One aspect of vintage film photography that I haven't seen discussed much here is the connections that can be with family members, local community members, and strangers over film cameras and photos.
Since taking up film photography, I've had countless conversations with shopkeepers, fellow concert-goers, line-mates, and all manner of other folks whom I'd likely have simply ignored if not for the shared connection of the vintage camera around my neck. At a recent concert, I had a ten minute conversation with one of the security bag-checkers about my Canon; he had been a concert photographer in the 70s/80s and shared some of his experiences & tips for shooting shows. While eating a recent breakfast out, my server asked about the camera sitting to the side of our table and we struck up a conversation about photography and family heirlooms (this camera had been passed down from a family member). For some reason, vintage cameras seem to foster a connection that can span age and generational gaps.
Film photography has also been a source of connection to older family members and a gateway to unlocking and sharing memories that may not have otherwise seen the light of day. Conversation naturally starts with the modern film hobby and progresses quickly until photo albums are strewn about the kitchen table and old photo equipment litters the floor. Like many other commenters here have said, film photos have a knack for capturing "real" moments that embrace the ephemeral nature of photography - goofy poses, blurry photos, and candid moments. These moments tell us so much more about our friends and family members and shake memories loose from the depths of time. Digital photos can replicate some of this, but I find that their ubiquity leads to fatigue more often than contemplation.
Folks are right to complain about the cost and inconvenience of buying and developing film, but we as film photographers have the privilege of supporting small, local businesses that are dedicated to their craft and to the film community. In addition to the livelihood these businesses provide to their owners, film shops can also cultivate an in-person community around the hobby that makes the experience much richer for those involved. We recently had a new film store open in my neighborhood, and it's been fun browsing their film stock while chatting with other photographers who've stumbled into the store. If I'm going to be paying $15 for a roll and $20 to get it developed, I'd like to see that money support a local small business.
Since taking up film photography, I've had countless conversations with shopkeepers, fellow concert-goers, line-mates, and all manner of other folks whom I'd likely have simply ignored if not for the shared connection of the vintage camera around my neck. At a recent concert, I had a ten minute conversation with one of the security bag-checkers about my Canon; he had been a concert photographer in the 70s/80s and shared some of his experiences & tips for shooting shows. While eating a recent breakfast out, my server asked about the camera sitting to the side of our table and we struck up a conversation about photography and family heirlooms (this camera had been passed down from a family member). For some reason, vintage cameras seem to foster a connection that can span age and generational gaps.
Film photography has also been a source of connection to older family members and a gateway to unlocking and sharing memories that may not have otherwise seen the light of day. Conversation naturally starts with the modern film hobby and progresses quickly until photo albums are strewn about the kitchen table and old photo equipment litters the floor. Like many other commenters here have said, film photos have a knack for capturing "real" moments that embrace the ephemeral nature of photography - goofy poses, blurry photos, and candid moments. These moments tell us so much more about our friends and family members and shake memories loose from the depths of time. Digital photos can replicate some of this, but I find that their ubiquity leads to fatigue more often than contemplation.
Folks are right to complain about the cost and inconvenience of buying and developing film, but we as film photographers have the privilege of supporting small, local businesses that are dedicated to their craft and to the film community. In addition to the livelihood these businesses provide to their owners, film shops can also cultivate an in-person community around the hobby that makes the experience much richer for those involved. We recently had a new film store open in my neighborhood, and it's been fun browsing their film stock while chatting with other photographers who've stumbled into the store. If I'm going to be paying $15 for a roll and $20 to get it developed, I'd like to see that money support a local small business.