They say expired film is unpredictable because the chemistry degrades over time. It can give you unexpected light leaks, sudden color shifts, or an intense, heavy grain. It is erratic, stubborn, and completely out of your control.
Kind of like life.
This is my friend Oliver. He’s a former Marine who survived an absolute tragedy right here in Oceanside during an AAV water-to-land tank training exercise. A lot of good men didn't make it out of the water that day, but Oliver did. He was medically discharged, and the universe kept him spinning on this planet.
The way he ended up in my life is pure Oceanside magic. This town is flooded with military, but we would probably be categorized as chopper people—we hang out with motorcycle riders, not active duty squads. One day, completely randomly, Oliver rides up to my boyfriend at a gas station, asks to take a photo of his bike, and a friendship was born. Now, he lives out in Kansas City, and my boyfriend is heading out there soon for his second visit to the David Mann Chopper Fest.
But before he left California, I caught this frame of him on my little film camera.
Look at the texture here. You’ve got the classic California palm trees, a beer hat, a street corner in my neighborhood, and a guy who defied the odds just standing in the sun. This photo is exactly why I shoot analog. Digital makes everything look clean, sterile, and safe. Expired film captures the grit, the shadows, and the raw truth of making it through the fire.
Here’s to the survivors, the random gas station friendships, and the stories that stay alive in the grain.
This photograph, along with a curated collection of my Expired Film Friday series, is officially available for purchase. You can own a piece of this raw California grit as an archival print or a premium postcard.