To the Ends and Beginnings of Things


There’s something I haven’t mentioned but which happened quietly behind the scenes this summer. Something I was too upset about to get into at the time.

When my mum was here in July, I was showing her around Holland Park when the shutter on my camera suddenly stopped working. The first few minutes I was hoping it was just a small mechanical fault I could fix myself by pressing some buttons and releasing some tension but I had an ominous feeling straight away like I knew already that my camera, my dad’s old camera, had broken for good.



The next day I took it to a camera repair shop and they were very kind and very knowledgeable and they told me that even though they could fix it, it was definitely broken and that fixing it wouldn’t be worth the cost. “The lens is good,” they told me, “get yourself a Pentax instead and use it on that”.

My mum flew back to Denmark and I took the train back home to Kent. I tried to tell myself that it was just a camera, a thing, an object that, unlike people, can be easily replaced. But because that camera had been my dad’s, so painstakingly saved up for in the 80s when him and my mum were students and because it was the camera that truly got me into film photography, I was quietly heartbroken about it even if I tried not to show it.



After a while though I was less upset about that camera and more upset about no longer having a film camera to use at all. I started looking at other cameras but nothing felt quite right. Should I get the same camera type from somewhere else even though it wouldn’t be the same? Or should I upgrade and choose a completely different camera that might have some advantages over my old one? Either way it didn’t really matter because I couldn’t afford to replace it.



But there are photographs in this post, I hear you say, where do they come from?

Yes, there are and they haven’t been taken with my old Ricoh. They are from a test roll, the very first photographs taken with my “new” Pentax K1000 that Daniel recently surprised me by buying in an online auction for me.

It feels different in my hands than my old one and I’m not going to lie, I need to get used to it, even if it technically does the same and pretty much in the same way. The one advantage it has over my old camera though is a sharper image quality that I’m almost afraid to admit was holding me back sometimes, so I’m excited about that. I’m also excited about the three rolls of film that are waiting for the new personal project I’m going to begin when I go home to Denmark next week.

And maybe this time, the camera can be just mine.


P.S. These photos were all taken around my flat and the neighbourhood where I live, on a roll of Kentmere 400.




  1. April 23, 2019 / 6:08 am

    I have my Old Man’s camera, the one that took holiday pics of my family in the 1970’s, but I don’t hold itvwith any particular feelings. It’s a Chinnon and not a bad camera, but in a minor state of disrepair. I’ve not even tried to use it since I was a teenager.
    He gave it to me a few years ago when he went digital, but I have my own 35mm and so it’s sat in a bag the last few years. I was going to get rid but never couyquitevbribg myself to do it.

  2. Lea
    April 9, 2019 / 10:20 am

    That shutter sound on the Ricoh’s is amazing isn’t it? That sound and as you say, how simple and straightforward it is to use is exactly why I fell in love with it. And you are right, the Ricoh’s won’t be forgotten!

  3. S B
    February 25, 2019 / 5:00 pm

    I’m currently replacing my Ricoh and even though it’s got no story to tell me like yours did to you, I’m sad about it. What a wonderfully simple, straightforward camera. I’ll miss that shutter sound that always makes me think of a steam train. I hope that the Chinon I’m getting instead will make me as happy 🙂 But the Ricoh won’t be forgotten.

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