Juliana Reyes develops her own film in a converted storage closet.
The darkroom is 1.2 meters wide. Just enough space for enlarger, developing tanks, and one person. Red safelight overhead. Chemical trays on a shelf she built herself. Water line rigged from the bathroom next door.
It's not glamorous. But it works.
"People think you need a professional lab to shoot film," Juliana says, adjusting the temperature of her stop bath. "You just need four square meters and a willingness to learn."
Her Collingwood studio—really just a converted warehouse space she shares with two other artists—is filled with cameras from another era. A Hasselblad 500C/M from 1976. A Leica M6 from 1984. A Pentax 67 that's older than she is.
Not one digital camera in sight.
"I used to shoot digital. For ten years. Then I realized I was editing more than I was shooting."
The Shift
Juliana didn't start with film. Like most photographers of her generation, she came up digital. Canon 5D Mark II. Then Mark III. Then mirrorless. Always upgrading, always chasing the next sensor, the next megapixel count.
"The industry tells you the gear matters more than the eye," she says. "So you keep buying. New bodies. New lenses. New software. Chasing a sharpness that doesn't make the photo better."
Five years ago, a friend loaned her a Hasselblad for a weekend. Medium format film. Twelve shots per roll. No instant preview. No do-overs.
"I shot one roll and had to wait three days to see the results. It was excruciating."
But when the negatives came back, something clicked.
"Every frame was deliberate. No spray-and-pray. No 'I'll fix it in post.' Just twelve moments I actually cared about."
She shot another roll. Then another. Within three months, her Canon sat unused on a shelf.
The Cameras
Juliana's main kit:
Hasselblad 500C/M (1976)
Square format. 120 film. Twelve exposures per roll. Her primary camera for portraits and editorial work. Bought used for $1,200. Will outlast her.
Leica M6 (1984)
35mm rangefinder. Thirty-six exposures. Her street photography camera. Compact. Mechanical. No batteries required for the shutter. Bought used for $2,400. Worth every cent.
Pentax 67 (1969)
Medium format beast. Heavy as a brick. Used for landscapes and studio work when she needs maximum negative size. Bought used for $800. Weighs more than her laptop.
Total investment: $4,400.
Years of use: 8.
Times she's considered upgrading: 0.
"These cameras were built to last lifetimes," Juliana says. "The Hasselblad went to the moon. Literally. Why would I replace it?"
The Process
Shooting film forces discipline.
With digital, Juliana used to shoot 300+ frames per session. Then spend hours culling, editing, adjusting. The ratio of keepers to throwaways? Maybe 1:20.
With film, she shoots 3-5 rolls per session. 36-60 frames total. The ratio of keepers? 1:3.
"When each frame costs money and you can't see it immediately, you get precious about the shutter. You wait for the moment instead of hoping you caught it."
Her process:
- Shoot — Meter carefully. Compose deliberately. Fire once, maybe twice. Move on.
- Develop — Back in her darkroom. Tank development for black and white. C-41 processing for color (sent to a lab).
- Scan or print — Negatives scanned on a flatbed Epson. Contact sheets printed for clients. Enlargements made in the darkroom when needed.
- Deliver — Clients receive high-res scans. Negatives archived in sleeves, labeled by date and subject.
Total time from shoot to delivery: 3-5 days.
Total editing time: Maybe an hour.
"I deliver what I shot. Not what I manipulated afterward."
The Darkroom
Juliana's darkroom is technically illegal.
Her lease doesn't allow modifications, but she built it anyway. Plywood walls framed and friction-fit (no screws). Blackout curtains instead of a door. Water line tapped from the bathroom sink with a shutoff valve she can remove when she moves out.
Total cost: $600.
Time to build: One weekend.
Landlord's knowledge: Zero.
"It's removable. That's the loophole."
Inside, the setup is simple:
- Enlarger (Omega D2, $150 on Gumtree)
- Three chemical trays (stop, fix, wash)
- Timer and safelight
- Shelf for paper and negatives
- Clothesline for drying prints
She develops black and white film here 2-3 times a week. The ritual—loading film in complete darkness, timing the chemical baths, watching the image appear in the developer—has become meditative.
"Twenty minutes in total silence. Just me and the chemistry. No notifications. No distractions."
The Aesthetic
Juliana's work is recognizable by its restraint.
Grain. Soft contrast. Imperfections embraced. Light leaks sometimes visible at the film edges. Nothing oversaturated or artificially sharpened.
"Film has character. Digital is clinical."
She shoots primarily black and white—Ilford HP5 Plus and Kodak Tri-X. Occasionally color—Portra 400 for portraits. Never slide film.
"I like latitude. I like forgiveness. Slide film is too unforgiving."
Her clients—mostly editorial and commercial—know what they're getting. Film grain. Analog warmth. Images that feel lived-in, not manufactured.
"Some clients ask for digital. I tell them to hire someone else."
The Gear That Lasts
In eight years of shooting film, Juliana has replaced exactly two things:
- Light seals on the Hasselblad ($40 repair)
- A light meter that she dropped ($120 replacement)
Everything else—cameras, lenses, enlarger, tanks—works exactly as it did when she bought it. Some of it has worked for 50+ years.
"Compare that to digital. Bodies obsolete in 5 years. Software subscriptions forever. File formats that won't open in a decade."
Her cables, though—those used to be a problem.
"I was going through USB cables every few months. Charging cables for my phone and laptop constantly frayed. I'd buy cheap ones, they'd break, I'd buy more cheap ones."
She switched to Chunky cables eight months ago. One for her laptop, one for her phone. Both still look new.
"They sit on my desk. They get coiled into my bag. They come to shoots. Zero issues."
It's the same philosophy as her cameras: buy once, use forever.
On Disposability
Juliana sees a direct line between disposable tech and disposable images.
"When your camera is designed to be replaced every two years, your photos feel replaceable too. Digital makes everything feel temporary."
Film, by contrast, is permanent. The negative exists. It can be reprinted, rescanned, archived. In 50 years, someone can make a print from a negative Juliana shoots today.
"Try opening a RAW file from 2010. Half the software can't read it anymore."
She applies this thinking to everything in her studio. Cameras built in the 1970s. An enlarger from the 1980s. Furniture she built herself from reclaimed wood. Cables that don't fray.
"I'm building a practice that lasts. Not a setup I'll replace next year."
The Business Case
Clients sometimes balk at film.
"Can't you shoot digital and make it look like film?"
Juliana's answer is always the same: "No."
Film isn't a filter. It's a medium. The grain structure, the tonal range, the way light interacts with silver halide crystals—it's not replicable in post-processing.
"You're paying for a specific look that only exists on film. If you want digital, hire someone else."
Most clients understand once they see the work. The images have depth. Texture. A quality that doesn't exist in digital files.
And counter-intuitively, film has made her more profitable.
"I used to spend 20 hours editing a shoot. Now I spend maybe 2. I can take more clients because I'm not drowning in post-production."
What She'd Tell Her Younger Self
"Stop upgrading. Start shooting."
Juliana spent her twenties chasing gear. Newer cameras. Faster lenses. Better sensors. Always convinced the next piece of equipment would unlock something.
"The work didn't get better when I upgraded. It got better when I stopped upgrading and just shot."
Now, her cameras are older than most of her clients. Her process is slower than any digital workflow. Her darkroom is a closet.
And her work has never been stronger.
"Good tools don't need replacing. They need using."
