Shooting With IntentionThere’s something about shooting film that forces you to slow down, or at least it should. A single frame costs money, every shot requires a decision, there is no instant gratification of checking the back of the camera. It’s a process of trust. Trust in the moment itself. Over time, I’ve come to realise that this intentionality doesn’t just make a better photographer; it’s a way of thinking.
When shooting film, you can’t just fire off a dozen shots and pick the best one later (if you can you’ve got too much money). Limitation is a gift, it forces you to be present, make decisions with confidence, and to embrace imperfection. There’s a beauty in committing to a moment, even if it doesn’t turn out exactly as you imagined.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in street photography. Out on the street, on my walks through Leeds, moments are fleeting. A glance, a shadow, a sudden shift in light, things are constantly in motion, and there’s no second chance. Hesitate, miss. Overthink, the moment is gone. The act of pressing the shutter at just the right time requires instinct, but more than that, it requires presence.
Being deliberate, embracing limitations, and trusting the process applies to life as well. In a world where we can scroll endlessly, capture thousands of digital photos, and constantly second-guess our choices, there’s something powerful about committing to the present. How often do we miss small, beautiful details because we’re too caught up in distractions? How many moments slip by us because we’re waiting for something better, rather than appreciating what’s right in front of us?
Street photography has taught me that the best shots are almost never the ones I planned perfectly. The most meaningful frames come from being fully engaged (flow?) with what’s right in front of me. Maybe life works the same way, the more present, the more you get out of each fleeting moment.
Shooting with intention isn’t just about photography. It’s about how to move through the world, how to interact with people, and how to choose to spend your time. Just like film forces you to slow down and be deliberate with every shot, life asks us for the same kind of attention. Moments, like photographs, are ephemeral and can lose all meaning beyond the photons (memories) impinted on the acetate (your brain). The question is: are we paying enough attention to catch them?
Life is full of distractions. Some are obvious - work, notifications, endless scrolling, the mental clutter of unfinished projects and to-do lists. Others are more subtle, perhaps insidious, and just as powerful: worries about the future, replaying the past, the constant pull of wanting to be somewhere else instead of where we are. These things don’t just steal our time; they steal our attention and they steal our true intentions. And when our attention/intention is elsewhere, we don’t truly see what’s in front of us.
Photography makes this painfully clear. The best moments, fleeting, beautifully imperfect glimpses of life, happen in an instant. A glance exchanged between strangers, the way light catches the side of a building, the exact moment a shadow falls into place. A second too late, the shot is gone. Not missed, exactly, just lived and lost, like all the other moments.
But isn’t that how life works? We think we have time, we can always circle back and catch what we missed, right? Hate to break it to you but time doesn’t work that way. The conversation we only half-listened to, the small joys we overlooked, the opportunities we hesitated on, there is no guarantee those moments will come around again.
Photography, shooting film, forces the present. There’s no instant review, no second-guessing, just a decision: Do I take this shot or not? Life asks us the same question, every single day.
The challenge isn’t just about avoiding distraction. It’s about actively choosing to see, to be present, not just in the big, obvious moments, but in the small ones too. The way someone’s eyes light up when they talk about something they love. The sound of laughter in the next room. These kinds of things are easy to overlook, but they’re also the things that make life feel real.
One of the best pieces of advice I ever heard was from a climber called Dave MacLeod, in one of his YouTube videos musing about mental health (I’m paraphrasing because I can’t find the exact one), he states: “The best way to recharge is to take a walk, and observe: How do I feel? What can I see? What can I smell? What surface am I walking on?”
As the year 2024 wound down, going through my old negatives - some great shots, some complete disasters, and a few that make me wonder if I accidentally pressed the shutter while fumbling for a snack (or usually in my case the vape). But that’s the thing about film photography: every frame, good or bad, is a reflection of where our attention was in that moment. And, if I’m being honest, some of those frames make it painfully clear that I was not paying attention.
That realization hits harder when I think about life outside of photography. I can remember specific moments where I was fully present; the quiet ones, the chaotic ones, the ones that felt like they’d last forever but didn’t. I also remember the ones I let slip by because I was distracted, checking my phone, thinking about an undeveloped photo, an unclimbed climb, or maybe just one pint too many to fully take it in.
Shooting film has a way of forcing the present moment. There’s no second-guessing, no endless retakes, just a single chance to capture what’s in front of you. Life is the same way, except instead of wasting film, you’re wasting time. And as much as I’d love a “rewind and reshoot” button for some of the decisions I made this year (looking at you, impulse running shoes purchase), that’s not how it works.
So, moving into 2025, I want to take the same approach I do when I have a fresh roll of film: slow down, pay attention, and not just hope that I capture something meaningful, but actually look for it. That means putting down my phone more, saying yes to things that matter, and remembering that just like in photography, the best moments often happen when I stop overthinking and just click.
Don’t just move through the world, notice it. And maybe that’s the real life lesson of photography: not just how to capture a moment, but how to recognise when it’s happening in the first place, and it’s happening all the time.
