Frames of Intention – My First Roll on the Minolta XD-5 #6
I just got my first roll back from the lab.
Shot on Ilford HP5 Plus 400.
Black and white. Grainy. Honest.
And absolutely beautiful.
It’s not my first time shooting film –
but every time, it feels like starting over.
Like learning to see again.
The Minolta XD-5 doesn’t rush you.
It doesn’t do much for you, either.
It simply asks you to be present.
To notice.
To decide.
There’s no autofocus. No preview screen.
You don’t know what you’ve captured –
until days later, when the negatives come back.
And even then, you don’t get perfection.
You get reality. With all its softness and surprises.
This roll reminded me how much I love the process.
The patience. The uncertainty.
And also the joy of seeing something turn out better than expected.
Ilford HP5 has a timeless feel to it –
soft in the highlights, gentle in the grain.
I tweaked the contrast just a little in post.
Not to “fix” it – but to bring it closer to how it felt.
Some frames are imperfect.
One or two, I missed focus.
A couple are underexposed.
But all of them mean something.
Because all of them were made with intention.
And maybe that’s what I love most about film:
It doesn’t care how many likes it’ll get.
It just asks: were you really there?
A companion with character. Heavier than it looks, calm in the hand, and always reminding me to slow down.
Back in Vienna – Back to Basics #5
The art of seeing, again.
I love to travel.
And I’ve been lucky to travel a lot.
In the past six months alone, I visited New Zealand, Bali, and Svalbard.
New places, unfamiliar light, unknown rhythms –
it’s easy to feel inspired when everything is new.
Now I’m home again.
Back in Vienna.
Back to my routines, my desk, my deadlines.
And back to the corners I already know by heart.
But that’s where it gets interesting.
Because when things are familiar, you have to look harder.
You have to slow down.
To work for the frame.
And to rediscover what you thought you’d already seen.
The past few days, I’ve been going back to basics.
I picked up an old Minolta XD5 for some film experiments (results coming soon).
And I’ve also been walking through the city with my Fuji X100V –
nothing fancy, no post-processing. Just JPEGs. Just light.
Vienna doesn’t surprise me anymore.
So I have to surprise myself.
By noticing again.
By seeing better.
Because in the end, that’s what photography is.
Not the place. Not the gear.
Just the practice of paying attention.
All images were taken on May 6, 7 and 9 straight out of the Fuji.
Nothing added. Nothing taken away.
Just presence.
And a little bit of light.
Let’s Talk About Gear #4
Why I don’t care about having the best – and still don’t shoot on my phone.
Gear isn’t what excites me about photography.
I’ve never cared much about having the latest body or the fastest lens.
These days, I shoot mostly on a small fixed-lens Fuji.
It’s simple. And it works.
People often say, “You can take amazing photos with your phone these days.”
And they’re right.
Phones are incredibly capable – fast, sharp, smart.
But for me, photography isn’t just about results.
It’s about the process.
When I hold a camera, I slow down.
I think in light.
I move differently.
I observe, instead of react.
Adjusting aperture, ISO, and shutter speed might sound like just settings –
but to me, it’s a ritual.
A way of being in the moment.
A conversation between what I see and how I feel.
Phones are great for snapshots.
But I rarely enter the same mindset with them.
They’re fast, but I want slow.
They’re clever, but I want presence.
Of course, I’m curious about new things.
New sensors, new lenses, clever features.
But do I need to follow every trend?
Probably not.
Something yoga has taught me, too:
You don’t always need more.
Sometimes, everything you need is already there.
Because in the end, I don’t want a camera that tells me what to shoot.
I want one that reminds me why I’m shooting in the first place.
So no – I don’t need the best gear.
But I do need something that makes me stop and look.
That’s what my camera does.
Not because it’s expensive.
But because it’s a tool that helps me pay attention.
And that’s all I really ask of it.
Why Photography Matters #3
Especially Now
We live in a time of constant input.
The moment there's silence, we reach for our phones.
A message, an update, a headline.
The mind rarely rests.
But photography asks something else of us.
It doesn’t demand attention –
it invites it.
When I have a camera in my hand, I see more.
I notice the way the light bends around a window frame.
The crack in a wall. A shadow that looks like memory.
I move slower.
I look longer.
In a world where speed is default, photography is a pause.
A way to return to the present.
Not to capture it.
Just to be in it.
Salzburg, Austria 2024
On Light #2
And Why It’s Never Just Technical
I often get asked what kind of light I like to shoot in.
The golden hour? Cloudy skies? Hard contrast?
The answer isn’t a type of light.
It’s a mood.
I look for light that doesn’t scream.
That doesn’t try too hard.
The kind of light that slips through a door frame.
That touches a shoulder in a way no one notices.
That fades while you’re still figuring out the frame.
For me, light isn’t about exposure or sharpness.
It’s not about highlighting the subject.
Sometimes it is the subject.
And sometimes it’s what holds everything together –
quietly, patiently, barely visible.
That’s the kind of light I keep following.
Not to master it.
Just to stay with it a little longer.
Aoraki Mount Cook National Park, New Zealand 2024
Entry #1
Why I Photograph – And What I Don’t Want to Capture
Photography has been with me for over ten years.
Sometimes more present, sometimes fading into the background.
At times, it was a way to distract myself,
at others, the only way to focus.
Today, it’s mostly this:
A way to look – slower, deeper, quieter.
I don’t photograph to own something.
Not to prove anything, either.
I photograph to honor moments that might otherwise pass unnoticed.
To observe how light moves.
To make visible the quiet in-between.
I’m less interested in what’s loud.
More in what stays, gently – after it’s gone.
My images are made on film and digital,
while traveling or standing still.
With gear, yes – but never because of it.
It’s not about perfection.
It’s about what remains.
One More Light isn’t a project.
It’s my way of seeing the world –
and, maybe, of showing it.
Christchurch, New Zealand 2024