Analogue me. Film camera. A rusty old Leika. Manual film loading. A Kodak 100 Tmax, black and white. The heavy noise of the shutter instead of the silent digital click. 36 poses, 36 time boxes, 36 feelings reproduced on the film. No more, no less.
Oh, dear film photography. Your magnetism is trully familiar. Everybody understands your beauty, yet no one really sees it. Or is it vice versa?
To place your fingers on the rough, cold, edgy steel, from which the camera was made some 40 years ago rather than the smooth, curvy body of the digital canon. To feel the weight of the life inside the iron box, a weight literal yet metaphorical. To see t