Me and my Rolleiflex
The photos are the results of my adventures, the magnificence of my beloved Rolleiflex in black and white. But I want to tell you the whole story. Because this is a longterm obsession, not just with brutalist architecture and design, but also the adventures of travelling to unexpected places to find it, and of course with the process of film photography itself.
Brutalism was at its height in the mid-twentieth century, and a lot of the places that I’ve photographed are from that era. That’s why I think my 1965 Rolleiflex is the perfect camera to capture them on film.
Old school planning
When I’m planning a trip, I love to use old maps and books, they have that smell and feel, and it gets me in the mid-century mood before I’ve even set off.
I particularly love collecting reference materials on Yugoslav brutalism and “spomeniks” - WWII monuments that were commissioned mostly in the 1960s and 1970s, and at one point in time, visited by millions. There were commemorative pins, books, maps and other merch. It’s hard to picture this kind of popularity when I’m standing in front of a concrete monolith that’s completely neglected and hidden up an overgrown muddy path in a forest up a mountain in the middle of nowhere.
I guess that’s part of the appeal for me. I feel like I get these brutalist beauties to myself.
Adventures with brutalism
There is something very special about walking around these sites with my Rolleiflex and having the time and space to capture the perfect shots.
But I’ve also had some unplanned adventures trying to find some of these places, and have been rescued and assisted by friendly and helpful locals more than once on my quest to find the brutalism. Special thanks to the hunters in the forest in Montenegro, who rescued me after I’d got my rental car bogged in the mud on my first morning of my first Yugoslav brutalist road trip. Or the old man in Bosnia who, after I’d knocked on his door asking where the monument was, drove me in his FWD up the mountain, gave me an umbrella, and waited while I took photos in the rain, before driving me back down again. I cherish these memories and they really add to my love of the photos I take.
Bikes & Brutalism
But not all brutalist adventures are epic roadtrips. Some of the best brutalism appreciation is done cruising around a concrete wonderland like Skopje or New Belgrade on my old bike on a sunny Sunday morning.
Celebrating (and cursing) film photography
It’s only when I get back from my trips and face the prospect of developing the rolls of film that I question my commitment to the art of film photography. After one or two unfortunate experiences with laboratories, I no longer trust anyone else to develop the shots that I had such adventures capturing. I develop them all myself.
In my bathroom.
The process is tedious and time-consuming, but it cultivates patience, so I guess it’s good for me. Loading the films into the tank with my hands inside the blackout bag leads invariably to a lot of swearing, which upsets the dog. But once I finish the process and get to the moment when it’s time to pull the roll out, it’s all worthwhile. When I see the negatives and recognise the shots, the excitement that I felt when I took the photos comes back to me. That relief when I know the shots turned out well.
I use mostly Ilford HP5 rolls, but I also love FP4s if the conditions allow. I hope you'll agree that the effort of film photography is totally worth it for the end result - that beautiful concrete texture, that lovely depth.
A brutalist Rolleiflex love affair
So when you look at my photos, of course you should enjoy the beauty of the buildings and monuments (and hopefully the photos themselves), but also know that each one has a story and adventure behind it.
Browse prints