How Shooting Film Can Improve Your Digital Photography
I remember the first time I loaded a roll of Kodak Portra 400 into my trusty Canon F-1. As a photographer who grew up in the digital era, the experience felt like stepping back in time and I mean that in the best way. There’s a thoughtful, almost nostalgic joy in handling a fully manual 35mm camera and hearing the satisfying click of the shutter. Little did I know, this slow-paced analog process would end up improving my digital photography in profound ways. While the online discussions of film vs digital photography often focus on technical comparisons, I’ve found that shooting film benefits my skills and creativity far beyond just the images themselves. In this post, I’d like to share how film photography helps digital shooters (beginners and seasoned alike) by teaching habits like slowing down, honing composition, mastering light, and developing patience, ultimately making us better storytellers with any camera.
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Slowing Down for Intentional Shooting
One of the first lessons film taught me was to slow down and be intentional with every press of the shutter. Unlike the virtually unlimited frames of a memory card, a typical 35mm roll might give you 24 or 36 exposures, each one precious. With film, you can’t just hold down the shutter and spray-and-pray, hoping to later cull out a keeper. Instead, you learn to think before you shoot: composing carefully, double-checking your settings, and considering whether the shot is truly worth taking. In fact, the slower analog process naturally “encourages mindfulness and intentionality in every shot”. I’ve caught myself pausing more, really observing my subject and the light, rather than firing off dozens of hurried digital snaps. This deliberate approach has absolutely carried over to my digital work. I now shoot fewer, better images because film trained me to make each one count.
Being forced to work within limitations can actually boost creativity. With film, you might limit yourself to a single prime lens and a single roll of film on an outing. Early on, a mentor advised me to “don’t spray and pray” and act as if I only had a finite number of shots. Sure enough, when every frame has a cost, you pay more attention to your subject and timing. I’ve noticed my compositions got stronger once I stopped machine-gunning away on digital; I channel that film shooter’s discipline and often end up with more keepers and a clearer artistic vision for each shoot. As one film enthusiast noted, when each photo costs money, all the exploring to find the perfect shot happens in your head. You learn to visualize the image, look for the best angle, and ensure nothing unwanted is in frame before you click the shutter. This level of intentional focus inevitably improves the quality of my digital photos, too.
Composing with Purpose (and Telling a Story)
Another benefit of dabbling in analog is how it improved my composition and storytelling skills. With film, I developed the pride of trying to “get it right in-camera.” In the darkroom days, some photographers would even show off uncropped prints with the black film edges visible, as a badge of honor that the photo was composed perfectly in the viewfinder. While I’m not above cropping or post-processing in my digital workflow, shooting film taught me to pay close attention to framing. I started treating every shot whether on film or digital as if I couldn’t fix mistakes later in Photoshop. Distracting tree branch in the corner? Strange lamp post behind my subject’s head? I’ll reframe or wait for a better moment rather than relying on editing magic. This habit of thoughtful composition has made my images stronger and reduced the time I spend “fixing” things in post.
Film also nudged me to think more about storytelling in my photography. Because you can’t see your results immediately, you begin to pre-visualize how a scene will come together as a photograph. Sometimes I’ll even limit myself to a theme or a story for a single roll. For example, capturing “Sunday in the Park” with just 36 exposures dedicated to that concept. Setting those boundaries encourages creativity instead of hindering it. In fact, giving yourself constraints like one location or a single storyline can push you to “think outside the box” and produce a more cohesive set of images. Rather than hundreds of random digital shots, I end up with a tighter narrative.
Interestingly, learning film photography also got me back to basics in terms of visual design. Shooting a classic black-and-white film like Ilford HP5 or Kodak Tri-X taught me to see light and contrast in a new way without the “crutch” of color. When you remove color, you’re forced to focus on shapes, textures, and emotions in the frame. I noticed that after spending time with B&W film, my color digital shots improved too: I was more conscious of light and composition, not just pretty colors. As one film convert put it, black and white forces you to learn how to use light and find interesting subjects beyond just their saturation. In short, film trained my eye to tell a story with composition and lighting, which is a skill that benefits any photographer in the digital realm.
Mastering Light and Exposure
If digital photography made me a bit lazy about exposure, shooting film was the strict teacher that got me back on track. Many analog cameras don’t have matrix metering or auto ISO, you have to understand how to read light. When I’m shooting film, I find myself truly studying the light in a scene. I’ll meter the highlights and shadows, consider the direction and quality of light, and think through my exposure settings deliberately, knowing I won’t see the result for a while. The permanence of a film exposure (no instant histogram or RAW file to “fix” later) trains you to be diligent. In fact, film’s unforgiving nature “forces you to pay more attention to the light”, including its quality, quantity, and direction. I’ve become much more aware of how light interacts with my subjects. A skill that immediately translated to better-lit photos with my digital camera as well.
