Lifting it from the floor, time slowed, and I felt a figurative, if expensive, bullet graze my shoulder. The mangled plastic rewind mechanism pointed towards the long repair that lay ahead of us.

I had no immediate plan to buy a second Leica M body, though I was saving for one. The temporary loss of the M6, combined with the fortunate proximity to my birthday, provided a gossamer-thin layer of cover needed to justify the exciting purchase of my now precious Leica M3.

The History of the Leica M3

Launched in 1954, the Leica M3 sold over 226,000 units before it was discontinued and replaced by the M4 in 1967.

Despite its name, the M3 was the first Leica M series camera to be introduced following a redesign of Oskar Barnack’s popular screw-mount Leica cameras. Taking its letter designation from the word Messsucher – the German for Rangefinder – the Leica M3 was so named for the rangefinder focusing mechanism, and a choice of three sets of frame lines was viewed through its single bright viewfinder window.

Additional innovations further set the new Leica M3 apart from its predecessors. For convenience, the wind-on dial was replaced with a thumb lever advance, and the solid shell of the screw-mount models was replaced with a hinged back, which eased and quickened the changing of film.

The camera remained entirely mechanical, although technology permitted minor automatic and electronic action within the new design.

Convenience

The most convenient redesign, however, was the top plate. Unlike the Barnack models, the shutter speed could now be chosen from a single dial. All controls on the new M were found across the top plate and could be read at ease from above.

Building on this novel convenience, the operation was significantly improved. Across all areas of the model, from shutter release to film advance and film rewind, the camera is oh-so quiet.

Though in this review lenses will be set aside, as one would expect from a Leica, the optics of the Summicron 50mm f2, with which it shipped, are perfect. Replacing the M39 Screw Mount for swift and nimble lens replacement, the M3 has a bayonet system appropriately dubbed the M Mount.

That this revolutionary design has remained consistent, with few changes or additions, for almost 70 years, is a testament to the timeless excellence of the original Leica M.

Leica M3 Build Quality

To some extent, build quality is a subjective matter of opinion. One person’s robust, solid camera body is another’s leaden paperweight. For me, build quality is directly proportional to the camera’s life expectancy, and, as is obvious from my camera being only a few years younger than my parents, the Leica M3 lasts, partly due to its sturdy construction and precise operation.

Used every day, an M3 should last a decade without the need for cleaning, lubricating, and adjusting (CLA), and, if kept well, will still look just as good as it did new.

What makes the Leica M3 a tough, robust camera is that its metal body, specifically brass, is strong and resistant to corrosion. The top and bottom plates are brass-plated in chrome for a clean, bright, and distinctive sheen. The covering stretched around the camera is vulcanite, and though intended for grip, it has given the camera a now-classic aesthetic.

Light Enough For a Day on the Street

In comparison to most professional SLR cameras, the Leica M3 can’t be described as a heavy camera, however, it does have some heft to it. Place it in the hands of someone unsuspecting, and there will be a surprise at its weight.

Of course, were it too heavy, it would not have become the acclaimed and sought-after camera it did. It is light enough to carry all day and not get tired. Containing a roll of Kodak Tri-X, my M3 weighs 622g, and with the Summicron 50mm f2 lens attached, it is not much less than a kilogram, weighing 844g.

Light enough for a companion all day out on the street, and heavy enough that it will be missed if left behind, or worse.

The Leica M3, while in its 69th year, has not yet been bettered for simplicity or reliability. The internal workings of the camera are mechanical. With the exception of the gold sync contacts for flash bulbs and electronic flash, there are no electronics on board, and there is no battery required.

A conversation with an acquaintance at Leica in London described the shutter speed timing mechanism within the M3 as akin to a Swiss clock. Exacting pinpoint precision at all costs. It is a light-tight box with a timed shutter, and yet, it is so much more.

Let’s take a closer look.

The Top of the Leica M3

Like that of the Leica M4 that succeeded it, the chrome-plated brass top plate of the Leica M3 is iconic.

The beautiful, precise engraving of the Leica script sits above the Ernst Leitz Wetzlar imprint. Simple, unassuming, and yet elegant and timeless.

Though one may argue it is not as instantly recognisable as the famed red dot, with its top-plate branding, the Leica M3 is less likely to distract or catch a subject’s eye while shooting in the street.

