The other morning I received a package in the post filled with prints from some film rolls I had had developed. I’d been given more than simply photographs in the postie’s delivery that morning though. I’d got myself some sweet old self help.
My head is very explode-y at the moment. Like a fire works display but with less of the awe and more of the panic! Some days I’m keeping up with the pace it’s running at and other days my body violently lets me know that it isn’t happy with my mind’s unrelenting march.
These photo’s were a little slice of therapy.
Film takes time. Without the auto support found on it’s digital counterparts, the insight in to your settings through the picture you quickly see on the screen or the option to delete and then adapt- film is a whole other kettle of photographing fish.
I have to be seriously considered with every photo I take and trust the process that’s occurring while its old parts whir. I have to wait for the film roll to finish before I can see what I snapped at the beginning of it. I have to send it off and wait some more before the film roll’s story is returned.
It’s the antithesis to Instagram.
And then, I get something like this back. A film ‘gone wrong’. The light got in and everything is unintentionally tinged in a burnt orange.
But, I see something beautiful here. In these pictures, though technically ‘wrong’ I’m seeing something different. I see time spent slowly, where moments were gently considered and counted for.
With that, these pictures become precious and I am again reminded the value of resisting the instant and going slow ; the wonky, unintended beauty of it.