A little over a month ago I went on Craigslist in search of a film camera. I’ve done some research and settled on the model I thought would be best for my needs, and as it happened – just that camera was for sale.
I met a lovely older gentleman who collected cameras as a hobby and he told me all about the Minolta I was purchasing. As he held it out to me, he said, “Take good care of it. It will serve you well.”
I ran my thumbs over the textured body, felt my fingertips touch the cool metal of the winding lever. “Hello, my new friend,” I whispered to my camera and smiled.
That very day I went out to test shoot. Nothing special, no planned location, make-up or wardrobe. Just my two feet exploring my neighborhood and noticing things I may otherwise overlook.
Sun streaking in perfect lines through the Fremont bridge. Roses wilting on the ground. A neighborhood cat suntanning in a window.
These moments are ordinary. There is nothing posed or artificial about them. And that’s what I came to love the most.
I took my Minolta around when my mom-in-law visited, it came with me to a Mariners game and to Fremont Sunday market. The grainy black and white shots feel like a snapshot from another time despite having been taken in 2019.
There is something quiet and peaceful about shooting film, and in the age of constant noise assaulting my senses from every direction, a bit of silence is just what I need.