To the right of the Leica script, placed just above the hot shoe, is engraved both the model and the serial number.

Shutter Dial and Shutter Release

Unlike the screw-mount cameras that came before, the Leica M3 combines both long and short shutter speeds onto the same dial for a single, unified, and quicker selection. The shutter speed dial is a robust, solid circular piece of metal that is difficult to nudge accidentally and would take Peter Gabriel’s titular sledgehammer to break.

The ridges cut into the dial mechanism both catch the dial, firm in each setting, and give haptic reassurance to the photographer with its ever-so-satisfying click into place.

There is a small, oblong channel cut into the top of the dial between the 1/2s and 1/4s settings. That this had some purpose was only made clear when I bought a Leica MR light meter, which attaches to the top of the camera.

From the bottom of the meter, a pin slides into the channel, and, as the shutter speed is selected on the meter’s control, the pin controls the dial on the camera.

A more modest Range

Though modern digital Leicas have a range of electronically-assisted shutter speeds from an hour through to 1/4000th of a second, the mechanical M3 has a more modest range from 1s to 1/1000s.

There is a Flash-sync setting set at 1/50th of a second, and, should you need a longer shutter speed than 1 second, there is a Bulb setting for manual control.

All speeds are marked in black against the chrome metal of the dial and, when not in darkness, can be seen with ease – even with eyesight as poor as mine.

From the shutter speed, one only needs a short 2 cm journey to the right to find the shutter release set within a ring that sits above the advance lever.

As with all but the limited flash function, the shutter release is mechanical and has no electronic support. There is no half-press for focus or to activate a light meter, only a simple, smooth, steady depression of the button to hear the pleasing ssnnk of the horizontal, cloth shutter curtain travel across the frame.

Film Winder and Counter

On the older Barnack models, when the photograph had been made, there was an arduous dial to turn and wind the film on. All manner of contortions were needed to quickly set the camera for another frame. Replacing this is a thumb-controlled advance lever.

In earlier models like mine, the advance used a double-stroke mechanism. The first to cock the shutter, and the second to advance the film.

In later models, this was replaced with a single-stroke action with both functions occurring across a single draw of the thumb.

As the film advances, look across to the left at the rewind knob. It’s comforting to see the film is advancing inside the camera by observing the small pair of dots that revolve as the lever is pushed.

Double-Stroke

Many Leica M3 users advocate a double-stroke lever; others a single-stroke. From all the information I could find, it seems to be a subjective preference. I have it on good authority, though, that if a double-stroke mechanism requires repair, Leica will instead replace it with a single-stroke advance, so if you like the DS, don’t break it.

Single or double stroke, the wind of an M3 advance is smooth, and, as it is made of solid metal rather than the plastic-tipped controls of later cameras, there’s little chance of breaking the lever.

As the film is wound on, the inexorable frame counter ticks forward. Found on the farthest right of the top of the camera, the counter is housed in a subtle dome of glass.

Though there are 44 frames marked on the counter, the mechanism stops turning at 40; two of the additional four are cosmetic and complete the circle back to 0.

Unlike earlier Leicas, the camera effects an automatic reset when the take-up spool is removed, flipping the counter back to -2, to allow for two wind-on shots before the counter returns to 0.

Rewind Knob

On the opposite flank of the top plate rests the rewind knob. If there is one criticism a modern photographer may levy at the Leica M3, it is that rewinding the film takes an interminable time – especially when compared to the speed of winding back an M6.

To rewind the film on an M3, one flips the lever on the front of the camera towards the letter R, lifts the knob out from the central advance indicator, and twists. Relentlessly. Twist until the knob resists and the film is pulled off the take-up spool.

Between 20 and 30 seconds can be spent twisting and turning the knob before even beginning to load a new roll.

While I’ve heard tales of a Leica-produced crank tool that can be fitted around the knob to make rewinding quicker, I’ve never seen one or known anyone to use one.

Leica M3 Rangefinder mechanism

The Leica M3 is, of course, a rangefinder camera, and, thus, focus is found via the rangefinder mechanism built into the body.

For the unfamiliar, to focus using a rangefinder, the photographer looks through a viewfinder in the middle of which is a second small, illuminated rectangle. As the focus ring is turned, the picture in the smaller rectangle moves left or right. The goal is to match that of the diminutive rectangle with the image in the larger window. As the lines superimpose, the focal plane has been found.

