cloudy day.  I thought the metering was correct and shot the picture with a shutter speed of around 2 seconds.  The result was a disaster.  After some research, I realised that my exposure of 2 seconds should actually have been 3 seconds.  Further digging revealed that films have different Reciprocity Failure rates and response curves that exacerbate the non-linear behaviour the longer the exposure.  Fortunately, there are apps available that will calculate the factor for the film stock being used, so photographers can simply include that in their deliberations about exposure – we’re taking our time, remember?  

If this sounds like a pain, it’s actually just a minor inconvenience.  It was enough for me to get excited though, when I learned that one of my favourite film stocks was pretty much immune to it.  Kodak Ektachrome is what we children of the 1970s would call ‘slide film’.  It was the chosen stock for holiday photographs, which were projected for friends and family back home.  Ever wondered where the term slideshow came from?  Now you know.   Ektachrome is a favourite of mine because it renders colours beautifully and has very little grain.  When a perfectly exposed Ektachrome slide is projected onto a screen, it’s real thing of beauty.  Imagine my joy when I learned that Ektachrome doesn’t suffer from the pesky reciprocity failure until shutter has been open for more than 10 seconds – that’s huge compared to most negative films.  I don’t understand the physics (nor do I really care), but this knowledge leads to potentially using slide film for long exposures which is something I’d never considered.  One style of photography that I’d yet to explore with film was shooting at night. Exposures typically last a few seconds, which would suit Ektachrome perfectly I thought.  A little digging around the internet confirmed that the film, although colour balanced for daylight, would render artificial light beautifully at night.   Armed with my ‘Blad and a few rolls, I went out one evening to have a go. 

I was amazed at how the film performed in these shots, all of which had exposures less than 10 seconds.  The colours are vivid and the blue tint that Ektachrome is known for in daylight has almost completely disappeared.  There's plenty of sharpness but very little grain, which would look cool when projected.  The whole experience was so easy, I cannot wait to get out there again and shoot some urban scenes at night.  

Unlike some of my blog posts, this doesn’t conclude with some deep spiritual revelation or lightbulb moment. What I realised in this discovery is that there is still so much to learn from something that isn’t cutting-edge technology such as slide film.  I’d learned about reciprocity through making mistakes and analysing the possible causes.  It didn’t bother me, but discovering that there are films that can get around it was a real step forward. 

Thinking about shooting film for the first time?  Found an old camera in the loft that you fancy trying?  Why not have some beginner’s tuition to get you started.  Drop me a line at [email protected] for more details.