I wanted to start this update with a frame from Palace Playland, photographed on medium‑format Ektacolor Pro 800. It’s one of those images that feels both modern and decades old at the same time — detailed enough to pass for digital, but unmistakably film in spirit. It’s been a while since I’ve written a proper update, and lately my photography has been shaped as much by the tools in my hands as by the places I’ve visited. This past season has been a mix of daily shooting, new gear, old gear, film experiments, and a deep dive into family photos and slides that reminded me where my love of photography began.
Most days, I head out for a walk with a camera — and the camera changes depending on my mood. Some mornings it’s the Nikon Zfc, with its retro charm and the way it pairs so naturally with vintage lenses. Other days I bring the Sony RX1, whose full‑frame rendering still feels magical, or the RX100 VII, which is small enough to disappear into a pocket but capable enough to handle anything I throw at it. And then there’s the Fujifilm X Half, which has become one of my favorite companions lately — a camera that turns everyday scenes into something playful, nostalgic, and unexpected.
Those walks have become a kind of daily ritual. I’m not chasing anything dramatic; I’m just paying attention. Light on a familiar street. A quiet corner of Taunton. The way the seasons shift in subtle ways. Having a camera with me — whichever one it happens to be — keeps me connected to the world in a way nothing else does.
Earlier in the summer, I took a sunset lighthouse cruise. The sky put on one of those shows that feels almost staged: warm tones, silhouettes, reflections, everything changing minute by minute. Not long after, I spent time in Old Orchard Beach, photographing the bright daytime energy and the neon glow of the amusement park at night. Those scenes were perfect for experimenting with different lenses, especially the vintage ones that render color and light with a personality all their own.
Film photography has also become a bigger part of my life again. There’s something grounding about loading a roll, advancing the frame, and trusting the moment. Film slows me down in the best way. It reminds me that photography isn’t just about sharpness or perfection — it’s about feeling. Pairing film cameras with vintage lenses has opened up a whole new creative space for me. Glow, swirl, softness, character… these lenses don’t just capture a scene; they interpret it.
And maybe that’s why I’ve been spending so much time organizing old family photos and slides. Some are from my childhood, some from long before I was born. Holding those slides up to the light, seeing the colors and the faces and the places… it’s like stepping into the world that shaped me. The imperfections, the grain, the warmth — all the things I chase in my own work — were already there in those old images. It’s been a reminder of why I photograph at all: to preserve, to honor, to remember.
So that’s where I’ve been lately: walking with a camera, experimenting with film, collecting lenses with stories, and reconnecting with the photographs that came before me. It’s been a season of creativity and rediscovery, and I’m looking forward to sharing more of it soon.
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