There’s something about film that feels a little different.
Maybe it’s the soft grain, the imperfect colors, or the way you can almost remember the moment before you even remember the photograph. It feels like the pictures you found scattered across your grandma’s living room floor—slightly faded, a little worn around the edges, and somehow more precious because they’ve been held onto for decades.
That’s honestly what I love about film. It doesn’t feel made for the internet. It feels made to be kept.
The kind of photographs you’ll pull out years from now and spread across your own living room floor. The ones your kids will pick up and ask about. The ones that bring you right back to how it felt to be there.
Because your photographs shouldn't just document your life now. They should become part of the story your family keeps telling.
