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lately, some facts have pushed me to reconsider my love for film.

facts like:
one, a conversation with Guillaume.
two, the delivery of TZ polaroid film.
three, the abusive use of my pentax me super.
four, my upcoming-birthday wishlist: a mamiya rz 67.

ever since my playground friend Anne lent me her polaroid camera one day when we were running around stables – back in the mid-nineties – I knew I was holding something special.

something that could capture moments of life. something that could make me see the beauty of the world we live in. something that could stop the time.

at the time, the standard in photography was film. film that produced flawless results. today, it’s the same with digital cameras. when you shoot you know what you’re going to get.

but to me photography is different. my daily life is as imperfect as imperfect can be. and whenever I collect a moment through my camera, I want it to be a reflect of who I am.

over the years, this collection has grown into a book that could define me. moments to be remembered, happy or sad. with an occasional light leak or unexpected blur.
it’s those same imperfections that connect everything. they act as a reminder of how fragile the time that goes by is.

and this is why I fall for old cameras, knowing they will render my life as it is. imperfect ordinary made less ordinary – not to say – magical.

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