Earlier Barnack Leicas separated the viewfinder and the rangefinder. The photographer peered through one window to focus using the rangefinder system and then moved their eye to the window beside it to compose the frame.

On the Leica M3, the separated windows have been combined for the convenience of the photographer. It makes all the difference.

On the front of the camera can be seen the three rangefinder windows. When facing the camera, on the right, there is the unified viewfinder. To its left, there is the bright line illumination window. This gathers the ambient light to illuminate the frame lines within the viewfinder. Further to the left is the rangefinder window, which provides the image in the small, central rectangle used to focus.

Effective Base Length

The accuracy of the focusing system within a rangefinder is dependent on what is known as the Effective Base Length (EBL). The higher the EBL, the more accurate the focusing. The lower, the less accurate.

The EBL is calculated by multiplying the base length of the rangefinder by the magnification of the viewfinder. The base length is the distance between the viewfinder and the rangefinder window.

Leica M3s have the same base length as other Leica M series cameras; however, as the magnification of the viewfinder is higher, the effective base length is more accurate.

The Leica M3 has a viewfinder magnification of 0.91x, which is close to a 1:1 ratio of magnification. For comparison, the Leica M6 viewfinder has a magnification of 0.72x.

The base length of the M6 is 69.25mm x 0.72 magnification, which gives an EBL of 50mm. The base length of the M3 is 69.25mm x 0.91 magnification, which gives an EBL of 63mm.

While such things are marginal, the larger EBL on the Leica M3 makes the camera more reliable to focus, particularly when using longer lenses wide open, where every millimeter counts.

Though one can cheat closer in various inventive ways, the M3 is rated to focus from as close as one meter, all the way out to infinity. While the camera does have automatic parallax correction, it is wise to keep it in mind when shooting near the subject.

Frame lines

Setting the rangefinder mechanism aside, then, let’s look through the viewfinder itself and those bright, beautiful, welcoming frame lines.

One of the big attractions of a rangefinder camera, particularly the older Leicas, is the lack of distraction in the viewfinder. There are no flashing lights, nor levels, grids, or gauges. There is a single set of frame lines and the rangefinder rectangle. That’s it.

The frame lines available are limited. Newer Leicas have a selection of six. The M3 provides only three. The 50mm lines are always on, and either the 90mm or 135mm lines will appear if an appropriate lens is attached.

The frame lines can be previewed without changing the lens by using the lever on the front of the camera.

With such viewfinder magnification, there’s no latitude to provide frame lines for 35mm or wider focal lengths. Should one need these, an external viewfinder is required. Mind you, if an external viewfinder was good enough for Winogrand on his trusty M4, it’s good enough for any of us.

Leica M3’s Baseplate and Tripod Mount

Unlike the majority of film cameras, the Leica M3 opens with a hinged backplate that swings vertically. The backplate is held in place with a brass baseplate that attaches to the body via a small jut on the right-hand side and is locked by a circular latch on the bottom.

There is little to the bottom of the camera until the baseplate is removed, save for the tripod mount. On Leica M3s sold in America, the thread of the tripod mount is measured at 1/8″, while those sold in Europe have a 3/8″ thread.

However, the most confounding thing for new M photographers is that the mount is not centred, sitting instead on the right-hand side of the camera. This can look and feel odd when used, but photographers have been mounting their M3s on tripods for almost 70 years now with little to complain about. It only takes a little getting used to.

Loading the Leica M3

Once the baseplate is removed, the hinged back can be swung up to view the film path in front of the shutter curtain, and it is in the absence of the baseplate that the bottom of the camera becomes somewhat more illustrative.

On the left, there is the cavity for the film roll, and on the right, there is the removable take-up spool.

In comparison with modern analogue Leica M cameras, the M3 is more time-consuming to load. One needs to remove the take-up spool, find the small clip to slide the film underneath, and then load the roll and take-up spool into the camera, ensuring the film is seated correctly in the transport path and on the wind-on cogs.

Much easier than the Leica III series to be sure, but requires some concentration, particularly when loading in the dark or on the move.

