Favorite 10 Film Photos Of 2024

This has been a very, very difficult and yet very joyous year for me. The list of troubles have been long, but no matter how many hardships I faced this year, I leave 2024 a married woman. I am wed to the kindest, most patient, most loving woman I could ever hope to find. As a result, on the balance, it has been good.

2024 was also the year I got seriously into film photography again. Film, with its limited number of shots per roll that cannot be checked until they are developed (at some cost!) much time later, requires a specific care to shoot. When you take a film photograph, you have to be conscious about every setting on the camera and every element within the frame, in a way that digital simply does not require.

These attributes don't inherently make film better or worse than digital; it's just that this meticulous process has been one of the very few things I've found to genuinely help my mental health. It makes me truly present in the moment to carefully evaluate my surroundings and take a photo that I cannot immediately re-check. After years of trauma, grounding is one of the only techniques that help me, and there is nothing I have found to ground me more than taking a film photo.

With that, here are ten of my favorite moments from my life this year.

(above) I-5 Shutdown Protest for Palestine, Seattle Nikon F4 / Cinestill 50D

Taking this shot was the closest I've ever felt to being an old-time photojournalist. I was trying to get home from the camera store after buying film and the buses were absolutely fucked, so instead I set out walking home. Traffic was insane. I wondered what had caused such a jam when finally I stumbled on this, a massive freeway-closing protest for Palestine. I quickly loaded my F4 and walked around shooting as many photos as I could. This one - with a single, seemingly tiny band of people halting the traffic of the entire city - feels the most impactful of the bunch.

This was taken in January, before the fervor of the year's student protests; this was the first glimmers I saw that perhaps things would change. They have yet to, but there is always next year.

Final Approach, Capitol Hill, Seattle Nikon F / Ilford HP5

Long before I moved here, Cal Anderson Park was what I considered the "heart" of Seattle's gayborhood of Capitol Hill. The summers are incredible, with sunshine bringing out more joyous queer people than you'd think can fit in just 7.3 acres of land. I moved to Seattle in the winter, though, so I saw it when it was still, quiet, and contemplative. It gave me time to think about how I'd shoot it as a space devoid of people, but still clearly alive.

I noticed that final approach for SeaTac, when the wind is coming out of the south, runs directly parallel to the direction of the fountain. Many weeks later, I came back and lined this up. I stood directly in the fountain as I watched my FlightRadar app to check when the next plane would punch through the low marine layer.

As I stood there, killing time and waiting for the next approach, a drunk lady asked Antigone and I what on Earth we were doing. She seemed enthralled with the idea for the shot. Hopefully, she'd like how it came out, too.

Nex was a 16-year-old nonbinary kid in Oklahoma who died in February, after intense bullying about their queer identity. Their death was not just a tragedy, but an omen. The trans kids that so many of my generation have tried to protect are still in danger, despite our efforts. Nex's beating and subsequent death was a reminder of the horrifying toll that backsliding will bring, and why we cannot let it come to pass.

 This spontaneous memorial in Cal Anderson Park appeared shortly after their death in February. The love of our community grieving a child's death moved me to tears then, as it does now while I write this.

If I Must Die, West Seattle Nikon F4 / Kodak Ektar

My brother came to town to visit me and Antigone. It was the first time I had seen him in over half a decade, and I was, if I'm honest, incredibly nervous about it. His visit happened to line up with my court date for my legal name change, which I was also anxious about. It was lovely, and I am so glad the two of us got to catch up. On a trip to West Seattle (as an excuse to use the ferries, really), I saw this.

This is a spontaneous art installation of Refaat Alareer's If I Must Die, a poem he wrote shortly before he was killed by an Israeli airstrike. It is about saying goodbye to loved ones and family in the face of certain death. It was attached to a fence rail where lovers chain padlocks as evidence of their eternal bond.

Pedestrian Crossing, Satsop Nikon F4 / Kodak Ektar

This was on a the way back from a vacation with friends (and, of course, Antigone). I rarely vacation because I do not know how to relax. I have crushing anxiety and it often feels as though the world is ending over basically every little thing that happens, and this feeling is only made worse when we live in a world where so much is falling to pieces and we are made powerless to mend it. This is, I suspect, why so much of what I create in my fiction and in my imagery is post-apocalyptic; the feelings overwhelm me and they need an outlet, a way to imagine life in the ruins of capitalism.

