Reflections in Times of AI

Sometimes I think film photography is a little like listening to vinyl records.

Today, you can listen to almost any song you want instantly. Everything is online, always available. But if you have a record player at home, the experience is different. You choose a record, take it out of its sleeve, put it on and actually take the time to listen. You don’t just hear the music — the physical process becomes part of it.

For me, film photography has a similar effect.

And strangely enough, so does writing postcards.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting in a café writing postcards to family and friends. The owner came over and asked if he could take a photo of me and post it because he thought it was so cool that someone was still writing postcards.

At first, I was a little confused. But then I thought about it: who actually still does that?

You could send a message in a few seconds. Instead, you sit down, think about what you want to write, choose a postcard or even paint one yourself (I just started painting), write it by hand, buy a stamp and send it somewhere across the world. It takes much more time for something that could technically be done much faster.

But maybe that is exactly the point.

I noticed the same thing while writing this blog post. Right now, I’m writing these thoughts on paper. I didn’t sit down in front of my laptop because I had planned to write something today. The thoughts just came, so I picked up a pen and started writing.

There is something about that process that gives my thoughts a little more space.

I think we often do the opposite now. We open our laptop because we have decided that now is the time to be creative. Maybe we even block a time slot in the calendar for it. Then we sit there trying to come up with something.

Film photography slows this process down in a similar way.

You choose a film before you know exactly what you are going to photograph. You load it into the camera. You have 24 or 36 frames, and suddenly every frame feels a little more intentional. You look around longer before taking a photo. You think about the light, the composition and whether the moment is actually worth capturing.

And then you wait.

You finish the roll, send it to the lab or develop it yourself, and sometimes days or weeks later you finally see the photographs. By then, you might not even remember every image you took. And then you are sruprised by the memories and what caught your eye in that moment.

Of course, this process isn’t necessarily better than digital photography. It is slower, less convenient and sometimes frustrating. You miss focus. You expose something incorrectly. A photo you were excited about might turn out completely different from what you imagined.

But I think that is part of why I like it.

Especially now, when AI and technology make so many things faster and more accessible, I find myself enjoying processes that do the opposite.

Writing something on paper. Sending a postcard. Putting on a record. Loading a roll of film.

Things that force you to slow down a little and take your time.

So today, it’s not really about a specific camera or film stock (as I mentioned before — but we’ll get to that). It’s more about why I like film photography in the first place and why the process behind the photograph sometimes matters just as much as the photograph itself.