With time comes practice and with practice comes ease – especially if using the Winogrand flip. When changing rolls on his Leica M4, hung around his neck, Garry Winogrand would flip the camera upside down, so the bottom was facing him as he looked down onto it, and the lens rested against his body, making removal of the rewound film and replacing it with a new roll a little easier.

Mind you, Winogrand would temporarily put the bottom plate in his shirt pocket. I take my cue from our dog, and mine ends up in my mouth.

On the Back of the Leica M3

In keeping with the sleek, minimal aesthetic of the Leica M3, the hinged backplate is home to only the ISO and film-type reminder, a small spring-loaded dial to be turned to indicate when using either a black and white, tungsten, or daylight film – and the corresponding ISO.

Above the backplate, set into the chrome-plated brass of the body are two small plugs – the rear flash sync terminals, two plugs I’ve never had cause nor facility to use. Both terminals require an outmoded, proprietary Leica-devised connection to fit, and while there is a combination of different adapters that will get it there, your flash also needs to have the PC connector at the other end.

For a flash with a sync speed of 1/50s, I’m not sure it’s worth the effort, but it’s there should it be necessary.

The terminal with the symbol of the bulb is for the old ignitable glass flash bulbs. The terminal with the lightning bolt symbol is for xenon electronic flashes, so any semi-modern flash you may want to use. The difference between them is timing. The former is triggered a fraction earlier than the shutter, as the old glass bulbs were slow to ignite.

A Lifetime Investment

Advertised by Leica as a lifetime investment in perfect photography, the Leica M3 became as famous as its photographers, who, in their number, included Cartier-Bresson, Capa, Frank, Erwitt, Winogrand, and far too many others to mention.

It is a camera prized for its precision engineering, robust build, and beautiful design. It is by far and away the most enjoyable film camera I have used, and I expect to use it for many years to come.

This slightly-edited article was originally published on Shoot It With Film on January 12th, 2024.

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Having spent an adulthood of anti-zionism and pro-Palestinian advocacy, and a couple of years watching a genocide committed by the far-right settler-colonialist government of Israel, from the point of view of a smartphone screen, I am sick. I am exhausted. I am profoundly sad. And I am angry. I am rageful. The words, From the river to the sea pass through my mind every few minutes, it seems.

From the River To the Sea

As I sit here warm, comfortable, and safe at home in Warsaw, I can’t begin to imagine myself in the place of the civilians in Gaza who have suffered this disgusting collective punishment. This genocide has wiped out whole bloodlines. Israeli forces have forcibly displaced people. Infants shot in the head. I can, however, pay tribute to the Palestinian journalists and citizen journalists who have shown the world the truth of what has been happening in Gaza. Many of those have been killed; in fact, [when I originally wrote this], the CPJ has announced this to be the deadliest time for journalists in modern warfare.

Since the inevitable mowing of the lawn began in Gaza on October 7th and the brutal genocide that came after, I have been following the Polish-Palestinian protest movement. From marches to the Polish parliament, demonstrations outside the American and Israeli embassies, and student encampments, to the visit of anti-Zionist Jewish speaker and author Gabor Maté and cultural events such as Palestine Solidarity Days, I have spent time with fellow pro-Palestinian supporters and activists, documenting as I go.

Free Palestine!

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We Sink Ships

From, I would guess, 2008 to late 2010 Heidi and I took on that name as our identity for a mixed-media collaboration that would see us exhibit our photographs and those of others, produce a weekly radio show, collaborate with others to make a short film, and later for it to have its premiere at 2010’s International Arts Festival in Edinburgh. In an odd twist of fate, my turn to compose music for the collaboration would lead me away from photography and back to music for the following decade, though I did find my way back to my camera eventually.

In the late noughts, as social media was only becoming popular, and the internet was still in its sullen teenage phase, Heidi and I devised our plan to host an online gallery that would operate much like a physical gallery in that there would be an exhibition for some time, then it would come down and another would take its place. All the while, Heidi and I would be working on our own art to intersperse the guest exhibitions with ones of our own.

