Falling in love with photography again

Recently, I bought a new (to me) camera: a Rolleicord V (manufactured in 1954-1957, shown on the right). It’s a beautifully crafted, analogue, all mechanical twin lens reflex camera. The first thing my partner M. said was you’re just going to sell it again in six months. Although he knows me very well, I hope this time he’s wrong. You see, I’ve never really fallen out of love with photography, but my feelings have definitely grown stronger again as of late.

I’ve always been fascinated by light. How could you not be? The way it filters through the fresh green leaves in spring, * or the golden quality it gets just before sunset. The bluish tints of surprise snowfall in a Dutch winter. I think part of my love for photography is to be able to share those moments. Just look how beautiful this is!

M. would rightly counter, But you already have a perfectly fine digital camera, why do you need this one?. In truth, I cannot fully rationalise it. Taking a picture with my phone or DSLR is nice: it let’s me preserve a memory quite easily. But I don’t feel that same spark, that love of the craft, which I do feel when I’m using a highly tactile, all mechanical camera.

Love isn’t rational.

But what of the cost? To your wallet and the environment? Yes, of course there’s a cost, just like with any activity. Film prices have steadily increased in the past years. I’m in the privileged position that I can afford it, I don’t burn through too much rolls per year. I try to be mindful of my consumption. Whether film photography is more harmful to our planet than digital; from what I’ve read, the jury is still out on that. It depends on so many factors. If you happen to know a good scientific review on this topic, please let me know. One thing I do know for certain is that the impact is low compared to other consumptive habits: food, clothes, travel, housing etc. I try my best to minimise my footprint where I can. I hope my photographs will have a net positive effect—to me, they’re a constant reminder of the beauty of the world we live in.

Yes, there’ll be shots that fail. But apart from all the light leaks, wrong exposures, scratches and dust spots that don’t turn out to be “happy little accidents”, there are shots where it all comes together. The quality of the light, the nature of the lens and the character of the film together lift the scene to a whole new level. This is what I tried to express!, I’ll feel in that instant. Until the moment the film is developed and inverted, the image is in a latent state. The anticipation of finding out whether everything “clicked” brings its own charm.

Shooting on film feels more real somehow. Not only is the camera more tactile, you’re also creating a physical imprint on the emulsion. In this day and age of generated deepfakes, that’s no small thing. I could wave my negative proudly in the air, in a way that just wouldn’t feel the same with an SD card. (But seriously, don’t do this—the perpetual fight with dust is one of the only downsides of film photography.) I guess all I’m trying to express is that it’s more meaningful to me for some reason.

Even if I couldn’t tell the difference between a film photograph and a digital one, it matters to me how it came about. Don’t get me wrong, this is just for my own photographs—you do what works best for you, it’s not really about the end result. I follow lots of digital photographers and adore their work. I don’t aspire to be a great photographer myself: the pictures I take matter to me, because they remind me of a specific moment in time. Therefore, the experience of how I’ve made that image is important to me; it’s what I recall whenever I see it later.

Film photography is calm. The buttons and levers become intuitive after some use. The motions become rhythmic, almost automatic. There’s no extra light from a camera screen shining in your face, with extra menu options, or a live feed of what’s right in front of you—just the rays of light reflected off of the scene that captured your interest. The camera becomes almost transparent, an extension of your eye and mind.

I love you, M., but in this case you’re wrong: I think this camera and I are a match made in heaven. Photography lets me bottle and share around tiny moments of joy, beauty, or even sadness. Like writing, it can convey a wide range of emotions and meaning. For this alone, I’ll always love it.

This is my submission for the Indieweb Carnival of May 2026, hosted by Juha-Matti Santala. The theme is “A love letter”.

P.S.: Because I’ve only taken the first few photographs with my new camera last weekend, I don’t have any shots to show you yet. Instead, I offer you this photograph from 2019, on a lovely walk through the dunes. I felt strong and energized that day; fully immersed in Nature.