Something in the last year has made me fall out of love with my digital camera. Not my camera specifically—my trusty GH4 has done nothing but serve me well these last few years—rather, the digital medium itself. I started taking pictures as a little kid; I was probably around three years old when my parents got me a small silver plastic film camera. I have no idea who made it, but it was basically just a disposable camera that you could reload, right down to the thumb wheel film advance that was so hard for my small kid hands to work. I remember I got my first digital camera when I was 10, a Kodak EasyShare C112 that I still have to this day. I loved that camera, and for the time it took great pictures. I never looked back on film until about two years ago when I fixed my Polaroid 600 instant camera. There is something about having to count my photos left and think about if what I am taking a picture of is appealing. With digital, I can hold my finger on the shutter and just blaze away. Add onto the fact that on my computer in Lightroom, I can fix almost anything short of focus. Photography started to feel less and less deliberate to me.
Enter my parents’ attic: they keep almost everything, and while I was home from college for the summer, I happened to find my parents’ old film SLRs, a Pentax K1000 and an Olympus OM-1. Two classic film bodies, well made, and with 50mm prime lenses mounted. While I still might go back and shoot some rolls through the K1000, the OM-1 is what ended up making the journey with my back to school, as well as a big assortment of Goodwill find point-and-shoot film cameras. So far, I have mainly used the OM-1 and a Minolta Maxxium 7000, one of the most 80s-looking cameras of all time, and the first fully automatic auto-focus SLR. It was an eye-opening experience. I’m not ignorant of how expensive film is but learning to work with the cost of Kodak Gold 200 over my head has forced me to think about my photos again, in a way that I have not since I was first learning the basics of a DSLR.
There are issues with shooting film, for one: maintaining these aging cameras is a problem that will only continue to get worse. Another is that people like me who are running back to Kodak and Ilford are shooting used film camera prices through the roof; not everyone has parents with a packed attic. Another problem is finding a lab that you trust to develop your work promptly. I am lucky to have plenty of options, mainly because I live in the sixth largest city in the US, and with so many colleges in the area, the supply of hipster film nerd types is limitless. I cannot say the same for some of the more rural areas of the country. Even my hometown in Rhode Island has no film labs within a short driving distance. This means that rolls will have to be mailed out for development, adding to the turnaround time. I can get my film scanned and developed in 24 hours, and with some clever subway timing, I can even grab the negatives in that time frame. As some of my work is time sensitive, I can understand why digital is the only option for so many.
Whether you are deciding to shoot film for some of the reasons I did, or just for that sweet retro look, I think there is a lot of merit to going back to analog. A few weeks ago, on a dare from a friend, I decided to waste four dollars and pick up a singular share of Eastman Kodak stock. Do I think I will make money? No, I expect to lose every cent, but I hope that I am proven wrong. I want people in the future to be able to experience the struggle of using a film advance as a small kid. I want the generation after me to feel what it is like to take a picture, the sound of the film advance ratchet, the old cloth shutter, all things that are tactile and real. Digital will always be more reliable and convenient for most, but the fact that analog is anything but is the very reason I just cannot stop swiping my poor credit card for more Kodak Gold.