Now I have an Instant Camera. Ho, ho, ho.

In almost twenty years of Photography, I had never used an instant camera. This was mostly due to not considering myself cool, indie or hipster enough to own one. I think I feel more edgy and alternative now because I don’t own a house, or have a pension or many reliable indicators of ‘having my shit together’ … essentially making this my mid-life crisis camera.

While celebrating that ultimate mid-life-crisis-provoking occasion, a mid-to-late 30s birthday, a friend up in Edinburgh made a picture of me with her instant camera and it was many slay. It had actually been ages since I myself had done anything with a camera but this made me want to.

It also seemed to solve a few of my lingering photographic concerns – starting with my own perfectionism. Whether film or digital, the ability to tweak files, negatives or files of scanned negatives invites the temptation to try and make the image ‘perfect’ … whatever that means. With an instant photograph, there’s one image and it will be what it will be. It might be good. It possibly could be better, but it can’t because it just is what it is.

It also exists physically. It’s there in your hand. It isn’t on a screen, or a hard drive, or multiple hard drives. It doesn’t need post-processing or printing. Of course, there is only that one copy, but hard drives break, formats become obsolete, and digital storage is an ongoing conundrum that never really ends so … call it a draw?

Anyway, I don’t need to convince anyone reading this that it was a good idea, I just needed to convince Past Owain that it was a good idea, and the fact that we’re (hopeful plural) sitting here reading this means that I definitely did that … it also means that neither of us has anything better to do with our time, dear reader. Sadface.

I decided that after about six months of not really doing anything at all with Photography, if there was something that was making me excited to try it, this was worth pursuing, and if I didn’t end up enjoying it as much as I thought, I had at least passed through the rite of passage that is Instant Photography. That said, having decided to spend a little money on something nice for myself, I then kept it in the box for a solid two to three weeks in case I wanted to backpedal furiously on that decision and return it.

After eventually deciding to take the next step towards ‘doing something I might enjoy’, I was generally really pleased with the first pack of pictures. The limitations of Instant film quickly became apparent, along with the situations in which it works much better with no real surprises. The dynamic range is limited so scenes with bright highlights and darker shadows don’t work brilliantly. Light is its medium, so brighter, sunnier days come out better than overcast days, although the limited dynamic range will then mean a lot of contrast with dark shadows if that light isn’t evenly spread. Not that I have any issue at all with high contrast.

While the idea of tangible, physical photographs was and is a very appealing facet of this new-to-me medium, one aspect I hadn’t fully considered (and probably should have given previous attempts at printing work) was how to then store these one-off prints. Another one was how to then share these pictures. My initial solution to the former can now be seen in some digital photographs which became the necessary answer to the latter.

While pleasing in terms of the effect, sticking the photographs into an as-yet-unused notebook quickly led to said notebook burgeoning in size, even after attempting to offset pictures top and bottom (hence the drawn-on corners not lining up with the left-hand set.) After about forty photographs, using less than half of the available pages in the notebook, it already looked like this:

While ultimately not ‘the one’, this was definitely a better attempt at a long-term storage solution for my new creations than the one currently in use for the photographs from my first proper trip with the new medium … namely wrapped in a couple of train tickets.

While it initially seemed that Renfe continued to be the absolute meme of a company that it is, a public transport equivalent of the Movistar pro-cycling team (not coincidentally, the same country brought us both of these organisational tour de farce) in actual fact their inability to send a digital ticket via email which required the use of one of their incredibly ineffective ticket machines eventually provided me with the means with which to store my photographs from my return to Spain.

Nostalgia Trip

After reading the manufacturer’s guidance on flying with Instant film, which essentially said not to do it under any circumstances, I hesitantly packed one ten-pack of film to see whether it would be completely ruined by airport scanners. Eager to find out the results of this experiment, I tried a test from inside the plane but was unsure as to whether the blooming in the picture was due to the effects of flash or X-Ray exposure, so tried another test covering the flash with my hand which seemed to more conclusively come down on the ‘not scuffed’ side of things.

After another Ryanair red-eye flight, I arrived in Madrid with some time to spare before my connecting train (useful given the aforementioned ticket issues) and took the rails less travelled (namely the Cercanías rather than the Metro) to Madrid-Chamartín Clara Campoamor to await my train to Valencia-Joaquín Sorolla. Other than navigating the time-capsules that are the Renfe ticket machines, I whiled away those hours wondering why I had decided to abandon life in a country where a personal tortilla de patatas and coffee costs less than three of your British pounds, and whether I had in fact been undercharged.

