Why its important wander aimlessly with your film camera

To begin with what may seem like a cliché: in today’s world, avoiding screens has become nearly impossible. Sitting in front of a laptop monitor, sketching on a tablet, with a phone within arm’s reach to check the time — this is the norm in 2025. Or so we tell ourselves.

In an era where the average person is inundated with images daily, it’s crucial to acknowledge the reality of visual overstimulation. The goal isn’t necessarily to eliminate it, but rather to recognize it and cultivate a healthier relationship with our screens. One effective way to do this? Load a roll of 36-exposure film, queue up a playlist or a podcast that doesn’t require your attention, step outside, and begin searching for compelling compositions.

I like to approach this with what I call a “one roll goal.” When I feel overwhelmed — whether by personal matters, professional pressures, or creative blocks — this practice becomes a form of therapy. Taking my film camera out, tuning into a good podcast, and disconnecting from digital distractions (putting my phone on flight mode helps) allows me to slow down, be present, and sometimes capture my best frames.

This method proved especially valuable when I was living in Nelson, a small mountain town in British Columbia, during the depths of winter. Picture this: -15°C, snow-covered streets, dim light, and near silence. Yet, even in the bleakness of that season, I found that familiar surroundings could take on a completely new character — particularly in a place where the seasons bring such tangible visual change.

My tool of choice was a well-worn Nikon FM2n paired with a 50mm f/1.8 AI-S lens, loaded with a roll of re-spooled Kodak Vision3 250D motion picture film. Processing was done at home using an ECN-2 kit and a sous vide machine I’d picked up at the local hardware store to manage the temperature.

As a photographer who fell in love with the medium while spending hours in the college darkroom, I’ve always leaned heavily toward black and white film. I’ve experimented with various developers, dilutions, and techniques. Colour, however, has historically been more of a rarity in my work.

Shooting colour changes the way I think and see. I often compose with black and white in mind, focusing on tonal range rather than hues. Transitioning between the two formats can be both refreshing and frustrating, but the more I explore motion picture stocks, the more I find myself enjoying the challenge and the results.

In summary, the point of this reflection is simply to remind myself — and perhaps you, too — of the value in wandering with no agenda other than to compose. Seasons shift before we realize it, and with them, moments pass us by. A single roll of film can remind us to slow down and truly see.

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