Long Live 35mm
It’s no revelation that we live in an age of digital culture. Our lives revolve around technology, and our consumption of digital media has become intertwined into the fabric of our society. This is reflected in the rise of Digital art, electronic music, and AI design. As society morphs and changes to a tech-based future, some creative practices and art forms are fading away from the collective consciousness. But while heartfelt letter writing and VHS tape-making continue to collect dust in the dark cave of obscurity, the glorious art form of film photography refuses to be dismissed.
Many find the tactile process of shooting on film to be soothing to the soul: Open the box, remove the film canister, click “open the camera”, secure the film into place, carefully place the tail end of the roll in its spot, click shut, listen to that precious whirrrrrrrrrrrrr. You can feel the weight of the camera, like a small animal with a roll of film for its beating heart. Further, the delayed gratification that comes with developing a roll brings gratification and a sense of satisfaction like no other. Some brave connectors of the vintage art form develop the photos themselves – converting bathrooms or small closets into pitch-black chemical labs. But casual enjoyers such as myself frequent few and far between camera stores, such as Shutterbug.
35-millimeter film photography has a nostalgic, wholesome quality that not even the best iPhone filters can recreate. It's something in the grainy vignette, the subtle softness, the way it seeks out the most beautiful tones of every color and lovingly coaxes them into the photo. It’s the magical quality of your family photos, the ones your Grandma took of your Mom on vacation in 1989. It casts an endearing light on stray hairs, closed eyes, and other imperfections often swiftly deleted by digital cameras with great disgust. On a roll of Kodak Gold, anything can be art.
I shoot on film because it allows me to capture the real moments of my life without the pressure of perfection. When I take photos of my friends and family, I’m not concerned with making them look “good.” I want to save that brief moment of reality. Unlike an iPhone, the limitations of a 36-shot roll of film leave no space for inauthenticity. It is a way to practice the intention of showing your true self without the ever-present concern about how you look. Instead of endless poses for social media, the film allows for capturing the real moments of human life. The loud things like the side-splitting laughter, the dancing like no one watching, the fireworks on the fourth of July, and the quiet moments like someone reading in the shade, cooking dinner with friends, and smiling in the summer sun. Long live 35mm.
To see more of my life on film, check out my photography account on Instagram: @mayslittlecamera
