Before there was my digital camera - the Nikon D5500, the first camera I held with my 5-year old hands was my dad's camera - the Nikon FM2. A fully manual film camera. Before I knew what rule of thirds was, what exposure meant, and what focusing was, my dad would ensure the settings were right before placing it in my hands to let me take the family portraits. I enjoyed holding a camera more than I enjoyed being in front of one.
Every time I hold the FM2 now, there is some sort of magic that I feel. As I focus and take the shot, I am reminded of the thousand of times my dad did before me. How he brought this camera out in the 80s through the 90s with him onto the streets, taking portraits of my mum, and doing street photography. The grooves of the camera still holds onto the warmth of my dad's hands. It remembers the sweat, the effort, and maybe even the tears, as he struggled to be a full-time photographer. The scoldings he had to endure from celebrities, from his bosses. The chores he had to do as an assistant - buying coffee, buying food, holding equipment. The camera must hold some sadness, of how my dad had to put down the camera, and his lifelong passion, in exchange for stability, for the sake of starting a family. It must remember how when it broke down, my dad refused to let it go. Instead, he took it for repairs, and spent more than he should. He was advised to buy a new one instead of fixing it, told that it was not worth repairing. But my dad chose to ignore all that, he valued sentiment.
As I open the canister of the Portra 160, and start loading the film into the camera, I am reminded of the history of this camera. This shoot is personal to me, in the sense that it is my first portrait shoot on film. It is something I have wanted to do for years. And the Portra 160 was the sensible choice, a film designed for portraits with slightly warmer tones that lended itself perfectly for skin tones. When I first held the FM2 again back in 2015, I knew I was not ready to do serious things with this camera. All I could do was waste my film as I practiced. Eventually, I had to put it down. Went back to digital in order to improve my craft, to improve my portraits.
This shoot with Michelle came at the right time. It was originally meant for an assignment, and it was cancelled, but I decided to go ahead with the shoot anyway. I had been growing tired of digital work, and tired of how all of my portraits were getting stale. I realised it was time to slow down the process, and do a concept that meant something to me. I also knew, that I had grown plenty as a portrait photographer and that I was ready to do a full portrait shoot on film.
Michelle volunteered for this project, and the idea I had in mind was a "date" in the 70s / 80s. Film has always been magical to me. When I hold the FM2, there is this feeling - that I am transported back in time, that I am reliving my dad's love for the camera, for photography. And I wanted to channel that into a shoot. To time travel through these photographs, and imagine what it was like to be my dad, to be on a photography "date" with a girl.
Michelle donned on her mother's dress, perfecting the look of a girl in the 70s who was on a date. I have worked with Michelle many times, and we have become very good friends through the shoots and the planning of said shoots. Yet this shoot felt different. There was no warm-up shots, no racking of brains, no complicated poses. Yes, this shoot was a lot more natural. Just us, walking around Haji Lane, looking through the shops and suggesting to each other which spot to take the photo at. No elaborate poses, just a simple smile, or simply looking through some products.
Film slows me down, it slows the entire process down. There is no screen to check the photos, there is no redoing of any shots. Yet there is something so therapeutic about the process. I was not worried about the photos, I was simply walking around and enjoying the process. Perhaps that is the magic of film. When I am on film, the results do not matter, there is nothing that I am chasing. I was in the moment with Michelle, having little conversations, and big laughters.
I romanticise film too much, you might say. I romanticise the nostalgia and the colours of it. Maybe the magic that I romanticise is that I feel like I'm connecting with my dad's youth through this medium. I feel his regrets, and his love as I turn each dial. I wonder with each shot, how his life would be different if he did not put down the camera. He gave up on his dreams so that I could chase mine. I load each film and think, how courageous he must be, how much regrets he must have, as he did a job that he did not love. I often think about the day I bought my own camera, how his eyes beamed with pride. As if to say, you are indeed my son, to love photography as much as I do.
I often wonder, if I too, would have to give up my dreams for stability? I would love it if his sacrifices were not wasted, and I could do what he never could. To be a full time photographer, to earn a stable income while doing the photography I love. But the future is never certain, and we would never know.
In the meantime, enjoy the photos.
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