Light, Shadows, and Memories

Photography is part of my website title, and for good reason. Here I’ll share some of the moments I recall, looking back as a self-exercise as well as to understand why even today I enjoy both taking photos and looking at the images I have collected over more than 20 years.

I was about 10 years old when I went with my stepfather watch the WRC Rally de Portugal. He had a passion for cars and this was a ritual we did so often. If you’ve never been close enough to see one of these powerful cars passing by at full speed, just a few meters of our bodies, I can only tell that it can change your heartbeat in a second. It’s about the noise, the vibrations you feel through the ground, from the feet to the hair (well, yes I had hair back then).

My stepfather carried a Canon film camera that looked very professional to my eyes. This was my first encounter with photography that I recall, and it was certainly challenging! Capturing motion at such speeds is no easy task. Most of my photos ended up blurry or out of focus, but there was something addictive about the process.

A few years later, I moved to Oporto, where I began studying arts at Escola Soares dos Reis. This was when I got my first camera—a Canon EOS 300. It came with two zoom lenses and used 35mm film. At school, I started learning the very basics: it was more about how to ensure we got storytelling, and the technical aspect was kept very simple. I don’t recall even that we talked about aperture or speed, and by that time, testing and learning wasn’t that cheap or quick. If you tried an adventure on the manual dial, and spent the entire day visiting different places in the city that you found interesting, you would only find out a week later if that experiment went well or not. Developing the film and then printing. I recall discovering different film ISOs, and how that helped me in low light, which makes sense now that I know how crappy those lenses were. I had my very first experience shooting in Black and White, and it was challenging to see how dramatic I could make mundane things look.

Then came college, where things got a lot more technical. During the first two years, I had a photography course where I learned the foundations of photography. I learned about shutter speed and aperture, how to have control over depth of field, and the way different lenses could bend light and alter reality. We had a lab where we could develop the film and print photos; we mainly worked in B&W, and the dark rooms carried a magic with those red lights where I spent countless hours, developing films and photos. I bought film in 30m boxes, to then cut it and make my own cartridges. This was way cheaper and allowed me to make 10-photo strips, which I could develop sooner. “Fail fast” was the motto. And that’s what happened during those times, so many over/under-exposed photos that pushed me to learn how to deal with shutter speed, read the environment, and know what to do to get what I was looking for. We had great teachers there, but funny enough, I’ve learned more from an old technician in the school who helped us out in the lab and made sure we didn’t ruin the school’s assets. I owe it to Senhor Cabral, who always looked a bit tired of having so many young people around, messing with expensive chemicals and material, but shared so many tricks and how to use the gear the right way. I recall when he told me straight away that my photos sucked, for a simple reason: I got everything right—aperture, shutter speed, composition—but I missed one important aspect: the time of the day. I took those photos at mid-day, and the hard sun coming straight from the top made everything look flat. The day after, I took the same photos, but this time right after the sun rose. It made a huge difference; those long shadows expanded over the sand on the beach, creating volumes and making the subjects stand out.

This was when I realized that photography wasn’t just about capturing what I saw—it was about painting with light. It was about freezing time, preserving a moment in a certain way. Whether you’re using the most sophisticated DSLR or a simple Polaroid.

Looking back, I have a lot of fond memories of the cameras that have been part of my journey. I recall in a special way a Canon A1, with its prime lens and that open iris with 1.4 aperture. It was a very nimble camera, with simple controls and the first good lens I ever had. And then there was my Holga, a medium format camera that was as unpredictable as a Lomography camera can be, with its plastic lens and inevitable light leaks. But that’s what made it special. It was a reminder that not everything had to be perfect to be beautiful, and it always brought my friends and me together. Truth is, people feel less intimidated when I pull out a camera that looks like a toy.

These days, I’ve fully embraced digital photography. It’s practical, cost-effective, and the instant feedback has accelerated my learning in ways film never could. I love that I can keep shooting until I get what I want, as long as the subject or situation allows.

For the past few years, my relationship with the camera has become more of a tool for family adventures—something we bring along to capture the moments that matter to us. We’ve been using it less often lately, which is something I regret.

Photography, for me, has always been more than just a hobby. It’s been a way to connect with people around me, to hold onto those moments where time stops. It has the silent power to trigger each mind in different ways, and I love spending time looking back and let those rays of light, trapped on a piece of paper (or most often in a screen) to take me into another journey.