Rediscovering my creativity (and the streets) through film

I distinctly remember the moment when I got a really strong sense that there was some creativity in me that I needed to find a way to bring to the surface. It was in Paris last summer, on holiday. I had brought along my old film camera (Canon EOS 300v) and decided to stick a roll of film in it and see what happened.

I don't know quite why I decided to bring my film camera. I have a perfectly good digital SLR, but the truth is that I hadn't picked it up with any real purpose for years. I had gravitated—like most of the population—to taking pictures with my iPhone. There are countless random iPhone photos over the years which, if I'm being honest, I never really looked at once I'd taken them.

It's a strange paradox: we feel the need to pull out our phone and photograph something to remember a moment or a place, but we rarely actually go back and review the pictures we've taken. This paradox had been bothering me for a while, and I got thinking about when I first picked up a film camera when I was younger, took some shots, sent them off to be developed, and was forced to wait to get the pictures back. Just the time that whole process took seems so alien to today's culture of instant gratification.

So I decided to pack the film camera for Paris.

Cliché of clichés—it was when I was up the Eiffel Tower that I had my creative moment. Camera in hand, I found myself thinking beyond capturing the spectacular view of the Paris cityscape and considering how I could use the camera as a creative tool to take photos that were interesting, artistic, different. How could I capture a view that millions have seen in a more expressive way?

And that's where it started.

It's taken me a few months and navigation through some really busy periods in my day job, but I now feel like I have the headspace to pick up my camera, go out into the world, and give free rein to my creativity.

A day in Soho

In this first post, I'm sharing three photos I took a few weeks ago walking in the rain in Soho. Why these and not some from Paris? Two reasons: First, I need to find those Paris negatives to rescan them! Second, Soho was my first real day out as a photographer. In Paris I was a tourist with a film camera; in Soho I was a photographer.

I love the aesthetic of these shots. There's something about black and white photography—the murky, gloomy light and reflections on a rainy day—that gives these pictures a really atmospheric quality. The grain of the film (Ilford XP2 400 ISO) elevates the cinematic quality even more.

The first shot probably isn't as well-focused as it could be, but I took time waiting for someone to pass at the right point in front of the arched gateway, and I'm pleased with the overall effect. The second shot doesn't have much going on, but I like the lines the bollards create and how reflections subtly add to the frame. For the third shot, I couldn't resist waiting for a person with an umbrella to pass through the tunnel—the tunnel provides beautiful framing.

I had a lovely day in the rain. There was something immensely peaceful and therapeutic about walking around with a camera—rather than a smartphone—in my hand. Watching, observing, really seeing the life taking place in these rainy streets. I spent a whole day walking around and must have looked at my phone for maybe a few minutes just to catch up on messages. I distinctly remember sleeping more soundly than I'd done in ages that evening—tired from walking, my brain spent from taking everything in and creating in a way it wasn't used to.

Streetscapes, not streets

I'm drawn to photograph streets, but I'm not sure I see myself as a street photographer. I'm more interested in how old and new converge in urban environments, how people interact with our busy streets, squares and buildings, how different neighborhoods have distinct architectural characters and feels. More streetscapes than street photography.

I've called this newsletter "Frame and Grain" because I think it perfectly captures the photographic process—finding that unique way to frame a shot, tell a story through a picture, convey a moment, and imprint that moment into the grain and silver halide of film forever. A perfectly analog process for our uber-digital times. Slow photography for fast times.

Every week I plan to share a few pictures and the story behind them—why, what, how, and when. And how I'm rediscovering my creative side at the ripe old age of 51, a creativity that I feared a corporate career had driven out of me.

I'm not sure where this creative journey will lead, but I know I want to document it honestly—the successes, the failures, the moments when things work perfectly and everything comes together, and the moments when they don't quite work. I'd love for you to come along for the ride.