It’s a beautiful thing when someone trusts me to photograph their newborn. These aren’t just pictures — they’re the first memories of a life just beginning. One day, this little girl will show these portraits to her own children and grandchildren. They’ll see the faces of their ancestors, the hands that first held their mother and grandmother, and the beginning of their family story.

In the early to mid-twentieth century, Pyro found its most famous advocates. Ansel Adams, Edward Weston, and other Zone System pioneers relied on Pyro for its long tonal curve and ability to handle extreme contrast scenes. Adams’ negatives from Yosemite, printed decades later, still exhibit the smooth highlight roll-off typical of Pyrogallol development. Pyro allowed these photographers to “place” tones with mathematical precision — the foundation of the Zone System itself.

Shooting with film doesn’t just change how a photographer works — it changes how a model experiences the shoot. For someone used to digital cameras firing hundreds of frames a minute, the film process feels different: slower, more deliberate, sometimes even unnerving at first.

That’s why setting expectations is crucial. When a model understands what film brings — the rhythm, the limitations, the rituals — it transforms the session from uncertainty into collaboration. At Liquid Light Whisperer, this conversation happens before the first roll is loaded, because trust is as important as light.

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.

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.