Unearthing the Past
How a Forgotten Roll of Film Sparked My Life in Photography
“Too weak to move, my grandfather told me where to find his camera. Inside was a roll of film — his last gift to me, and the spark that began my journey”
I began my journey with my father’s old Zenit film camera. It was the first tool I held that allowed me to frame the world in my own way. But curiosity soon led me further back in time — to my grandfather.
It was 30 December 2021 when I asked him if he still had a camera. By then, he was too unwell to move, but he told me exactly where to find it. Hanging in a closet for over thirty years was his LOMO Smena. It no longer worked, but that hardly mattered — it was his last gift to me. He could no longer use it himself, but passing it to me felt like a gesture of trust — a handing over of something that had been part of him. I opened the case and discovered something extraordinary: a roll of film still inside.
At first, the local developer told me the film was far too old. But I wasn’t ready to give up. Eventually, I was recommended to one of the last people in Ireland still able to work with such films, a developer who had worked with some of the country’s most famous photographers. Against all odds, she managed to coax the images back to life.
What appeared was both ordinary and extraordinary: snapshots of my cousins and me as small children, and a few of the family cats. Simple moments, frozen in time, captured by a man who adored his grandchildren. My grandfather had stopped taking photos when the camera broke, hanging it on a hook and leaving it there for decades.
That December day was the last time I saw him. Too weak to stand, yet still present with us, he gave me his camera and with it a piece of himself. I remember him looking deep into my eyes, a moment so vivid I can never forget it. Not long after, he passed away. He never got to see the photographs developed, but at his funeral, they became his last words to us — his final images, a silent gift to the family.
For me, the impact was profound. I felt as though I had unearthed a time capsule, a message from the past. It was also a call to continue his work, to carry on his love of capturing life. In that moment, photography became more than curiosity — it became a responsibility, a legacy, and a passion I could not ignore.
It also made me realise something deeper: just how significant photographs are in our lives. They carry a weight far greater than the paper they are printed on. Each frame can hold an entire memory, a feeling, a fragment of who we are. Almost always, when our time in this life comes to an end, photographs are among the very few things left behind — tangible echoes of moments and stories that would otherwise fade. They become our voice when we are no longer here to speak.
That realisation gave me both comfort and purpose. Through my camera, I could preserve memory, meaning, and legacy — not only for myself but for others. Every photograph became more than an image; it became a piece of history, a thread in the fabric of a family, a community, a life.
And as though one gift led to another, this discovery brought me into another chapter. The woman who developed the film turned out to be a master printer. She not only became my mentor in developing and printing but also helped accelerate my path as a photographer. I was the last person she passed her darkroom knowledge to before retiring, and her influence became a bridge between my grandfather’s legacy and my own future. That story continues in the next part of this journey.
This story is Part 1 of a trilogy about legacy, mentorship, and photography.