What Happens After Your Film Session
I'm sitting at my desk this morning looking at several rolls of Portra 400 that need to go to the lab. Yesterday's session, plus a couple from the weekend. They're just sitting here, and I won't actually see what's on them for about a week.
Sending It Off
I've been using the same lab for years—they know how I like my scans. There's something satisfying about packing up the film and dropping it in the mail, knowing those little rolls hold an entire session with a family. Someone's child mid-laugh. Hands reaching for each other. That last bit of good light before we called it.
Film makes you wait, and I love that. It builds in this natural pause between shooting and editing that forces you to be intentional. You can't check the back of the camera, so you learn to trust your eye.
The Waiting
The scans come back in about a week. I already know what we got—I felt it when it happened. That moment when the light was perfect. The frame where everyone relaxed and just was. But there's still this anticipation to see how the film held it. How the colors came through. Which of those in-between moments turned out even better than I expected.
When They Arrive
When the scans hit my inbox, I pour a cup of tea, turn on my culling mix on Spotify, and go through them slowly. And it's always the quiet frames that get me—the ones that weren't posed or planned. That's what film does. It captures what's real. The way evening light looks on skin. The slight blur of movement. All those soft details that make an image feel alive instead of just technically perfect.
Why It Matters
When I'm selecting final images for a gallery, I'm thinking about which ones you'll print, which will sit framed on your mantle, which your kids might hold onto someday. I'm looking for the ones that feel like you—not just the ones that look good.
If You've Been Thinking About This
If you've been considering booking a session before the year wraps up, I'd love to work with you.
Thanks for being here,
Lauren
