Why Film?

If you shoot film, instead of digital, you’ve probably heard this question many times. I think we all have. In my case, it’s usually asked so suddenly, and it is such a simple question, that I always feel the need to come up with an equally fast and simple answer. The problem is that it cannot be answered simply. I usually give up on the massive rush of ideas that enter my head at these times and say something truly lame or even disingenuous, like “I just like the way it looks.” The whole time, knowing as I hear the words coming out of my mouth, that this isn’t the real reason.

Without delving too deeply into my own story, I will try to touch on some basic observations that I have made about myself, and hopefully, the reader will find that also apply to themselves. The world is full of anxiety and noise. Anxiety is not new, and it has always been easy to get swept away in concerns (that reality has proven over and over again) we have no control over anyway. But the ‘noise’ is probably at an unprecedented level in our society. There are a million distractions competing for our attention, and it only seems to be getting worse.

Email, phone texts, videos, movies, phone calls at all hours, more videos about the video you just watched, and then the age-old stresses from our jobs and family lives. The fact that anyone still has the ability to pursue photography as a hobby is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. But, if we are not careful, even that can be taken away from us in return for ‘likes’ and ‘shares’ and the latest camera gear reviews. 

For many years, I was deep into digital photography, and I loved every minute of it. I had several camera bodies, lenses, and other gear that seemed essential if I was going to do honor to the craft and perform it well. I have always been driven to do anything that seems important to me, as well as I could; otherwise, it just felt like a waste of time. I love the outdoors, and I love wildlife, and for a few years, I didn’t want to take anything except nature photos. Birds, deer, etc. I applied all of my past hunting skills to getting as close as I could to wildlife simply to get the best photos that I could. 

Getting close to real wildlife, not the overfed squirrels in the park, is extremely difficult and is a skill-set all by itself. Whether I sat 40 feet above the ground in a tree, or surrounded myself with piles of brush in the shadows, I carried a camera and tripod (and large lenses) instead of a weapon. For many years, I was thrilled to go home and download an SD card and wade through 300 images to choose my favorites.

A few years ago, it all suddenly seemed to0 much. Part of that realization came after I had moved from my home state, and I was no longer intimately familiar with the area or the wildlife. And part of it came when I realized that I was literally carrying a padded backpack with me everywhere I went. As a military veteran, the concept wasn’t that foreign to me, but it suddenly seemed a little over the top. Inside this massive bag were lenses, batteries, camera bodies, a charger for the car, rain gear for the cameras, etc. 

I began wondering if photography had run its course for me. Maybe it was simply time to do something else and give up on the photography wars, the endless infomercials (disguised as ‘gear reviews,’) and the thousands of dollars of gear I was strapping to my back every day. I was enjoying it less and less, and it began to feel like work instead of pleasure. Pixel peeping 300 photos after each outing began to feel like doing taxes. Something that had to be done.... eventually.

One day, my wife and I were walking through a Hospice thrift store in our area. If you don’t know, they’re basically set up like a Goodwill, except that all of the workers are volunteers and all of the money they make goes toward caring for the terminally ill. There, in a glass case, was a silver Minolta SRT-101 with a 50mm lens that someone had donated. Then it clicked. I clearly saw my future, as far as photography was concerned. Although I was middle-aged when the onslaught of digital cameras flooded the market, I had somehow forgotten that there was another way to take photos.

I looked at the camera and noticed that although the top cover plate had a dent in it, the person who had donated it had taken the time to remove the battery from the camera and tape it to the top of the case. I immediately recognized that someone had loved this camera. The previous owner, knowing it was either going to be stored by them or by someone else, had done everything they could to give this camera a chance at a continued life.

Of course, I bought the camera and began my journey back into film photography. But what I discovered along the way is what motivated me to write this post. As I began shooting film, processing the film, and cherishing each frame, I realized that the noise was suddenly not as loud as it once was and that the anxieties in the world ceased to exist at all. As long as I held a camera and searched for my next shot, my head was quiet. It is not the image that keeps me taking photos, as it was with a digital camera. It is the process.

Admittedly, if I were a professional photographer of any genre, I would shoot digital for my job. The world is simply not willing to wait for the film to be processed. The world doesn’t care about process, only results. Also, the instant confirmation of a successful image (especially when your livelihood is on the line) far surpasses the ability of film. Digital is a must for pro-photographers today, love it or hate it. 

