Still Rolling: 35mm Street Scenes

There’s something about film that digital just can’t duplicate. Maybe it’s the grain, the way it softens the light. Or maybe it’s the delay—the way film keeps you curious until it comes back from the lab.

This collection is made up of quiet moments from recent street walks, captured on 35mm. The kind of scenes you only catch when you’re not rushing. When you’re walking just to see what you might find.

Shooting on film is a different kind of experience. It slows you down, asks you to trust your instincts, and reminds you that perfection isn’t the point—presence is. There’s no instant playback. No burst mode. Just one frame, one chance, and the hope that you exposed it right. Even with the cost of film today, it still feels worth every cent. Every shutter click carries weight, and every image that comes back holds a little bit of magic—sometimes even the accidents.

One of my favorite surprises from this roll came from opening the back of my camera just a second too soon. I hadn’t rewound the film all the way, and the result? A burst of light leak across some of the Wu-Tang poster shots. Technically “ruined,” but in reality—perfect. Film reminds you that beauty doesn’t always follow the rules.

I try to remember what I’ve learned—about the rule of thirds, the exposure triangle, shadow and symmetry—but some days, none of that matters. Some days, it’s just about walking around, camera in hand, chasing color, texture, stillness. And letting life surprise you.

Here’s a closer look at this round of Fleeting Frames—moments captured on 35mm, exactly as they arrived:

Outcry for Outages

Pipes, meters, wires. All the parts of a city that hum in the
background. Caught in monochrome, they become sculpture—geometry and
grit.

Climb

Nature doesn’t ask for permission. Here, branches and vines stretch up
the brick and tangle with conduit, tracing their own story into the
skyline.

Glow & Grit

An old industrial light glows faintly on a dark brick wall. The kind of
lamp that’s seen hundreds of quiet nights, but never felt obsolete.

Stacks & Stories

Inside a cluttered bookshop, tapes and tools blur together behind the
register. It’s messy, lived-in, and wildly human. A space that doesn’t
pretend to be curated—it just is.

Campus Ghosts

Shot in black and white, this old theater sign leans slightly into the
sky like it’s still announcing a 7:00 show. A relic that reminds you how
electric the past can feel.

Hallow Matinee

A lone sign juts into a washed-out sky, its script curled like a forgotten invitation. Once the promise of escape, of velvet curtains and silver screens, it now marks the border between memory and architecture.

Backdoor Rhythms

A quiet loading zone framed by sharp reds and cool blues. The signs scream direction, but the scene hums with stillness. A back entrance to Beth Marie’s that feels like a set piece waiting for the next act.

Life on the Veg

A mural outside Vice Burger shouts joy in blue. Playful, weird,
plant-powered. Sometimes the best finds are painted right on the wall.

Etched for No One

A gate not meant to open,
ornamented not for welcome but for forgetting. The lines are deliberate,
the flourish empty—an architecture of neglect. Here, beauty rusts in
silence.

Tailgate Reflection

The backside of a green Ford truck gleams like it just rolled off the
line. Florida plates, antique tag, chrome like a mirror. A love letter
to craftsmanship, still proud and still running.

Midday Stillness

Plastic chairs. String lights. A patio caught in the pause between lunch and evening. The color feels like a memory—sun-warmed, slightly faded—and the shadows fall just right.

The Last Fill-Up

An old gas station canopy looms over cracked pavement, long since dry. But just around the corner—graffiti art shouts Be Bold. An unlikely harmony of decay and defiant color.

Wu Signals

A row of posters on a blank wall, bold in black and gold. Wu-Tang isn’t just a band here—it’s a quiet act of defiance on an otherwise forgotten facade. Bonus light leaks courtesy of a happy mistake.

Red Van Reverie

This vintage Ford, parked neatly downtown, is all clean lines and confidence. It doesn’t move, but it tells you it has. A small monument to motion and memory.

If film teaches anything, it’s this: not everything has to be sharp or perfectly timed. Some of the most honest photos come from just wandering. And trusting that what catches your eye is worth framing.

Select fine art prints will be available starting this month.