Growing Up on 35mm Film: How My Love of Photography Began

It started for a very simple reason—my dad had a camera. Well, not just one camera. There were always cameras around: video cameras, stills cameras, cameras on holidays, cameras at home. He was always taking photos, and because of that, we have a huge collection of family albums.

Photography was a big part of my childhood, even if I didn’t realise it at the time. So many of my memories are tied to the images my dad took—of the places we visited, the trips we went on, the birthdays, the ordinary moments. That’s how I grew up: with cameras around, and someone behind them who cared enough to capture us as we were growing up.

One thing that always struck me, though, was how often the person taking the photos gets left out of them. The photographer is rarely in the photo. That’s the only bit that’s a little bittersweet. Of course, my dad is in some photos—ones taken by friends or strangers we handed a camera to—but for the most part, he was the one behind the lens, quietly documenting everything.

Still, I think that's part of the reason I picked it up. As kids, we look up to our parents. When you see someone you admire doing something with intention, you can’t help but be curious. I don’t remember a specific moment where I thought, “This is it.” It wasn’t that kind of lightning-bolt epiphany. But I do remember when I started to want my own camera.

First Day at School

Italy, 2006: My First Roll

That moment came in 2006 on a family trip to Italy. I was 11, nearly 12, and I asked for my own camera. It was a simple film or disposable one—maybe a few. But they were mine. I brought them along and started taking my own pictures. That was the first time I wanted to capture the world the way I saw it.

Looking back at those prints—most of which are still at my parents’ house—what's funny is that some of those early photos already reflect the kind of style I’ve grown into now. I didn’t know it then, of course, but there’s one photo taken at the Leaning Tower of Pisa where my mom is just wandering through a group of people. She’s not the subject, but she’s there, part of the scene. It reminds me of a little personal photo series I’d later start called hiding in plain sight.

I wasn’t thinking in series or themes back then. I was just taking photos. Most of them weren’t good, obviously. A lot still aren’t. But I was starting to figure out how I saw things.

Taken in Pisa, 2006

As I got older, I always found ways to take photos—on my phone mostly. I got into videos too, and had a little camera that leaned more vlog-style than anything else. But photography was always there in the background. Something I wanted to do more of.

Eventually, I found my way back to film. These days, I shoot on 35mm, and it feels like coming full circle. There’s something about film that makes you slow down, think, and really look. I’ve said before—maybe joking, maybe not—if a photo’s not worth taking on film, is it worth taking at all? The truth is, yes. Take the photo, however you can. But film has a way of making you feel the moment more.

My Dad taking a selfie

Photography is still one of the things I love most in the world. I love capturing light, feeling, and memory. I love making something from nothing. I love how a photo can mean something to someone—how it can bring you back, even if just for a moment.

That love started with my dad’s cameras. With him documenting our lives, growing up, being kids, going places. And I’m really grateful for that.

My Dad, My Brother & Me