When I hold a vintage camera in my hands and feel the weight of it, and carefully load a roll of film into it, what I have in my hands is ‘real’. I can feel it, I can touch it, and I can see it. I know when I manually focus on a subject and carefully compose the frame, the entire process is physical. There’s no mystery to it. I’m not depending on a computer and a sensor to create an image out of 1’s and 0’s. There’s going to be a physical reaction to the chemicals on the film when I open the shutter, and I will continue to have that physical connection to the image as long as I keep the negative.

Like hunting, the first real dopamine hit I get when using a film camera is the slow and deliberate study of what I’m looking at. It’s the contemplation of framing, light, and subject matter that has to be solved. Along with that are the conscious decisions that need to be made, such as should the image be overexposed or underexposed. Should filters be used, or am I happy with the way it looks now? That’s all it takes for me to get completely out of my own head, turn off all the noise, and move slowly and deliberately. I don’t have to do it consciously; it simply happens as part of the process. 

The next emotional reward I get in the process comes when I slowly press the shutter button and capture what I hope is the best composition. Shooting an SLR, the slap of the mirror is like biting into chocolate.... You immediately want to do it again. In the case of a rangefinder camera, it’s knowing that the nearly silent click you just ‘felt’ under the button means the image is yours. You’ve captured a slice of your life that will never be repeated. This part of the process will last as long as I continue to search for the next image. 

In digital photography, this long-lasting ‘euphoria’ only kicked in when I was reviewing hundreds of images and discovered one that truly spoke to me. But in film photography, it lasts the entire outing and up until I develop the film. It could be an hour, a day, or a week after the images were taken. It was there, waiting for me to discover it all over again, and I’ve learned that there is no better feeling than looking at a full roll of film, waiting to be developed. I don’t have to rush to the computer and download an SD card full of digital files to be ready to go again. I simply set the roll aside and grab a new one.

As I began to reacquaint myself with the traditional photography pioneers of the 1900s, it began to make sense to me why so many of them left this earth with hundreds of undeveloped rolls of film. There is a sense of security that comes from knowing you have that film waiting for you. Like dollars in a savings account, it’s easy to let them pile up and forget where they even came from. It’s the process that drove these folks to take photos until they died. Not the image. If it were the image, they would have passed with only the film in their camera remaining.

It takes me about half an hour to develop a roll of film, and that is a sub-process of the ‘taking process’. Like stopping to get gas on a long car ride, it’s a thing all its own and has its own risks and rewards. Do I push this a little to increase the grain and contrast? Do I perform a standard processing or stand-develop it? Am I happy with the results of my chemicals on past rolls, before I commit this one to the same ones? Yep, you guessed it, no noise, no anxiety, no need for an electronically lit screen. Just peace, focus, and deliberation.

The image discovery and review come as the last part of the process. As I look closely at all of them and evaluate each one for its own characteristics, framing, development, and uniqueness, some will be disappointments while others will be incredible gifts. Out of a roll of 36 frames, on 35mm film, if I manage to get 4 or 5 that I truly like and want to share, then it was a great venture. I keep them all for the sake of review, but on average, I probably show 4-6 images per roll to other people. Again, this is just a side effect of the overall experience and quickly became the least important part of photography for me.

There is a freedom in knowing that by shooting film, nobody is going to see your image and call you to do their wedding. Film, with the exception of ‘special shoots’, is simply not feasible for such events anymore. This freedom makes you incredibly brave when it comes to choosing your subjects and becoming creative with filters, processing, and light. That freedom is also what quiets the noise we all hear. No deadlines, no requirements to go home with a perfect image, and no need to quickly post it to social media. Nobody says, “Let me see!” every time you push the shutter button. 

I hope this article speaks in some way to someone who is considering jumping from the electronic hamster wheel as I did. Hopefully, it will give them courage and possibly illuminate the benefits of photography that nobody talks about or that has been forgotten about in the digital realm.  There is a hidden and peculiar reward that comes from shooting film. That reward comes from the process, not the resulting image.

Digital photography, for me, is about the “rush” of seeing my image immediately, and the thrill of realizing that my very expensive camera takes photos that equal any on social media (in a sterile, technical manner). It’s instant gratification at its best, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I did it for years. Film photography, on the other hand, is about obtaining emotional and mental equilibrium as it is being performed. It’s almost a meditative state that I do not even realize I have entered, until I’m home and it’s gone. I often go to sleep wondering if the image on my undeveloped roll of film will turn out the way that I saw it.

I think, as film photographers,  we probably share those same thoughts and feelings with all of those who came before us and who made photography the art form that it is. In that way, through those thoughts and feelings, we connect with people we could never have even met. Yet none of it has to do with the resulting image. It’s simply the process.