Thirty-Six Frames of Somewhere

My name is Lara, I´m 28 years old and originally from near Frankfurt, Germany, though the past few years have had me moving around a lot. These days I’m enjoying embroidery, or picking up my guitar for a while. I read when I get the chance, and I’m always up for a weekend trip or a visit to friends who are scattered across different cities by now, most often carrying my camera with me. Travel has shaped me since I was a child thanks to my family who took me on lots of different vacations. Later, it was my sister who really inspired me with spending a lot of time in different countries for internships or studies, backpacking and diving into new cultures. This, of course, had an effect on me as well. Once I was old enough to go on my own, I spent the past nine years abroad — living, working, studying in different countries. There’s something about stepping into a culture that isn’t yours and slowly learning its rhythms: the food you have never heard of before and you didn’t know you’d crave, the people you meet, the way a place changes you a little without asking permission. Small pieces you take with you – just like the 36 frames of a film roll.

Two places stayed with me more than most. I spent a few months in Jordan for work, and a few months in Mexico volunteering — long enough to stop feeling like a tourist and start feeling like a temporary local. Jordan gave me its warmth: the dust-gold of the desert, the sand-coloured Amman hillside houses, the hospitality of people who invited me in for tea or food. Mexico gave me its vibrant colours, the non-stop reggaeton and its joy — markets, music, learning Spanish and trying every possible food or drink you can make from corn.

My relationship with cameras started with a small digital point-and-shoot — my first was a tiny Nikon. Film came into the picture years later, through my roommate at university. She was really into it, and I loved her style — there was something about it that felt special, almost mysterious, compared to just pressing a button on a phone. Trying to create the same vibe, I started shooting disposable cameras and fell for their imperfect, slightly unpredictable look. But the real turning point came in 2021 when my dad handed me his old Canon AE-1. He’d bought it on a trip to Singapore in the 1970s, and it had been sitting quietly with its own decades of history long before I ever picked it up. I’ve never felt the need to try another analogue camera since.

There’s something about carrying a piece of my dad’s past with me that no new equipment could replace. My film of choice is almost always Kodak — usually Kodak Color Plus 200 or Kodak Gold 200, for that warm, slightly nostalgic tone.

The first time I ever used the Canon AE-1 was on a vacation in Portugal with two friends, one of them the same roommate who’d gotten me into film in the first place – the perfect occasion to learn more from her. Looking back at those photos still gets me a little nostalgic.

What makes me reach for the camera is, more than anything, the people around me. I love photographing someone mid-moment, unposed, often not even looking at the lens. “Pretend I’m not there” is probably the sentence I say most often when I’m shooting. I really enjoy shooting the moment as I see it, most preferably with my people in front of the camera. Last year I brought my camera to a friend´s wedding in Finland and realised that I´d love to explore analogue wedding photography more, capturing a day like that – and everything it holds – entirely on film.

Another thing I love about the Canon AE-1 is the self-timer. I´ve set it up in the most random of places – once, on the coast of the Dead Sea, balanced on a chair stacked on top of a plastic table. I had to hold my breath and cross every finger that the whole thing wouldn’t topple – followed by a sprint to get into the right position in 39 degree heat – within 10 seconds – before the shutter clicked.

The most exciting part is picking up the developed roll, sometimes many months after the first photos on it were taken. By then, I’ve usually half-forgotten what’s on it, so there’s always a small surprise waiting in those 36 frames. I love comparing them to what I remember, then sharing them with the people that I photographed and thinking back on those moments. Maybe that’s the whole reason I keep choosing it: the ritual of unwrapping a fresh roll, the deliberate slowness of only having 36 chances, the patience it demands, even though I´m usually not a very patient person. In a life spent moving between countries and cultures, my Canon AE-1 has become my constant travel buddy.