I’m not sure when this became a tradition, but here we are again: another birthday and the same little black camera in my pocket.

There are far more capable cameras sitting at home. Apparently I don’t want them.

The XA3 just works here.

For me, the city has become something of a photographic playground. It’s busy, untidy and unpredictable, and the XA3 seems happiest when I treat it the same way.

Over the weekend I shot eight rolls of black-and-white film: Tri-X, FP4, Kentmere 400, Delta 3200 and even a roll of Tri-X Pan that expired in 1985.

My approach was loosely wabi-sabi. I wasn’t particularly interested in correcting every imperfection. Blur could stay blurred. Grain could stay grainy. People could overlap or wander into the frame.

Sometimes the imperfections are what make the photograph.

I started around Notting Hill and Portobello Road. It was the first roll of the weekend and, looking through it afterwards, I could see myself gradually finding my rhythm.

That’s one of the things I like about the XA3. After a while I stop thinking about the camera. Sometimes I use the viewfinder, sometimes I shoot from the hip and accept that a considerable number of photographs will contain elbows.

I found myself photographing ordinary things too. Signs, windows, market stalls and objects that caught my eye.

These bags were simply about repetition, light and shadow. Tourist souvenirs packaged up and ready to take home.

As the weekend went on, I became progressively looser.

The 35mm lens gives enough room for the surrounding chaos to become part of the photograph rather than trying to isolate everything into neat little compositions.

I like that unpredictability.

People appear and disappear before you’ve really had time to think. Sometimes you anticipate them; sometimes you get lucky.

And sometimes the scene requires almost no help whatsoever.

A Marilyn Monroe performer beside an advertisement featuring Marilyn while everyone else carries on with whatever they’re doing.

There’s not much more I need to say about that.

This FP4 frame came from what I think was a music-video shoot.

The woman blurred across the foreground was filming the dancers. Ironically, while she was recording their movement, she became the movement in my photograph.

An accident, but one I’m very happy with.

Forty-One-Year-Old Tri-X

Among the film in my bag was a roll of Kodak Tri-X Pan that expired in 1985.

Forty-one years old. Almost exactly the same age as me.

Unlike me, however, it had apparently benefited from several decades in a refrigerator.

I rated it at ISO 200 and put it through the XA3.

The negatives were foggier and softer than fresh Tri-X, but they worked.

This strange little self-portrait is grainy, murky and imperfect, which somehow seems appropriate. I’m standing there holding a camera from roughly the same era, recorded on film manufactured when I was barely a year old.

Neither of us has aged perfectly.

The same roll produced I Miss You In London.

I noticed the words amongst the different languages and reflections and photographed them.

There’s no elaborate story behind it.

I saw it. I liked it. I took the photograph.

That’s enough.

Later that evening, this alley in Soho caught my attention.

The illuminated graffiti against the darkness was enough. It’s exactly the sort of ordinary scene I find myself increasingly interested in photographing – something you could walk past without giving it another thought.

The XA3 is perfect for that. See something, take the camera from your pocket, shoot and carry on.

Thirty Minutes, Thirty-Six Frames

By the end of the weekend I still had one roll of Delta 3200 left and about thirty minutes before I needed to head for my train.

Taking it home seemed a waste.

So I decided to shoot the whole thing.

Thirty-six exposures in thirty minutes.

No hanging around deciding whether something deserved a frame. Walk, look, shoot, keep moving.

It was speed photography, and I loved it.

Ironically, one of my favourite photographs from the entire weekend came from those thirty minutes – and it wasn’t completely spontaneous.

I spotted the graffiti wall first and liked the composition. I’d been walking ahead of the woman on the left, so I stopped and waited for her to enter the frame.

She looked up at exactly the right moment.

The second woman appearing from around the corner was complete chance.

That’s probably the balance I’m looking for: enough thought to recognise a photograph, but enough freedom to let something unexpected happen inside it.

The thirty-minute roll also removed something I’ve realised can hold me back with film: the cost of every frame sitting somewhere in the back of my mind.

For half an hour I didn’t care.

I just photographed.

After developing the film and scanning everything on my Epson, there were obviously plenty of failures.

Good.

The weekend wasn’t about producing thirty-six perfect photographs per roll. The blur, grain, crooked frames, chance encounters and occasional complete miss are part of the process.

That’s the wabi-sabi element I keep coming back to. Not making photographs deliberately bad, but accepting that imperfection can have its own character.

And perhaps that’s why the XA3 keeps coming with me.

It’s small, simple and just imperfect enough that I don’t feel the need to be perfect either.

Next birthday, I suspect it’ll be in my pocket again.

And knowing me, there’ll be far too much film beside it.

The post I Miss You In London: A Birthday Weekend with the Olympus XA3 appeared first on Zuikography.

In Daido Moriyama’s Near Equal, photography is stripped back to instinct.

There’s something slightly uncomfortable about watching him work. Not because it’s chaotic – but because it ignores almost everything you’re told photography should be.

Images are blurred.
Contrast is pushed hard.
Frames feel loose, sometimes even accidental.

And yet it holds together.

Moriyama isn’t trying to make perfect photographs. He’s reacting to the world as it moves – quickly, instinctively, without hesitation. What you get is something raw, but honest. Not polished, not refined, but real.

Letting Go of Control

Most photographers tighten up when they pick up a camera.

Moriyama does the opposite.

He walks, observes, shoots, and keeps moving. There’s no overthinking, no waiting around for something to line up neatly. The moment appears, and it’s taken – however it comes.