After managing to avoid the temptation of the buffet car (a particular, peculiar pleasure of mine) I arrived in Valencia in (plenty of) time for dinner. There were a couple of pictures made that evening but, light being Instax’s medium, late evening indoor photographs were never really going to yield optimal results. The next day, however, was bright and sunny for I had made the tactical error of visiting the country I lived in (predominantly) happily for over a decade at the absolute best time of year … and compounded this by going for a pintxo de tortilla at the legendary Bar Alhambra before accompanying my friend back to Campanar where I was treated to probably my fourth coffee of that day. After making my own way back across the ‘river’ and a brief rest, it was time to head towards the centre for my next social engagement.

The pictures from that day certainly confirmed my earlier hypothesis that Instax deals well with bright sunlight. This hypothesis is easier to confirm in Mediterranean Spain than it is in the North of England and Southern Scotland. Still, the next morning’s light cloud (that generally burns off by about midday) did give further chance for confirmation as I wandered across town for yet more tortilla de patatas.

By the time I reached Russafa, the morning ‘bruma’ had thoroughly evaporated and we were back in range for high contrast, crisp shadows rather than the overall muddiness in both shadows and highlights that seems to result from overcast conditions.

By the time I reached a former place of work to see some friends and former colleagues, I had already had a few drinks with another friend and former colleague from a different place of work … so it was time to sit and have a coffee while they finished work and before we went to have further drinks.

There was just about enough light left as I emerged from the Metro station while cheesing it back for the day’s final reunion. There almost certainly wasn’t enough light by the time I had reloaded with another pack of film and headed back downstairs to photograph the Pueblo Van that was parked downstairs. The light wasn’t ideal, and certainly not for Instax, but the Pueblo Van was gone in the morning so … I regret nothing. Except not owning a Pueblo Van.

The next day we were off to visit our friends further down the coast near Cartagena, one of my all-time Spanish happy places. Something about the company, the relaxed atmosphere and the countryside just means that when I remember my time in Spain with fondness, the picture in my head looks a lot like Las Barracas. This may also be because I’ve photographed the road outside our friends’ house there with just about every camera I’ve ever owned, so there are a lot of pictures of it in my head, but … maybe I photograph it so much because I like it. In any case, you can, of course, see the Instax version of these pictures in just a second but first, it wouldn’t be a road trip without pictures from a petrol station …

A fairly relaxed start to the day for the Valencia contingent saw us arrive a little after lunchtime, but with a little bit of time to catch up with our hosts for the evening before checking into our accommodation at the nearby La Manga Club Resort. I had initially tried to book something with less in the way of «this is why local people can’t have clean drinking water» vibes but my booking was rejected, this was the next closest (in terms of physical distance) thing.

On the way back we stopped in Los Belones to pick up some much needed supplies (more litronas) and for me to photograph some graffiti because I was pretty sure my pictures needed more dog. Our host who could boast the most roast was already well in charge of the barbecue, and their daughter was getting the hang of the roller-skates we had brought down for her.

It’s always great catching up with the Cartagena branch of MATO (Mediterranean Area Teachers Organisation … not a real organisation, restrictions apply, your statutory rights are not affected) and it’s important to share the finer things in life … which is why we polished off my birthday bottle of Port, and a bottle of Scotch (consume responsibly) before our designated driver (see, responsibly) woke up from a little nap and drove us back to our village … La Manga Club Resort.

Unfortunately, on many fronts, we were only staying the one night which meant we had to check out that morning and thus could not have a lie in appropriate to the events of the night before. As the Valencia contingent’s designated drinker the previous evening, I was not feeling 100% and very much needed to have mt breakfast al fresco … because being dentro really didn’t feel very good. Still, the fresh air, some food, and the wander back up from Los Belones to Las Barracas worked wonders … and some of the pictures are alright.

With my road to Damascus conversion back into a functional human being complete, there was time enough for us to hit the beach of La Manga itself, or at least the lovely little Cala del Pino where we sunned ourselves for a little while before blatantly violating any ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ policy that may have been in place but was mercifully being very loosely enforced and booking a table for a lunch of various Murcian delicacies.

We hit the road mid-afternoon and made good time back to Valencia, and fortunately I hadn’t managed to fill the evening with another social engagement because I was quite in need of a rest, but felt a lot better the next morning … although I then became a little stressed by the idea of missing my (Metro) train out to Moncada when I discovered that the nearest entrance to the station has ticket machines which will only allow you to top up an existing ticket rather than purchase a new one. Spain is different some times.

