Why I Still Shoot Film (Even When It Fails)

The road to the Abbey of Postel felt different that morning. Snow had fallen quietly overnight, blanketing the landscape in a muffled, white silence. I had two things with me: my Leica M10 and my Leica M6. One offered certainty; the other demanded trust.

Using the 24 mm lens, I captured the vastness of the abbey grounds. With the M10, the results were effortless — clean and dependable. I knew the images were ‘safe’ even before I left. Then I switched to the M6 and my 50 mm f/2 lens. In the biting cold, I stopped thinking about the results and started reacting to the light.

The Darkroom Realisation

Back home, I moved the ritual to my basement. I tried to develop the Kodak Portra 400 myself, but the machine failed.

To be honest, I was angry. I was angry about the mistake and about losing the frames that I had worked so hard to compose. However, as I stood there in my basement, I didn’t stay down for long. I didn’t dwell on what had gone wrong. Instead, I had a moment of clarity.

I realised that I needed to do things differently.

The mistake was a sign. Moving forward with the 2026 Film Focus, I need to allow myself more time. Not just for the technical process, but to actually enjoy the creative process. Failure wasn’t a stop sign, but an invitation to work harder. I need to take more pictures, improve the process and truly master the chemistry.

Only two images made it through.

Leica M6

Leica M6

By some poetic chance, I was left with one frame from each perspective: one taken with the 24 mm lens and one with the 50 mm lens. As I looked at them, they took on a significance I hadn’t intended. They weren’t ‘chosen’ — they endured. The colours were warmer and softer than those captured digitally; the snow seemed to breathe through the Leica lens. The film didn’t capture what I saw, but how the morning felt. The 24 mm lens gave me space, while the 50 mm lens captured the soul of the scene.

Digital gave me images — precise records of a snowy day — but film gave me perspective. Those missing frames remind me that photography isn’t always about control. It requires humility and acceptance that some moments are meant to be experienced, not captured.

I don’t see this as a failure. Developing your own film means taking responsibility for the entire process, including the mistakes. Losing a roll of film doesn’t put me off; it draws me closer to the craft.

Some images endure because they exist. Others stay because they almost didn’t.

Thank you