Digital photography gave us precision, speed, and infinite repetition. It perfected the technical image — but in doing so, it stripped away something that analog never lost: a sense of life.

Film photography endures because it feels different. It slows us down, resists instant gratification, and produces images with texture and presence. In a world of disposable content, film stands out as something alive.

I am pleased to announce the launch of Liquid Light Lab — a dedicated film processing service built for those who value craft, character, and precision in their analogue photography.

For years, I’ve been immersed in both sides of the photographic world — creating work with musicians, Hollywood actors, directors, and everyday clients who simply wanted something exceptional, and guiding fellow photographers through the nuances of analogue technique. Alongside this, I’ve refined my own approach to developing film — an approach rooted in consistency, detail, and the same artistic sensibility that runs through my photography.

Where modern optics are designed to correct, suppress, and polish, older lenses allow light to express itself in ways that feel alive. The edges aren’t always sharp. The coatings flare in unpredictable halos. The bokeh swirls or doubles or melts away entirely. What many engineers considered flaws, photographers now treat as signatures — fingerprints left by history on light itself.

It’s not every day that a company like Lomography asks you to test a prototype. When their team invited me to run the new Daylight Developing Tank through its paces, I was genuinely pleased. Lomography has long been at the heart of keeping film culture alive worldwide, and being part of their R&D process — before the public even got a glimpse — was a privilege.

The result was a set of articles about my experience published across their international network in four languages.

When an image is exposed on film, it isn’t yet a photograph. It lives invisibly in the emulsion, suspended between existence and nothingness — a latent ghost of light. At this stage it can still be erased, fogged, or lost entirely, but it is there, waiting. Only when it meets developer does it reveal itself, and only when it meets fixer is it frozen forever. That alchemy — the moment when something ephemeral becomes permanent — is what makes film different. Memory doesn’t just appear; it is conjured, stabilised, and preserved.

The AGO Film Processor bridges home development and lab-level consistency. From 510 Pyro to C-41 and ECN-2, it saves chemistry, compensates for temperature drift, and delivers repeatable, professional results at home. Not perfect, but a game-changer for anyone serious about film developing.

Pyro-based developers have a rich history dating back to the very origins of photography in the 1830s. Early photographic pioneers in England—including William Henry Fox Talbot—experimented with gallic acid and its derivatives, such as pyrogallol (the chemical foundation of pyro developers).

Lomography UK recently reached out to me with an exciting proposition: test and review a prototype of their new Daylight Development Tank.

Ilford Delta 3200 has long been my film of choice for capturing intimate, atmospheric moments in low-light scenarios. There is an unmistakable magic that emerges when you push a high-ISO black-and-white emulsion like Delta 3200 to its limits.

Every great journey begins with a spark. In this case, it started as a simple phone call: Craig Sheffer—star of A River Runs Through It, directed by Robert Redford and co-starring Brad Pitt—invited me on a road trip to commemorate the film’s 30th anniversary.

Lomography’s Babylon 13 is already known as a strikingly low ISO black-and-white film, but pushing it further by rating it at ISO 6—or even ISO 3—invites a whole new level of experimentation for those of us who love the slow, methodical pace of analogue photography.

Leica’s Legendary Craftsmanship: From Barnack’s Vision to the M6. From the full frame size of a digital sensor, to 36 rolls of film in a cannister - 35mm photography begins with Oskar Barnack.

From the earliest days of photography, cameras were hefty, complicated devices. Plates were large and unwieldy, limiting both portability and the opportunities to shoot spontaneously. Oskar Barnack (1879–1936), an ingenious optical engineer at Ernst Leitz Wetzlar in Germany, would change all of that forever.

In an era dominated by instant digital results, film photography offers a tangible connection to the artistic process. Each roll is a journey—focused on mindful composition, thoughtful metering, and the craft of chemical development. The grain, the colour rendering, and even the minor imperfections all add character, reminding us that photography is more than just pressing the camera shutter button.