Underexposed and overlooked.

Examining my photos in a new light.

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I have absolutely no idea where this is. I only know that this photograph was taken in Scotland in October last year because the next photo on the roll is one of me standing on a Scottish beach in my yellow rain jacket. I thought it might be the inside of a train, but the windows are the wrong shape. It can’t be the friend’s apartment I crashed in, the space looks far too large for that. My best guess is that it might be the inside of a ferry that two friends and I took to a small Scottish isle. If you zoom in on the second window from the left, or what I am assuming is a window, it seems to be illuminating an orange hard hat with a torch attached at one side. A bloke wearing a hard hat and torch on his ferry ride isn’t very common, but far more common than on his train ride I suppose. Then again, if this was a ferry ride, wouldn’t there be a view from the windows? It was very Scottish weather but even so, there should be some discernible sky outside of those windows, however miserable. There also seem to be small tables or large window sills just under each window, which seems odd for a ferry. For all my scrutinising, that’s about everything I can extract: this might be a picture of the inside of a ferry. Exhilarating stuff.

I remember taking this photo, so no sleuthing necessary. This is the interior of Saint Frank Coffee, a suitably vibey café in Russian Hill, a neighbourhood of San Francisco. After buying our oat milk cappuccinos and chai lattes, four friends and I sat at a table in the back to chat. We were all in San Francisco for the first time, and our tails practically wagged as we dotted in and out of thrift stores, cafés and book shops. We spent two full days exploring the same street, distracted by a new sight or smell every other block. I’m usually an odd duck when I carry my film camera around; using a relic instead of an iPhone. Not in San Francisco, the home of the hipster, where journal carrying, film obsessed twenty somethings are a dime a dozen. I was taken with the interior design of the café and my original intention was to highlight the sunshine coming in through the roof and bouncing off the wall. That’s about all I’ve highlighted, I’m afraid.

This collection of lines is the inside of a big building in Cape Town, the first few floors of which belong to the visa issuing offices of a handful of countries. I sat in the open plan coffee shop on the ground floor, waiting for my mom to finish up her appointment with the British visa services. I was absentmindedly looking at the roof when the geometric architecture piqued my interest. I had set my camera up for the dazzling sunlight outside and was apparently so swept up in the moment that I forgot to adjust the sensitivity to the relative darkness inside. Those bright lines are the chrome handrails of each floor, looking out on the coffee shop and adjoining courtyard below.

This is my grandpa. Or rather, his silhouette. We’re sitting in a modest seaside restaurant with a comfortable, predictable menu. Funny that I recognise my grandpa in this picture, all you can see is the beach and an empty porch. I can’t quite remember whether this was a stylistic choice or an accident, but my money’s on the latter. You must think I’m an absolutely terrible photographer after perusing my four mostly blank photos. Why on earth would I select these from my archive to yammer on about? My photos are awful sometimes and at first glance, these photos aren’t worth another. And yet…

I’ve just finished shooting an expired roll of Agfa black and white film, I’ll drop the photos off to be developed and scanned next week. Due partially to its age and partially to my inexperience with very old film, I’m sure many of the images will be reminiscent of these: noisy and undefined. I was going to throw the roll away before I took any photos, dismissing it because of the hassle of adjusting all my settings to suit the decades old chemicals in the film. On a whim I decided to finish shooting the roll instead. In the spirit of hurrying through the Agfa film to get back to my unexpired stock, I searched for stories, images, where I had never considered looking before. It gave me a sort of freedom. I walked around my neighbourhood trying to capture its feeling on film, something that’s only ever occured to me when photographing people. When I photograph people, I am very seldom interested in capturing posed moments. I wait for the giggle or the eye roll, for the real person to shine through. Especially when it comes to my loved ones. I try to catch a glimpse of their spirit in the photo; something that feels like them. I love looking at a photo and feeling like I can hear the person’s voice. I tried to look at my home in the same way. My goal was to catch some magic in the frame, focussing on evoking a feeling instead of capturing aesthetics.

In some crazy way, I think that’s what these images have caught. I didn’t intend for any of them to turn out the way they did, in case that was unclear. Because most of each image is a noisy, underexposed mess, I need to examine them quite carefully to find the story behind the photograph. The details are muddied and all I’m left with is the feeling the image evokes. That first photograph feels like movement and childlike wonder to me. Whether it’s of my ferry or not, it certainly represents the atmosphere I felt as three of us crossed the sea to go to Great Cumbrae island. I felt like I was embarking on an adventure. All I’m left with in the second photo is the air and space and sun that San Francisco emanates. The light bleeding in from the roof and windows is so indicative of my California experience: sun kissed and heady. The repeated hard lines and hostile angles in the third image feel cold and alien, bordering on threatening; they serve as a reminder of my alienness as I patiently wait in the visa office. At the same time, they seem to draw me in. All too similar to the experience inside the bureaucratic visa offices, the photo both welcomes me and makes me feel unwelcome. My grandpa’s silhouette elicits the strongest feeling. Even though you can’t see his face, I can. I can feel his presence in this photo. I can hear his voice and imagine how he’ll raise his eyebrows as he turns to face me. He’s in it, somehow.

I fell in love with these photos a little, when I scrutinised them. They are unquestionably poor photos. Somehow, though, perhaps entirely by luck, they seem to have captured something. Magic. Light. Life. Whatever it is, I want more of it.

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What do you think? Is that a ferry? It must be, right? If you enjoyed reading this week’s journal, please share it with someone you love.