Fortunately, Spanish people are generally incredibly kind and helpful in these situations, and a lady immediately offered to beep me in, and I did just about have time to run down to the other entrance to get a valid ticket because while I am very lucky in some ways, I am also the kind of person who would 100% end up with a penalty fare in this type of situation. Turns out the kind lady who gave me a fare also lives in Moncada, which bodes well for the kind of neighbours my friend has now that she’s moved there. Indeed, overall, I really thought she had made a brilliant move with her new flat … and it actually made me wonder whether this might be what I want to do. Then I remembered I have no conceivable prospect of ever owning my own home but, it was a nice idea, and I’m very happy for my friend who has pulled it off so nicely.

Some of us have to work for a living, though, so I couldn’t stay all morning … because my friend had to work for a living, so I made my way back through Moncada, enjoying its pueblo vibes, to the Metro station. After which, there’s a photograph which suggests I may have gone back to Bar Alhambra for some more tortilla. I definitely then went across town for a hastily re-arranged dinner-turned-coffee before wandering back to base and enjoying a final dinner (and a selfie) with my host throughout my time in Valencia.

A final dinner but not a final breakfast as there was one more of those the next morning with some other ‘second family’ members before my train back up to Madrid. This time there would be no resisting the buffet car. I believe the buffet car, its design and attitudes towards it are indicative of many of the slight cultural differences between Spain and the UK. I’m Owain and welcome to my TedTalk. (You can download the audio version here.)

Up in Madrid, I was pretty rationed for remaining instant frames, and also time to source some new stock. I had dinner with my hosts in the city that first evening before heading off early the next morning to meet a friend outside of the city near Spain’s most infamous casoplón. From there we crossed over (or in this case through) the Sierra de Guadarrama into the province of Segovia and on towards the (really, really quite) small village of Hontalbilla, where my friend is restoring a house. After a brief look around this particular project, followed by a prolonged attempt for one or other of us to withdraw cash in Hontalbilla, which is both difficult but also necessary in places this rural, we were back on the road to nearby Sepúlveda, a beautiful historic provincial town nestled in a steep valley.

We wandered its very picturesque (a shame I didn’t have more pictures available at my disposal, really but, in the words of 90s Irish pop sensations B*witched: c’est la vie) steep cobbled streets for a while, long enough to work up something of an appetite. Unfortunately, the restaurant my friend had in mind had closed, so we elected to return to one on the edge of Hontalbilla, where we had earlier had a coffee, hence the photograph appearing before the two I had saved for Sepúlveda.

And that’s all she … photographed. Unfortunately for those of you hoping for a quick, painless end to this article, it is not all I plan on writing. There was of course the journey back to Madrid, one final evening rendezvous and one final morning before my flight back, although «pictures or it didn’t happen» would somewhat indicate that these things fall into the same category as a bike ride that isn’t on Strava.

Am I more than you Bargain Stores, yet?

Those of you with eagle eyes and elephant memories might have noticed some of the initial instant pictures I made had some label tape beneath them. (There will be another picture in a minute, you don’t need to risk RSI scrolling back up.) Not long after returning from Spain, I made a scouting trip to try out the idea of ‘living in Hereford’ which, overall, you’d have to say was successful as I now live in Hereford.

Also successful was the convenient timing of this trip in sorting out the cover image for this year’s Edinburgh programme. My decision to buy a vaguely retro format camera also aided with a continuation of last year’s cassette-based aesthetic and we’d decided to go with instant photographs for this year. I had already made pictures of our two main venues while up in Edinburgh. As individual images I wasn’t all that happy with them as the dynamic range of each scene had been far too great for instant film to really handle well, but within the overall design they would actually work quite well. I was much happier with the picture of the iconic Edinburgh Bargain Stores and pushed for its inclusion as a key festival landmark and place which has probably kept my department, if not the whole venue, running on countless occasions. We just needed a fourth frame, and eventually settled on one of a mirrorball that, naturally, was in the house.

The initial ideas had been either a bottle of Buckfast or a can of Tennent’s but, to my great sadness, neither was available south of the border. Still, it was a sunny day, and the box from the crate of Neck Oil we had settled on in the absence of traditional Scottish drinks served as an appropriately lo-fi background … et voila!

There were also some other photographs from my exploratory visit to Hereford (somewhere I had definitely been before but somehow not realised was actually really nice) but this post has already lost its focus somewhat. Since using up that pack of film, I haven’t really made much use of the instant camera, so perhaps some of the novelty wore off … but I have been making much more use of my other (digital) camera(s) in my continued exploration of my new surroundings, and much more use of cameras generally than in the preceding six to nine months, so it certainly had the effect of breathing life back into the Photography fire within me. Which has in turn breathed life back into this dumpster fire of a blog. In conclusion, Libya is a land of contrast.

Boutros, Boutros-Ghali,

Owain.