SpecialPorcupine979

I've been thinking a lot about the relationship between photography and the human experience, and I keep coming back to the idea that the format you shoot in can drastically impact the kind of photos you take. Specifically, I'm looking at large format vs medium format. On one hand, large format cameras like the Deardorff Special give you an unparalleled level of detail and control, but they're often cumbersome and restrictive. On the other hand, medium format cameras like the Hasselblad 500C are more portable and versatile, but you sacrifice some of that detail and control. For me, the question is: which format is better suited to capturing the nuances and complexities of human experience? Is it the meticulous, deliberate process of large format, or the more spontaneous and flexible nature of medium format? I'd love to hear from others who have experience with both formats and can weigh in on this debate.

There’s a strange honesty to film. You give your attention to the world for maybe 36 snaps, then you wait—in total darkness—to see what emerges. It’s not unlike staring at your own life through a metaphorical red filter. The development process mirrors self-discovery: you dunk this blank, brittle strip of film in chemicals and trust it won’t crumble. What if that’s the real point of film? Not capturing reality, but exposing your choices to time and chemicals and light leaks. You lean into the grain. You lean into imperfection. Your mistakes are preserved. I’d argue that’s as close to Sartre’s "existence precedes essence" as we get—creating meaning through action, not by framing it. Who here’s used shooting film as a way to grapple with their own... voids?

I’ve been chewing on existentialism lately and it keeps looping back to my darkroom. Every time I pull a sheet of black‑and‑white out of the developer, I’m reminded of Sartre’s idea that we’re ‘condemned to be free’ – the film is a blank slate, but the moment you decide to expose it you’re forcing meaning onto randomness.

Is a photograph just a frozen accident, or does the act of framing give it purpose? When I look at a roll of images after a shoot, I see more than just scenes – I see the little choices that defined who I was that day: which angle, which light, which moment I felt brave enough to capture. It feels like a tiny rebellion against the absurd, a way to say “I was here, I saw this, and I gave it a name.”

I’m curious: do any of you feel that the ritual of loading, clicking, and developing forces you to reckon with the “nothingness” between shots? Does your camera become a philosophical tool, or am I just overthinking a hobby?