I went to London to photograph art galleries.
That was the plan, at least.
The forecast was dreadful. Sheets of rain. The sort that makes sensible people stand under doorways pretending they meant to check their phone. I’d told myself that if it was bucketing down I’d retreat indoors – Tate, National Gallery, somewhere civilised.
Instead, I got off the train, looked at the sky, and decided to lean into it.
This was largely the fault of a Banksy book and far too many late-night documentaries about Banksy, King Robbo and London’s long-running wall wars. I’d filled my head with rebellion, aerosol and territorial disputes. The galleries could wait.
The streets felt more honest.
The Setup
I loaded the OM-1 with HP5 and pushed it to 800.
28mm f2.8 mounted.
That alone was unusual.
I’ve always been a 50mm shooter. Sensible. Centred. Slightly cautious. The 28mm usually stays at home, quietly judging me from the shelf.
I almost loaded Portra 400 before leaving. Colour felt logical. Graffiti equals colour, right?
But something made me change my mind at the door. Rain and black and white felt more honest. Less decorative. More texture. The sort of day that benefits from grain.
Camden: Runners and Umbrellas
The rain was relentless.
Camden Canal was first. Water rippling, brick slick with rain, underpasses dark and echoing. And runners. Endless runners.
Camden, I’ve decided, is the running capital of London. Every two minutes another Lycra-wrapped optimist splashed past. In the rain. Smiling. Possibly deranged.
One of them raised his arms as he passed. Maybe he thought I was photographing the canal. Maybe he thought I was documenting his athletic triumph. Either way, he gave me the frame.
Thank you very much.
The rain helped. Umbrellas became shapes. Reflections stretched into long, broken lines. HP5 at 800 loved it. Grain sat nicely in the shadows without feeling forced.
Camden’s graffiti felt layered but relaxed. Less shouting. More conversation.
I preferred it immediately.
Shoreditch: Art with an Agenda
Completely drenched, I retreated to the tube. There’s something humbling about dripping onto a Victoria Line seat while trying to look composed.
Shoreditch and Brick Lane were next.
The graffiti changed.
Here it felt sharper. More political. More pointed. Art with an agenda.
I’m not going to comment on the messages themselves. That’s not why I was there. But you can feel the difference. Camden feels like experimentation. Shoreditch feels like statement.
You don’t glance at these walls. They confront you.
Brick Lane: Chaos as a Design Choice
Brick Lane is something else entirely.
Graffiti on everything. Bins. Bus stops. Shutters. Bikes. Signs. If there is a surface, it will be painted, pasted or tagged. Probably twice.
It’s visual noise. Layer upon layer. Chaos as a design choice.
Sometimes a scene needs space to breathe. Brick Lane does not believe in breathing.
Maybe my head was overthinking it. Maybe that’s the point. It overwhelms. It refuses to simplify.
And then, hidden inside the noise, you find something unexpectedly tender.
That’s the trick. You have to earn it.
The 28mm Realisation
By the end of the day I’d shot around 65 frames across the locations. Wet, slightly cold, ankles filing formal complaints, and mildly over-caffeinated.
And something shifted.
I started the day a 50mm shooter.
I finished it quietly in love with the 28mm.
It fills the frame differently. It forces you closer. It demands context. It feels modern without trying. Ironically, it’s roughly the same focal length as an iPhone camera – which might explain why I’ve always overlooked it. Too familiar. Too everyday.
But on film, in the rain, it renders beautifully. It stretches space without distorting it. It makes walls feel immersive rather than flat.
Everywhere I go now, the 28mm comes with me.
The Result
I nearly hid in a gallery that day.
Instead I embraced the rain.
The weather added character. The grain added texture. The black and white stripped things back to form and message. Camden felt human. Shoreditch felt sharp. Brick Lane felt chaotic.
And somewhere between underpasses and political paste-ups, I stopped being a 50mm photographer.
Not bad for a day that was supposed to be indoors.
