I’ve had a few first loves...
There was Vinnie, from The Biker Mice from Mars. There was that deep love for Jason Priestly from Beverly Hills 90210. Not that I saw the show, but the center fold in the You magazine stole my heart. There was that unrequited love for Mark Darling the neighbourhood sweetheart with the best toys- and yes, that's his real name. Even with all these crushes, nothing quite got its hooks in me like film photography.
I was 19 when I was given my first film camera. A Lomography Holga. The 120, plastic Russian beauty was riddled with light leaks, begging for tape, and showing me nothing but hardy dedication. Since then - nearly two decades later there have been many more analogue cameras. Some were gifted or salvaged from car boot sales while others were more pricy investments. Most dropped, splashed or scratched and yet all adored.
With all of these cameras, with all this love and memory filtering through them there have been a mountain of mistakes. Mistakes with film photography can be heartbreaking with the letdown of the anticipation for the image. The waiting to see if that one perfectly composed moment has reached its potential. Days of holding your breath for your film to develop, only to find that that it just, well, hasn’t.
Because my introduction to film was as a passionate but skint student with broken cameras these ‘film faults’ have always been par for the course. Whether it’s using expired film that my dad had lying around or cross-processing because it was cheaper - imperfections are inevitable. Soon they didn’t feel like blunders. But something to be appreciated for what they are. Chemical reactions, whispering memories of a moment, ghosts, telling their own stories in colour and texture.
These textural, grainy, celluloid snaps are inspiring. I occasionally add them to an Instagram account - Fiance Film Faults - I started years ago. With a squint or a zoom, you might see traces of a narrative. Or make up your own. I have realised that it is these mishaps that have informed much of my embroidery work through their unique colour palettes, and now I have been purposely replicating film grain in thread.
I am finally taking this to the next phase and using these film faults as my reference images. Giving these easily ignored disposable moments a new life. A slow attention-demanding recreation in abstract stitches. Much like when I got my paws on that Holga, I have no idea where it's going to take me, but I'm here for the journey. It seems I'm committed to this crush.