009: Notes From Documenting Atlanta on Film for 4 Days During Christmas

What I Learned Documenting Atlanta on Film for 4 Days

Four days, ten rolls of Kodak Tri-X 400, and a whole lot of lessons. This past week, I set out to document Atlanta on film, and let me tell you, not every frame was a winner. Honestly, I’m not even sure how many of the shots will end up being great—or even up to my standards. But that’s not the point. It’s about the reps, getting outside, and documenting the city I love. Here’s what the experience taught me about myself, my process, and Atlanta.

1. The City Always Has a Story to Tell

Atlanta is never boring. On Day 1, I hit the streets downtown the day after Christmas, and it was alive with energy. Tourists were snapping pics, locals were rushing somewhere, and the Olympic rings area felt like the heartbeat of a big city during the holidays. The challenge wasn’t finding something to photograph—it was deciding what to focus on. Atlanta always has something to say if you’re paying attention.

2. Slowing Down Can Be Just as Powerful

Day 2 was slower. I spent most of the day with my wife, and we made a stop at the High Museum. I barely picked up the camera, making just one frame before we went inside. But it didn’t feel like a wasted day. Seeing exhibitions by Kelli Connell, Gordon Parks, and Jamel Shabazz reminded me that photography isn’t just about the images you make—it’s also about the inspiration you soak in along the way. Sometimes, slowing down can give you exactly what you need.

3. Community Makes the Work Richer

Day 3 was all about the homies. Dre, Brandon, and I hit downtown, and it was like a mini workshop. We traded ideas, pushed each other to keep going, and got those reps in. Even if some of the images don’t turn out, the experience of being out there with friends made it worth it. Photography doesn’t always have to be a solo thing—community makes the work richer.

4. Film Developing Is the Ultimate Reset

By Day 4, I didn’t make many new photos, but I spent the evening developing film at home. That’s where everything comes full circle for me. It’s like pressing a reset button. I don’t know what’s on those rolls yet, but the process of developing, seeing what worked (and what didn’t), and holding those negatives in my hand reminds me why I love this craft. It’s humbling and exciting all at once.

5. Film Forces You to Be Intentional

Shooting film means every frame costs you; time, money, effort. You can’t just spray and pray like with digital. And even though I shot ten rolls this week, I know most of those photos won’t make the cut. That’s fine. It’s about the process, the reps, and showing up for the work. Film forces you to think, to see, and to commit. And that’s what makes it special.

Check out my full blog post about 4 Days of Film Photography in Atlanta.

This four-day challenge wasn’t about perfection. It was about getting out there, staying consistent, and reconnecting with the city. Every frame might not be a masterpiece, but every frame taught me something. Atlanta has a way of reminding you why you fell in love with photography in the first place. For me, it’s about the journey, the reps, and always keeping an eye on what’s next. And that’s something I’ll never stop chasing.

008: The Art of Catching Up: Archiving Film and Developing My Backlog

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about working with film, it’s this: the process doesn’t stop when you finish photographing. The journey continues—meticulously developing rolls, archiving negatives, and staying on top of the mountain that is your film backlog. Spoiler alert: I’m nowhere near the summit.

For a detailed look at my film-developing process, check out this post where I break down everything from mixing chemicals to timing each step.

Let me break it down: right now, I’m about 50% through my black-and-white film backlog. That’s the easy part, Kodak Tri-X 400 is my go-to, my bread and butter. It’s the film I trust for just about everything. I’ve got a few rolls of HP5+ sitting in the mix, maybe five or so waiting to be developed, but they’re rare for me. Black-and-white developing is my zone, though, and nobody’s touching those rolls but me. There’s something sacred about the process: mixing the chemicals, timing each step to perfection, and watching the images come to life. It’s personal. It’s mine.

But 120 film? I’ve barely scratched the surface, 10% done, if I’m being generous. And then there’s my color film. That’s the real dilemma. Do I send it to my trusted developer in Orlando, or do I finally bite the bullet and start developing color film myself? It’s not that I can’t handle it. I just…haven’t. Color film is a beast of its own. The chemistry, the precision, the temperature control—it’s a lot. Black and white feels like home; color feels like a science experiment I’m not quite ready for.

Archiving My Film: Why It Matters

Archiving is a whole other layer of responsibility. Once the negatives are dry and cut, I sleeve them, label them, and file them away in binders organized by date, project, or sheer chaos, depending on how rushed I was at the time. This step isn’t glamorous, but it’s essential. Properly archived film ensures that my work is preserved for decades, maybe even longer. And for someone like me, who photographs stories and moments that matter, that preservation is non-negotiable.

Archiving also feeds into my creative process. Flipping through those binders sparks ideas for new projects, reminds me of what I’ve already created, and pushes me to keep going. It’s like keeping a journal, except instead of words, it’s negatives.

The Color Film Saga

Now back to that color film backlog. We’re talking Portra 400, Ektar, and maybe a roll or two of Cinestill 800T—my absolute favorites. But they’re sitting there, waiting for me to make a decision. Orlando has always been my go-to for color developing because I trust them with my work. But as someone who prides himself on doing things hands-on, I feel like I’m letting myself down by outsourcing.

Still, developing color film is intimidating. The chemistry feels less forgiving than black and white. The temperature needs to be spot-on, and there’s less room for error. But the idea of holding those freshly developed negatives, knowing I did it myself? That’s tempting.

As I sit here, staring at my binders of archived film and my ever-growing pile of undeveloped rolls, I’m reminded of why I chose this medium in the first place. Film forces you to slow down, to be intentional, and to take ownership of every part of the process. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some developing to do.