And so here, in the ruins of the abandoned Satsop, WA nuclear plant, is an idyllic scene. Perfect sky, perfect little pedestrian-friendly road, bright colors, cheery art. It felt like my relaxation, while it had not cured my fears, had at least allowed me to visualize a friendlier apocalypse.

Of course, that much severe anxiety is not sustainable for long without serious consequences. I ended up in a psych ward. When I was in the hospital, I wasn't really allowed outside and visitation was relatively short, which was... alarming to me. It led me to plan ahead for what I might do once I was out.

Hiking from Sunrise to Third Burroughs was on the list I started furiously dreaming up when I was locked in sealed rooms without fresh air. I had hiked from Sunrise to Second Burroughs in 2023, and it gave me the willpower to get out of Idaho and make it to Seattle. I desperately wanted that inflection point once more.

After I was released and began trying to piece my psyche together, The Mountain became quasi-religious to me, and I decided I would begin to shoot it from as many different places and angles as I could. The goal would be to amass a collection of shots akin to Hokusai's 36 Views of Mt. Fuji. This, the first in that collection, was taken on an early-morning walk with Antigone shortly after leaving the hospital.

Antigone At Breakfast, Second Burroughs Fujica GW690 / Fuji Velvia 50

Despite a turbulent post-hospital several weeks, I did make it to The Mountain, of course with Antigone supporting me the whole way. Incredible catharsis washed over me at Second Burroughs. I was still alive. I had made it to Seattle. I had not died. Seeing the view again was the happiest I had ever felt in my life up to that moment.

Antigone at Lunch, Third Burroughs Fujica GW690 / Fuji Velvia 50

At Third Burroughs, the two of us had lunch. Antigone made me hot tea, read me a poem, and then proposed to me. It was the happiest I have ever been in my life.

I had two rolls of basically unobtainable medium-format Fuji Velvia 50 to shoot on this hike. I messed up one exposure, but every single other shot of the notoriously low-latitude film came out perfectly. Photographically, it's about the proudest I've ever been of nature work.

(This and the above shot are currently getting re-scanned at much larger resolution on a proper scanner - when that's done, I'll post them here as a bonus!)

The Towers, Capitol Hill, Seattle Nikon F4 / Kodak Ektar

Another early-morning walk shot. This one I do not remember specifically the day or the mood I was in when I took it, but I can say that radio towers have been a specific fascination of mine for as long as I can remember. There were a trio of blinking towers way in the distance out of my childhood window, visible from my bed. I spent many nights staring at their patterns. I suppose I used them to ground myself when I was scared and my parents were fighting. They stand so tall in my childhood memory.

When I was in the hospital, I was terrified I would be left in there so long I would be a shell when I finally was released. In our daily art sessions I drew scenes from around Seattle, in the hopes my memory would stay stable and even if I was locked up for a while I could still live on reminiscence. These towers, at the very top of Capitol Hill, were one of the features I was certain I could fix my memory upon.

When I left the hospital, I bought a fisheye lens and took this on the first test roll with it. This is perhaps the only shot I've ever taken that properly expresses to others how magnificent a set of radio towers feels in my mind.

Antigone On Swings, Chief Joseph Dam Fujica GW690 / Kodak Ektar

Taken on the Jeep Trip - this was my first time driving a press car after a (non-press-car) accident that occurred shortly after my psych ward visit. That accident left me with severe PTSD around driving, and cars in general. I was wracked with flashbacks, but I wanted to overcome them with sheer force of will. It was very much diving back into the deep end of the pool for me, taking a vehicle with no roof or doors 300+ miles around, over, and through the Cascades for a long weekend, but I did it. Antigone joined me, riding shotgun, and soothed me when I got scared. As with all things this year, I could not have done it without her.

This photo was taken at the rest area in front of the Chief Joseph Dam as we took a rest from traveling.

That's it!

I hope you enjoyed these snaps from my life. I hope that I can keep sharing them for many more years to come. I hope you all have a wonderful New Year's.

<3 Vicki