In Praise of Film

There was a recent article published in The Atlantic, by writer Julie Beck, that begins:

“When showing up for others feels hard, some strugglers have lately steeled themselves with a version of this maxim: ‘Inconvenience is the cost of community.’ It’s a reminder, oft-repeated on social media these days, that if you don’t want to be lonely—if you want to have robust relationships—you should occasionally do things that are effortful or even irritating, like cat sitting for a neighbor (or even just conversing with one!)...

The inverse of this adage is also true: Community is, all too often, the cost of convenience.”

When my friend Adam asked me to consider writing for this website I said yes immediately, then my thoughts went to, man, I barely ever shoot film anymore. I told him that while I would love to write, I would have to dig deep into my archive for film work to include. 

Visit my website and you’ll see a number of images made on 35mm and medium format film, and occasionally even a mix of various instant cameras too. They represent five years of film work, with a successively greater amount of my overall work made on film as the time passed. And yet, the most recent published film images are from circa 2023. 

And it’s not because I don’t love it.

When I first (re)discovered film I went all in, and fast. What started as maybe I'll try playing around with film a little quickly became a near obsession. Before I knew it I owned a handful of 35mms, a Mamiya 645, and three instant cameras; I had boxes and canisters of various films stocks–every brand, every speed and type imaginable–all tucked into every bag and available space; and a dedicated darkroom with bottles of film chemicals stocked on the shelves. 

I spent time reading and watching and learning everything that I could and I loved every minute of it. The experimentation, the hands-on-ness of it. If making the images was my meditation, developing was my prayer. 

Film is in so many ways irreplicable. There is a magic to it that cannot be replicated, even with the best faux-film lenses, filters, presets or profiles (I’ve tried out more than my share.) 

The graininess. The built-in blur. That signature glow. The occasional light leak. The accidental double exposure. All of these add something to an image that you didn’t even know it needed - never would have asked for - and yet as soon as you see it you know the image would suffer without.

But...

Making images on film isn’t easy either. It requires time. It requires money. And a lot of patience. It requires the willingness to give up a sizable amount of control. You have to, as Sally Mann would say, trust in the angel of uncertainty. 

There is an emotional investment required for making pictures on film that is not for the faint of heart. Convenient is the last word I would use to describe anything about working in film.

Is it worth it? Absolutely.

When the stars of inspiration, time, money, chemicals that haven’t expired, the ability to find the cord that goes to my scanner, and the mental energy to bring all of these together for a common goal all align... well, it’s one of the best things in the whole world.

I would say it's an inconvenience well worth the cost.