One of the things I love about film photography is the unpredictability, the many ways the final image can be affected by light, heat, and other factors. Unless you’re shooting with a polaroid, there’s the built-in delay in seeing the resulting image, which sometimes lends an air of mystery to the whole thing. That mystery is heightened when you’re going back and forth between multiple cameras, loaded with different film, shot over a long period of time. Or how about that camera sitting on the shelf, with a long-forgotten roll? When it’s finally developed, it can be like unearthing a time capsule. The passage of time works its magic and details like the when and where of the image fall away. All I’m left with then is the impression before me, stripped of context. All I’m left with are beautiful, mysterious fragments.

Like images of pretty fields of grass…

Or these memorials to that glorious sunset many months ago.

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The sun is always asserting itself onto my images, sometimes in the rays cast across the rippling water. Other times, it’s a force that overwhelms the entire frame.

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I think I know where I’ve walked with my cameras but the truth is that I am often drawn to the same scenes…the light filtering through the trees yet again. I’m still not tired of this Beauty, of this Light. So I can only guess where this was, but it doesn’t matter.

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And of course, there’s always the sky, with the light trapped in those painterly clouds who-knows-where.

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-Eyes wide open, Chinwe