The Loupe

A loupe is a small thing. A lens you hold to your eye to examine a negative — to look closely at what the film has caught, at what the light has done. It slows you down. It makes you look again. That, more than anything, is what analogue photography means to me.

I've been carrying a camera since I was eleven years old. From a borrowed Box Brownie in Paris to a Soviet Zenit at school, from backstage at gigs to the deck of an ocean racer, the camera has taken me places I'd never have dared go without it. These days it takes me somewhere quieter — into the darkroom, where a blank sheet of paper slowly becomes a photograph in the developing tray, and where I still find it genuinely, stubbornly magical.

In the Loupe is where I write about all of it. Not as an expert, I prefer to think of myself as a magician rather than a chemist. Understanding the trick too thoroughly risks breaking the spell. What you'll find is an honest account of someone still learning to see: the films, the darkroom sessions, the prints that surprise me, and the ones that don't. If any of that sounds worth following, I'd love to have you along.