Shooting on film feels different. It’s slower, more intentional. Every frame matters because you don’t get unlimited chances. You trust your eyes, your instincts, and the process. And when you finally see the results, they aren’t just pictures—they hold something deeper, something you can’t quite replicate any other way.
This set of images reflects that experience. The color shots have a natural depth, a richness that makes light feel alive without trying too hard. The single black and white image is there for a reason—I’ve always been drawn to how it strips everything down to shape, shadow, and mood.
One shot that stuck with me was the reflection of an older building on the glass of a modern one. The grid of windows breaks up the reflection, distorting it just enough to remind you that it doesn’t belong there. But even through the lines and the shifting light, the character of the old structure holds—especially with the small flag at its peak, barely noticeable but still standing. It’s a moment where time overlaps, past and present pressed together on the same surface.
The other images—each with their own feel—carry that same energy. A roll of film sitting on a book in the shadows, a colonial-style church holding its presence against the sky, a police car below me, lined up with the avenue markings in a way that feels almost too perfect, and the underground subway, where square patterns and repeating lines create a quiet rhythm. They aren’t connected by subject, but by the way film captures them—not just as images, just moments that feel real with imperfections that make me happier than digital.
That’s why I keep coming back to film. Give it a chance; you will do well if you stick to the basics. Be patient with yourself and be purposeful.
