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Five years ago, I found my mom’s Olympus in the attic. The first roll turned out okay, but a year later, I started having what I thought were light leak issues. Unfortunately, the problem was more serious, the result of a broken shutter mechanism. When I got another roll back in 2021, I was disappointed. I had such high hopes and expectations for the film. But more than that, seeing these photos felt like my own memories were damaged, imperfect. I only get to visit home once a year, and here was a physical distortion of my time there. Several years and many rolls of film later, I look back at these photos and know that the discolouration is perfect. The colours and warmth match my nostalgia for the people, the spaces, and the shared moments. I’m grateful for this sepia-toned serendipity. And for the lesson that film doesn’t have to be perfect to be impactful.