Another thing film taught me is to truly grasp the exposure triangle (aperture, shutter speed, ISO) and how those elements balance. In the digital world, we’re spoiled by the ability to change ISO from shot to shot; with film, you’re essentially stuck with one ISO for an entire roll (e.g. shooting Kodak Portra 400 means you’re at ISO 400 until you finish that roll). This limitation can feel restrictive, but it actually drills an important lesson: adjust your aperture and shutter creatively to work with the light you have. Early in my film journey, I tried an exercise I’d recommend to anyone: set your digital camera to a fixed ISO (say 100 or 400) for a day and see how you cope. You’ll be surprised how it forces you to think differently and find creative exposure solutions. As one article suggested, choosing an ISO and sticking to it will “help you gain a better understanding of the relationships between shutter speed, aperture, and ISO” in the long run. I found this to be true after shooting film, I became far more comfortable adjusting settings on the fly and nailing the exposure in tricky lighting because I had trained under a more constrained environment.
Moreover, film’s very latitude (its ability to handle highlights and shadows) taught me to respect the highlights and not blow them out. Color negative films like Portra are famously forgiving. You can overexpose a bit and still recover detail when scanning whereas slide films or digital sensors demand precision. By working with these different films, I learned to trust my metering and even use old-school rules like the Sunny 16 rule on bright days. Now, even when I shoot digital, I often find myself metering manually or using the histogram less, because my internal light meter (a.k.a. my brain trained by film) has gotten so much better. The bottom line is that film shooting strengthened my core understanding of light and exposure, which is invaluable no matter what camera I’m using.
Patience and the Joy of Delayed Gratification
In our fast-paced digital world, shooting film is an exercise in patience. With digital, I was used to immediate feedback, take a shot, look at the LCD, adjust, repeat. With film, there’s no preview screen screaming for attention. You click the shutter and...you wait. It might be a week before you finish the roll and get the film developed (or months, if you procrastinate like I do!). This waiting game initially felt frustrating, but it soon became one of my favorite aspects of analog photography. It taught me to stop chimping (constantly checking the camera screen) and stay in the moment instead. I’ve noticed that when I don’t have the option to see a photo right away, I’m much more tuned in to my subject and the process. I maintain that connection between my eye, the viewfinder, and the scene in front of me, rather than breaking it to examine a screen. Interestingly, that delay in feedback can even create a “deeper connection between you, the camera, and your subject” as one film photographer observed. You become more present, anticipating and observing instead of reacting to a just-taken shot. Now, even with my mirrorless camera, I often shoot without constantly reviewing each frame, which helps me focus and shoot more fluidly.
And let’s not forget the sweet anticipation that film brings. There is a unique excitement in finally seeing your images after waiting, almost like opening gifts. I still get butterflies when I pick up a batch of developed photos or scan my negatives, re-living the moments I captured days or weeks earlier. This delayed gratification has a way of making you value each photograph so much more. In a world of instant everything, having to wait for your images is oddly refreshing. It makes photography feel a bit like magic again. As one author beautifully put it, the “magic of the wait. Knowing you’ve captured a unique moment in time and then patiently awaiting its reveal is a big reason many of us fall in love with film. That joyful, intentional mindset inevitably seeps into my digital work; I’ve grown more patient with myself and more thoughtful about the images I truly want to create, rather than just chasing the instant dopamine hit of a quick preview.
Conclusion: Bridging the Best of Both Worlds
Shooting film in the digital age might seem like an indulgence or an anachronism to some, but I’ve found it to be one of the best educational experiences in my photography journey. It’s not about declaring film superior to digital (each has its place and advantages); rather, it’s about how the process of analog photography can shape you into a more skilled and mindful photographer. By slowing down and shooting intentionally, I’ve curbed my digital trigger-happiness and now compose with care. By working within film’s limits, I’ve sharpened my eye for light, exposure, and storytelling. And by embracing the patience required in film photography, I’ve rekindled my passion for the art of making images, not just the instant gratification of seeing them.
In a sense, film vs digital doesn’t have to be a battle. For me, film has become a creative exercise that feeds back into my digital work. My digital photos today carry a touch more soul because of the lessons I learned shooting analog. If you’re a beginner or intermediate photographer looking to grow, consider picking up an old 35mm camera (something like a Pentax K1000 or a Canon AE-1) and a few rolls of film. Not only will you discover new inspiration, but you’ll also cultivate skills and an appreciation for the craft that no specs sheet or software update can provide. In the end, shooting film has reminded me why I fell in love with photography in the first place, the stories, the emotion, and the artistry and that has improved every photograph I take, whether on celluloid or on a sensor. Happy shooting, and enjoy the journey!