An Organic, Glacial Aesthetic

Our art was simple with an obvious influence of the music we were listening to at the time, a great deal of Scottish and Icelandic music. The art often took on an organic, glacial aesthetic. I made photographs with my Leica M8 and a body cap attached with a pinhole laser cut into it. Heidi used a Nikon DSLR and a selective focus gadget called a Lensbaby. We would base our exhibitions on a theme, and in the beginning, half of the photographs would come from me and the others from Heidi. It was later that we began experimenting with digital double exposures, overlaying my photo with Heidi’s or vice versa. After some time online, our debut two exhibitions, Talvi/Winter and Before You Wake were printed and displayed in the 13th Note cafe for our first physical gallery show.

As the project progressed, we invited friends, colleagues, and people we admired to exhibit their work on our little online space. We met with Glasgow’s online radio station, Radio Magnetic, and joined their roster. We recorded every week, sometimes inviting guests to DJ, other times choosing top 5 lists to trade back and forth. At the end of each month, I began a too many fireworks radio show which directly led to the return of the label from hiatus. It was through this radio show we first met and became friends with worriedaboutsatan, Erased Tapes’ Robert Raths, Ólafur Arnalds, Nils Frahm, and Codes in the Clouds. Our friendship with Codes in the Clouds would indirectly lead to my work with VLMV 6 or 7 years later.

We Sink Ships: Elements

As one decade turned into another, Heidi and I began what became our final project, Elements. For each of the classical medieval elements, Air, Earth, Fire, Water, and Aether, Heidi and I would create an exhibition. I would soundtrack each exhibition with what were my nascent attempts at modern classical music. And our friend Rhys Baker composed a poem to accompany each element. Later, a new acquaintance, Matty Ross, would weave our photographs with his own and with archive film footage creating an evocative film with the classical elements and technology at its core.

We Sink Ships is a project I am proud of and now just over 15 years on, I do feel it ended far too soon, though it has to be said, it did so as a result of my move to Poland and my drift towards a solo musical project. I do regret that we did not continue with the potential it may have had.

Below are some of my favourite pictures made by We Sink Ships, and you can see some of the other exhibitions we made and curated on the excellent retrospective website Heidi created on Cargo Collective.

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Early this year, when I decided I would spend the next few years participating in workshops, masterclasses, and mentorships, Leica’s Masterclass with Bruce Gilden in London was the first chosen, with Richard Kalvar‘s soon after. I felt that with Gilden’s reputation as a brutal, tough-but-fair critic it would be something of a baptism of fire after which, Kalvar would seem somewhat less daunting. This, however, was turned around when, due to illness, Gilden had to postpone from the scheduled February until mid-June.

A Whole Different Ball-Game

So it was with the warm, fuzzy illumination of the memories of Kalvar’s workshop (or maybe it was the post-covid glow) that I headed off to London mere hours after my first negative covid test for over a week. Talk about cutting it close.

Arriving at 8:45 in Mayfair from my Piccadilly bed I was met by Gilden himself, Charlie from Leica, and several of the participants, including Ennio, an acquaintance from Kalvar. When (almost) all had arrived, we introduced ourselves before decamping downstairs to begin the pre-class assignment reviews. As occasionally critical as Kalvar was, it was pretty clear this was going to be a whole different ball-game.

After an, at-times, eye-watering and frank review session – during which I felt that, comparatively, I got off quite lightly, Bruce Gilden gave us each an individual assignment. Post-covid, I could not imagine myself walking for hours on end each day (in actual fact it took weeks for the exhaustion to fade) so I decided to confront a particular creative block I’d recently been having: Asking for permission. As most readers will know, I’m much more comfortable in the Kalvarian, Cartier-Bressonian style of candidly hunting for the shot. I’m less comfortable approaching a stranger and asking if I can – for instance – take their portrait. So this became my assignment. Ask for permission and become more comfortable accepting rejection. To do this, I decided upon a portrait project and off I went.

Rejection Is Just Part Of The Job

The mornings passed with bracing review sessions, the afternoons with scorching sun and enthusiastic approaching of interesting passers-by. I surprised myself by finding the approach and the question to be quite easy, particularly after I had broken the seal. I found most rejection fairly comfortable and would often joke with the potential subject that they shouldn’t worry, and that rejection is just part of the job. On several occasions I would still find myself – minutes later – chatting away to someone who, while not wanting to be photographed, was quite happy to learn about what I was doing and why, and tell me a bit about themself.

The rejection that I had no time for whatsoever – and did peak my anger into the red – was of those who were either overtly rude in their response, or worse if they acted like I was simply not there whatsoever. I had to bite down my indignance a couple of times.

