I put my little camera in the pocket of my warm brown teddy jacket, which makes me look like a giant bear as I leave the house. It's autumn, October to be precise, and the temperatures are much colder than at home. The keys are safely tucked away in my olive bag, the gloves are on, the hat and scarf are in place and I am ready to go.
The camera is within reach. The term "pocket camera" makes sense. It fits perfectly into the pocket of my jacket. I bought this gem at an auction - it's a preowned analogue camera from 2000, a Leica C1, and it came all the way from Germany to Austria. Sometimes I wonder what this camera has already seen and captured. I am sure it has made a lot of memories over the last 23 years, maybe seen more of the world than I have or ever will.
Now the camera is with me in Tampere, Finland, a place I am quite sure it has never been before - instead of me, who has been here almost every year for the past fifteen years. Returning to a place you already know well has many advantages, but sometimes it is difficult to find new creativity because I have already taken hundreds of pictures of this city. But this camera makes everything new.
36 shots to keep and savor. My first roll of film. In a world where digital transformation and AI have become popular and everything is faster and more economical, the camera seems like a blessing. I still love my digital one and the possibilities it offers, but being limited in the number of photographs I can take and having less chance of adjusting feels good.
I feel a sense of excitement when I press the release button and hear the sound that proves I have successfully created a new memory. The process of slowing down, taking the time to frame and carefully selecting the scene before pressing the button feels pleasurable and makes me smile. It demands a lot more - a closer look, discovering details and getting the lines straight.
The days are golden in Tampere. The sun is shining brightly and there are plenty of beautiful moments to capture. Although it's really cold outside, I continue to take my last shots before I leave the country.
Developing the film turns out to be more exciting than watching a crime movie. I am not sure if any of the pictures will turn out right. If all goes wrong, all the memories captured on film are gone. I get really excited and you can hear a sigh of relief when I see the developed pictures for the first time.
The pictures look like they were taken in another decade. If someone had told me that my grandfather had taken them when he travelled up north in his caravan in the 80s, I would have believed it.
The colours and the grain make the pictures look special - perfectly imperfect. That's what it's all about, the work of getting the shot, the joy, the thrills and the smiles: just an analogue experience.
