Recently, we had an assignment at photography school that pushed me into an entirely new realm: film photography. I have to admit, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I heard about it. It wasn’t fully my own choice—more of a mandatory exploration. I think film photography is one of those things that becomes fascinating once you’ve already delved deep into digital photography. When you’ve played around, experimented, and expressed your creative vision digitally, then you might crave a new challenge—something to push your boundaries further and test your limits. That’s when film photography can become truly exciting: you’re forced to slow down, to be more intentional, to embrace the unexpected.
But for me, still feeling like I’m just getting my feet wet in the photography world, the whole experience was definitely a struggle. Let’s say it was a real challenge (I’ll avoid using harsher words here!). I’m used to the instant feedback and precision of digital, so working with film felt like walking a tightrope blindfolded. Every shot felt like a gamble, and I couldn’t help but worry I was just wasting film rather than creating anything meaningful.
For this assignment, I used my dad’s old Zenit ET camera. This camera is older than me—over 40 years old, to be exact. It’s a fully mechanical camera from the Soviet era, and it has its own soul, I think. My dad used this very camera to take portraits of soldiers during his military service in his youth. There was something almost poetic about holding it in my hands, like I was bridging the gap between my father’s past and my present journey. Even though the process was tough, there was a sentimental value in knowing that maybe, just maybe, I inherited this passion for photography from him.
The Zenit ET is a purely mechanical beast—no fancy light meter or automatic settings to help you out. It was like being dropped into a completely foreign world. I ended up using my digital camera as a kind of cheat sheet. I’d set it to black and white mode to roughly test exposure settings, and then I’d transfer those settings to the Zenit. So, most of the time, I was wandering around with two cameras hanging from my shoulders, switching back and forth. It felt a bit silly, but I was determined to make sure I didn’t completely mess up my first rolls of film.
Speaking of rolls, I shot two films with it for this assignment. I’ve already scanned the first roll, which I’ll share below. It was a 400 ISO film, and although I tweaked the results a bit in Photoshop to lighten or darken some frames, I tried to keep the soul of film alive. The graininess, the imperfections, the unpredictable tonal range—it’s something you just can’t replicate with digital photography, no matter how many filters you slap on.
One thing that struck me immediately was the nostalgic feel that film captures. The images have a timeless quality, even if the subject is completely ordinary. There’s something about that soft grain, the slightly muted colors (or in this case, black and white tones) that pulls you into the past. It’s like the photos themselves are whispering stories—stories that don’t need to be perfect to be beautiful.
Since I wasn’t photographing anything super creative or beautiful, I mostly just wandered around my parents’ yard, the countryside, and the nature surrounding it.
Reflecting on the experience, I still feel torn. On the one hand, I love the dreamy, tactile feel of film. On the other hand, I’m definitely not confident enough yet to let go of digital’s safety net. There were moments of real frustration—like when I realized I’d misjudged the focus or messed up the exposure because I was relying on the digital camera too much and forgot to trust my instincts. But that’s the thing about film: you don’t really know what you have until you scan it. It’s a lesson in patience and trust—something I think I really needed to learn.
And honestly, there’s a kind of magic in that uncertainty. With digital, you can shoot a hundred frames and delete 99 of them because you didn’t like the angle or the lighting. With film, every shot costs you something. It forces you to slow down, to think twice before pressing the shutter. You start to see the world differently. You’re more aware of the light, of the shadows, of the fleeting moments you might have otherwise overlooked.
I still have that second film to develop and scan, and I’m actually kind of excited about it. It’s supposed to be an infrared film (not fully but somewhat in this theme), which means the results should be even more otherworldly. I can’t wait to see what those images will look like—if they turn out at all!
In the end, I’m glad I had to do this assignment. It also made me feel closer to my dad, holding that same camera he once used to document his own life. Maybe that’s what film photography is really about: not perfection, but connection—between you and the subject, between you and the past.
So here’s to my first foray into film photography. It wasn’t easy, and I definitely didn’t fall in love with it right away. But it showed me a different side of this art form—one that’s slower, more deliberate, and perhaps more honest in its imperfection.
Here are some photos from my first film roll below. Stay tuned for my second film roll soon—who knows, maybe I’ll fall a little more in love with film next time around.
Have you ever tried film photography yourself? Or do you prefer the instant gratification of digital? Let me know in the comments—I’d love to hear your experiences! 💫