As the week ended, I had found I had become comfortable with asking, and with photographing these passers-by. At the beginning of the week, if someone agreed to be photographed, I would rush and take very little of their time. By the end of the week, I was calm, considered, and took more of the person’s time knowing they would tell me when my time was up.

A Humbling Experience

While I did take a few portraits I’m very happy with, if I’m being completely honest with myself, it is the beginning of a potential path rather than clear contents of a body of work. I do, however, feel I did enough to feel the less barbed edge of Gilden’s tongue, compared to some of my class-mates. On Wednesday I was questioning just how much work I would have to do to get to where I want to be. By Friday, I was laser-focused on getting to and through all that progress.

Bruce Gilden is a true believer and dedicated to the craft. To paraphrase something said during the week, he could live many lives and would be a photographer in every one. He is both funny and warm, but will be unerringly honest in his feedback which while occasionally difficult to hear, was nevertheless vital to understand. Gilden is a natural storyteller and the price of admission would be worth it for the stories alone, particularly as he is as honest in his criticism of other photographers as he is of his students. He is as dismissive of photographers he feels are hacks or those he feels lack talent as he is effusive in praise of those of whom he loves.

When I returned home, after describing my week, Marta perfectly summed it up as ‘a humbling experience’ and it was. It was also, I feel, an essential one. To learn at the proverbial feet of one of the masters of my craft and to take away so much was vital. I do, sincerely, hope I get the opportunity again.

Thank you to Bruce, Charlie, my fellow classmates, and to the passers-by in London who gave me their time.

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It was with some excitement then that I spent an enjoyable long April weekend in the city with the aforementioned Richard Kalvar on a Magnum Street Photography workshop a couple of weeks ago.

Street Photography with Richard Kalvar

As with all such events, there is the shy, trepidatious, initiation – the tentative sizing-up of your class-mates, and the cautious, and occasionally earnest, building of acquaintances and friendships. All the while doing all one can to not embarrass oneself by saying something so irrevocably daft. Though a few close calls, I may just have managed it without any major faux-pas. My fellow attendees spanned the spectrum from dedicated street photographers to those taking their first steps and was a pleasant, collegiate group that I hope, for the most part, stays in touch – but you know how these things are.

Each day was split into a morning review and an afternoon’s shooting out on the streets of Paris. Portfolios provided in the weeks before the workshop were reviewed by Richard Kalvar and the class on the first morning. It was fascinating to see what others chose as their best work, compared to the choices I myself had made. It was in parts entertaining and thought-provoking to hear Richard’s thoughts on the photographs and to see which he preferred and which he didn’t – some of which were certainly surprising. Afterwards, the Place de l’Opéra was used as a hub for an afternoon of photography and a meeting place should we want to discuss with Richard and our facilitators – Coline and Sofia. Days 2 and 3 followed a similar pattern though on the third and last day, we flipped the schedule shooting in the morning to allow for review in the afternoon.

“the devil peeking over my shoulder”

Though not a surprise, I loved the experience and I had an enjoyable, enlightening, and at moments, fruitful time. That unwelcome guest, the devil peeking over my shoulder, my impostor syndrome and its related anxieties paid me an inopportune visit on our second day, though, which didn’t help. My portfolio (the ‘Le Retour’ exhibition plus a few) had originally been very well received, however, on Sunday’s review of Saturday’s photos I focused too strongly, to the cost of all else, on an entirely fair moment of criticism on a naive technical decision made on one photo. It seems rather than hear the positive feedback given to several others, I found myself in a full-on spiral of self-doubt for the Sunday afternoon. The short time spent in Paris, and the pressure of the workshop format, igniting a small panic that the shots just weren’t coming.

An epiphany realised a touch too late, and in no small part as a result of the quiet encouragement from Magnum’s facilitator Coline, was that I shouldn’t push myself to deliver gold each day. It’s madness to think that is possible. Instead, of course, bringing photographs that Richard (or another ‘master’) can provide feedback and guidance on, is the real learning experience. If I could change anything from my overall delightful adventure of the weekend, it would be to have better understood this from the start.