Grain becomes part of the image.
Blur becomes movement.
Harsh contrast gives everything weight.

It would be easy to call it careless, but it isn’t. There’s intention in the way he works – it just isn’t forced. It’s built on experience, repetition, and a willingness to accept whatever the frame gives back.

More Than the Camera

Moriyama isn’t an Olympus OM shooter.

He’s most closely associated with compact cameras like the Ricoh GR – small, fast, and built for reacting rather than composing. That choice tells you everything about how he sees photography.

But it’s worth remembering – the Ricoh GR didn’t arrive until the mid-90s. Moriyama was already producing work long before that. Cameras like the Olympus Pen W and other compact rangefinders played a role in that earlier period.

And that’s where it becomes relevant here.

Because something like the Olympus XA sits right in that same space. Small, unobtrusive, always ready. A camera you carry without thinking – which is exactly the point.

It’s not about the system.
It’s not about the lens.
It’s about being there, ready, and open to the moment.

Whether it’s a Ricoh, a Pen, or an XA loaded with Tri-X – the philosophy doesn’t change.

Why This Matters

Moriyama is one of my favourite photographers for a reason.

Not because the images are technically perfect – far from it. But because they feel alive. There’s energy in them. A sense that they were taken in the moment, not constructed afterwards.

He gives you permission to:

• stop chasing perfection
• embrace grain instead of correcting it
• accept blur instead of fighting it
• take the shot and move on

There’s a freedom in that approach that’s easy to lose, especially when you start overthinking your work.

Take It With You

There’s a tendency, especially with film, to slow everything down and treat each frame like it needs to be right.

Moriyama cuts straight through that.

Go out. Walk. Shoot. Miss a few.
Let the frame fall apart a little.

Some of the most interesting images come when you stop trying to make something good and simply respond to what’s in front of you.

Watch Near Equal, then go out and shoot without overthinking it.

That’s where things start to become yours.

Want to learn more about Daido Moriyama and see more of his great photos then visit his official website.

The post Daido Moriyama: Near Equal – Embracing Imperfection in Street Photography appeared first on Zuikography.

Yes, £18. Pulled from a forgotten shelf in Barnstaple like a relic with potential. It looked more like an old Dictaphone than a camera, but there was something about it – that chunky sliding cover, that square flash port, the word Zuiko peeking out on the lens. Pair it with a roll of Kodak Tri-X 400, and you’ve got a time machine for capturing the unscripted, the overlooked, and the unapologetically real.

The Art of Disappearing

What struck me most about the XA3 is how easily it vanishes – not physically, thankfully, but socially. It slips into a pocket and into the moment. No one notices you raising it to your eye. You’re not a photographer anymore – you’re just someone passing through.

That’s crucial when you’re shooting in a city like London. People clock you in a second if you’re holding a chunky SLR or waving a Leica about like a status symbol. The XA3? It just hums along in your hand, letting you get close without becoming part of the scene. It’s discreet, it’s quiet, and it never once made me feel like I was doing photography. I was just there – walking, sweating, watching.

On a day when the tarmac was melting and tempers weren’t far behind, the XA3’s zone focus system was a blessing. No second-guessing. No fiddling. I left it in the middle range and trusted it to get on with the job. The auto-exposure took care of the light. I took care of the wandering.

And what light it was – the kind of harsh, angular summer sun that makes Tri-X sing. Shadows like ink spills. Pavement texture that bites. Skies blown out just enough to feel cinematic. The grain? Present and proud – not soft, not clinical, just that timeless TX400 grit that makes a street photo feel alive.

People, Patterns, and Poetry

The XA3 isn’t the original XA. It lacks the rangefinder, yes – but in return, you get speed, simplicity, and less to obsess over. You’re not measuring, yo’re reacting. And London gave me plenty to react to.

At Ted’s Veg, arms flew in and out of frame in a kind of capitalist ballet – produce being picked, prices being barked, a tourist photographing a tomato. Around Tower Bridge, a dozen hands lifted phones at once to capture the same moment from the same angle, each person convinced they’d caught something unique. One frame shows a man asleep on the pavement while life rushes past him – suits stepping around, eyes locked forward, not a second glance given. And in that split second, I felt lucky to be holding a camera that didn’t hesitate.

These weren’t planned shots. They weren’t technically perfect. But they were real. That’s what I want more of now – images that feel like moments, not achievements.

No Pressure, No Pretense

When I developed the roll at home, I wasn’t expecting much. I hadn’t shot the XA3 before. But out of 36 frames, seven stood out – images that made me pause. They had weight, a rhythm, a bit of grime and soul in the grain. Not perfect. But honest.

That’s what this camera gives you: honesty over precision, truth over polish. And I’ll take that trade any day.

It reminded me why I love film – the delay, the doubt, the process. You can’t fix your way to better photos. You either caught it or you didn’t. And if you didn’t? You move on. No buffer previews, no second takes. Just the strange joy of trusting your gut and seeing what comes back.

Olympus XA 3 Final Thoughts

If you’re doing a 365 project, or just trying to shake the rust off after months of digital paralysis, the Olympus XA3 might be the quiet little kick you need. It’s not fancy. It’s not cool. But it gets out of the way and lets you see.

It’s simple. It’s clever. It forgives your mistakes but never hides them.

It won’t flatter your ego, but it will tell the truth. And in a city like London, that’s more than enough.

So here’s to small cameras, sharp film and the beauty of showing up with nothing to prove.

The post Olympus XA3 Street Photography: A Day in London with Tri-X 400 appeared first on Zuikography.