Analog Photography and 4,000 Weeks

The day I finished Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, I picked up my Smena M8 (a Soviet rangefinder camera popular behind the iron curtain in the 1970s and 80’s; $20 on eBay today) and took a walk around “another” Brooklyn, where you don’t run into John Turturo or Julian Schnabel at a bagel store, and where you won’t find tall, well-tended women with nose rings pushing $5,000 baby strollers.

Flatbush Ave.

Why another Brooklyn? It has more heart and better visuals. Immigrants from all over the globe living and working together in the hope that the city doesn’t eat them alive, while still carrying the remnants of the old world in the forms of garb and habits. Multilayered stories on every corner, and characters you’d want to write about on every stoop.

Downtown Brooklyn. A writer in a diner hiding behind a coffee cup. He gave me permission to snap his photo but asked not to be identified.

So what does it all have to do with Four Thousand Week? Both analog photography and Oliver Burkeman’s thesis highlight the idea of being present in the moment and making the most of our limited time.

Mosquito’s POV

If you’ve only taken photos on your mobile phone or digital camera, I urge you to try snapping an image or two using film. You’ll feel like you’ve accomplished something, even if the photos don’t come out the way you expected. It’s because analog photography requires a more deliberate and thoughtful approach to capturing images.

Reflections

First, there’s a limited number of exposures on a roll of a film, leading to a more considered approach to what you see. This method encourages photographers to be more thoughtful and intentional. It requires focus, patience, and an acute awareness of the present moment, as each shot is finite and deliberate. In addition to that, every time you press the shutter button, you’ll hear the sound of a cash register. Cha-ching! A roll of b&w Kodak film in NYC is $14.00

A stranger taking a photo of me without asking for permission.

Second, unless you develop your own film (shout-out to

George Appletree

who put together a tutorial on how to develop black and white film in the privacy of your own home), you’ll need to wait until a lab develops your roll (more cha-ching!)

In in the kitchen

But the waiting and the associated costs is a small price to pay for being present in the moment. Analog photographers often talk about the "decisive moment," a concept popularized by Henri Cartier-Bresson, which emphasizes capturing fleeting moments and emotions. I can picture some of you snickering, waiting for me to throw the word “mindfulness” intoto the mix. Yes, it’s one of the most overused word these days. But just because it’s overused, doesn’t mean I can’t respond with an overused expression: a cliche becomes a cliche because it’s true and worth repeating often.

An avid reader who begged me not to ask her for permission to be photographed. “Be spontaneous, kid,” she said. “Live your life close to the bone.”

The renowned American photographer Dorothea Lange once stated, “The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.” In adapting this quote to align with my perspective on the world, I rephrased it as: “The analog camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see with a digital camera”—encouraging the use of digital technology after experiencing analog methods. I advocate intermittently embracing film to ensure you don’t forget what you’ve learned.

So, back to Oliver Burkeman. Four Thousand Weeks is a self-help book for people, like me, who are allergic to self-help books. It explores the idea that the average human lifespan is around 4,000 weeks, which is a finite and limited amount of time. Burkeman urges readers to consider their priorities, values, and how they use their time in the face of this limitation. He encourages us to be more mindful (oops, that fucking word again), focus on what truly matters, embrace imperfection, and make the most of their time on Earth.

Reading

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading.

‘till next time.

ak