Time Well Spent

Collected together though, my output, the advice and instruction, and finally the feedback from the class and from Richard, was all resoundingly positive and there really was no need for my anxiety-induced dip mid-way through. The third and final day was the one I enjoyed most. Not only did we spend time reviewing the group’s photos from the Sunday afternoon and Monday morning but also spent time discussing, chatting, and having lunch together. A particular highlight of Monday was taking a journey through Richard’s contact sheet to see the process of an initial idea taking root and developing until the final shot.

Leaving Magnum’s gallery and office for that final time, I looked back over my shoulder to the door hidden off the street and felt that, circumstances permitting, this would not be my last Magnum workshop in Paris. I walked away sad to be leaving, and determined to return. Thanks to Coline, Sofia, Richard, and my other classmates for making the weekend such an enjoyable and fruitful one.

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As January dripped into February, I signed up to both a Street Photography masterclass with Magnum and Richard Kalvar, and another in London with Leica and Bruce Gilden. Kalvar is in a couple of weeks, Gilden in June. With hope and intention of collaborating with NGOs in the future, I enrolled also on “Working with NGOs”, an instalment of Magnum’s online Professional Practice series.

Working with NGOs

In the days leading to the Working with NGOs weekend I found myself a little anxious. Having spent a year building myself back as a photographer, I certainly don’t consider it a hobby or myself an amateur. Nevertheless, I don’t earn even close to 100% of my income with photography so can’t at the same time consider myself a professional. Will I be the least experienced of all the attendees? Would I be out of place? In previous in-person outings I may well have been, but it seems that this online iteration had the coincidental effect of bringing together a diverse list of attendees. We were all photographers, of course, but all with widely different experiences and points of view. That imposter’s syndrome was very quickly shed.

Friday

Friday was a day of lectures and workshops with the group. We were first introduced to Sudhanshu Malhotra from Greenpeace who gave us a brief history of the organisation and some indication of how they work with photographers.

Later, Jess Crombie, a senior lecturer on documentary image making and ethics at London College of Communication (UAL) and a consultant working with NGOs including Save the Children, talked to us on subjects such as representation, ethics, and consent. This was a highlight of the weekend. For someone who considers himself aware of his biases, I discovered, nevertheless, I had a lot to learn.

Finally, in the afternoon, Bruno de Cock of Medicines Sans Frontières talked about the organisation’s historical work with photographers, and the direction such collaboration is now taking. I left Friday with notes-aplenty and a lot to think about both in terms of reassessing how I consider some things, and how I might develop more participatory projects in the future.

The weekend

Both Saturday and Sunday unfolded differently. Portfolio reviews occurred each day. On Saturday I met with Bruno, and on Sunday with Steph Bailey of Save The Children. I found the review with Steph to be fascinating and we had a really insightful conversation that left me feeling inspired. I didn’t have the same vibe with Bruno, but to be fair, I feel that was down to my nervous over-explanation and relentless, loquacious, filling of the space. The poor bloke hardly got himself a word in.

Saturday was punctuated with a 90 minute lecture by Magnum photographer Zied Ben Romdhane; Sunday with the same by current Magnum president, Olivia Arthur. Both were captivating and offered such insight into their projects and process. I particularly enjoyed Arthur recounting stories from her Jeddah Diaries project, particularly how she overcame the hurdle of not showing her subjects’ faces.

Throughout Saturday and Sunday, though as enjoyable and interesting as all this was, I found my favourite part to be the open zoom session through the day as attendees came and went, in and out, of the portfolio review break-out rooms. This was a place we could hang out, chat, and share stories and ideas. Later in the day, there was also the “Magnum Cafe” – a slightly more organised version of the same. In lieu of a lobby or bar we could hang out in, or post-conference drinks, the “Cafe” was a great chance to make friends, acquaintances, and contacts that one might hope will last after the event. As with all such events there were some extroverted souls, and some more quiet, reflective people – and there were several I hope I’ll keep in touch with for some time.

Final Thoughts

All in all, without going into great detail here, this was a great start to my year of attending such events, workshops, masterclasses, etc. Magnum Professional Practice was informative, thought-provoking, encouraging, inspiring, energising, and motivating – it was worth the 3 days to set aside to participate. I look forward to the next in the professional practices series and budget-permitting, I can certainly see myself attending.

Thank you to Magnum, the speakers, and to Sonia Jeunet and Bayryam Bayryamali for facilitating.

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