This Christmas was a classic—travel back to the UK, don’t see the sun for 10 days, get ill, and return to the Alps just in time to spend another week horizontal in bed. What have we learned? Never go back to the UK. Ever. But it wasn’t all bad. While I was there, I caught up with some of my oldest friends, including my old mate Ted. He reminded me that it’s been just over two years since he helped me shoot my first roll of film since I was a kid.
Ted and I met in high school. We bonded over our shared love of music and, in our own ways, our distaste for what was popular at the time. He was into free jazz and Frank Zappa, while I channeled Jimmy Page and Hendrix—both in how I played and how I dressed. We spent those school years making music in various bands and ensembles. Ted always pushed me musically—he was (and still is) a much better musician than me—but it was always fun trying to keep up with his creativity.
These days, Ted and I lead very different lives. He’s in Manchester, working full-time for a charity that funds community projects, while I live in the Alps, working as little as possible. But in one way or another, we’ve always stayed connected.
At the end of 2022, I reached out to Ted after following his newfound passion for film photography on social media. Ted isn’t just musically talented; he also has a fantastic eye for visual art. Inspired by his work, I picked up an old Olympus XA, and we arranged to meet in Manchester so he could walk me through the basics.
It’s impossible not to get swept up in Ted’s enthusiasm. Before we even met, he sent me a lovingly crafted, 10-page PDF detailing different film stocks, complete with sample images and pros and cons. When we met in a soggy car park near Manchester he explained everything: how to expose film properly, what “pushing” and “pulling” meant, and how to manually focus these old cameras. A lot of the tips he gave me that day still guide me now.
Those early experiences with Ted shaped how I approach photography. They opened my mind to new techniques, styles, and ideas. These days, I spend more of the year with a film camera in hand than a digital one. I develop and scan most of my rolls and have lost track of the hours spent researching obscure analog equipment. I never intended for photography to become such a big part of my life—let alone my job—but it’s a privilege to spend so much time pursuing something creative.
This Christmas, I met up with Ted and his wife. We visited Malham Cove on a particularly grey, foggy day (day 7 of no sun). As we walked and chatted, we took a few pictures, and I found myself reflecting on why this “silly little hobby” has come to mean so much to me.
It’s hard not to sound too wanky when talking about analog photography: “It forces you to slow down and be mindful,” or, “I love the anticipation of waiting to see what comes out on the roll.” Sure, those things are true—and let’s be honest, it’s undeniably cool and fashionable right now—but as I thought about it more deeply, I realized my love for film photography is rooted in something else: my lack of self-confidence and my brain’s inability to be satisfied.
Editing digital photos has always been a source of anxiety for me. I agonize over the edits, spend endless hours trying to define my style, and constantly feel like an imposter. I’m not sure if I have the patience or eye to be a good retoucher, and it’s led to frustration and self-doubt. But with film, the process feels much more relaxing. I take the picture, develop the roll, scan the negatives, make a minor crop or remove some dust, and that’s it. What’s on the screen is what I get.
The process probably takes as much time as editing digital photos, but mentally, it’s far less stressful. I don’t have to agonise over my “voice” in post-production because I’ve already made those creative choices: the film stock, the developer, the composition, the exposure, and even the camera itself. Film forces me to accept the results as they are—no endless tinkering, no second-guessing.
This approach makes sense for how my brain works and where my skills lie. And I think that’s why, when Ted took me around Manchester, offering tips and helping me buy my now-treasured Nikon FM2, it didn’t become just a fleeting hobby. My passion caught up to his.
Recently, I was asked to be part of a production for a major outdoor brand. We traveled to Japan to shoot an upcoming campaign, and I was asked to shoot everything on film alongside another photographer and videographer. An opportunity like that would have been unimaginable a few years ago. (I can’t wait to share the results in a few months time)
So, thanks, Ted. It’s amazing how a few shared experiences with an old friend can change the direction of your life in such a meaningful way. Thanks for offering your time and your infectious enthusiasm. I am really grateful.
Here are a few photos from my first roll I shot with Ted, a few images from a trip we did to North Wales and some of his images from our recent walk in the Dales.
