Hasselblad Analogue/argentique fun

I was going to say if you're over 30 years old you will remember the joy of turning the F-stop ring on the lens of your 36mm film camera or on a 645 medium format camera like the Hasselblad or Bronica. I never tested the 6X6 but always meant too. In the "old days" I used a tripod quite a lot and always had several backs for my MF cameras so that I could switch between colour & black & white or a higher ISO or ASA as it was once known. But now it seems fashionable or cool to use a rustic film camera. It turns heads and starts conversations... Today we can instantly switch from colour to black & white with the press of a button and the turning of a knob. And it's just as simple to change the ISO for shooting in near night time conditions. In the past 10 years the quality of digital cameras has gone beyond what many skeptics said it could or would. I was one of them! That is why today I have pulled out from under my bed boxes of old cameras I no longer use and believe will never use again. It makes me kinda sad but I'm also being pushed by my darlin wife to unclutter before we move homes. I've got 2 Bronica medium format cameras with backs and a polaroid back, also great lenses 75mm F2.8 and the 150mm Zenza F4 Kodak Land polaroid camera, Kodak A-116 camera in great condition and all working. Sekonic light meter, Zeiss light meters, Canon FD 40mm cable releases and to much more to bore you with here. I'm selling the lot and moving on. I may get up early tomorrow and go to the fridge where my Ilford film has been in storage for years now and stroll around frozen Paris streets. Paris without Parisians is always a pleasure. early morning light also always inspires me. So if you're in Paris and want to buy any rustic conversation starters email me alternatively call me in the morning for the walk along the seine.

Donegal's wild Atlantic way...then Paris

Coming back… After a week on the northwest coast of Ireland where the predominant sounds are of seagulls floating over crashing waves or a gale blowing through some oak or pine trees, and having nowhere to run to, no commitments to keep for a week, I now realise was like a meditation retreat. Donegal is a land of hills, hollows, bons, woods and the longent most majestés coastline in Ireland. As my mother rightly pointed out ‘you’re so taken with the landscape that you forget everything at home’. She’s often spot on my mother! And like all good things it had to end. Going back to Paris is never easy much as I appreciate the beauty of the city there’s no place like Donegal. I don’t like running. I tried jogging once, it just bored me. So now I’m back in Paris, I enter the metro ticket into the machine and it squeals a mechanical sound which makes me think it’s a used ticket, but no it’s a good one. Then I hear the metro approach, I catch myself starting to run like the others around me, we grab the handles of our rolling suitcases and run as if there won’t be another train until tomorrow, I even push the round shaped man who’s even slower than me into the metro as the doors make that terrifying, I’m about to cut you in two sound. Then a hissing sound starts just before the outer doors close all the while the warning sound of, I’m going to cut you in two if you chance it, is still screaming then thump the doors close. Tonight I also notice the light, it's much too strong after the soft ever changing light of Ireland. The metro scrapes and squeals, metal against metal sounds fill the tunnel, sparks fly from the tracks and electric blue darts around in the black of the tunnel as the metro leaves and gets swallowed by the black of the tunnel. I’m back in Paris. Everything seems violent to me. The metro doors open fast and noisily, the button I pushed to open them I had to push forcefully. I ascend the stairs with no enthusiasm, the doors that close swiftly behind me in order to keep the non paying out, open and close with even greater speed and noise than the doors of the metro. It's all noise. Everyone else is oblivious while engrossed in their telephone screens and tablettes. It’s midnight. I leave the stuffy polluted air of the metro and for once I’m surprised, and pleasantly so by what I would describe as fresh air in Paris. Now don’t lose the run of your imagination! It’s not Irish fresh air but it’s Paris fresh air. I hit the street with some hope. Paris is not so so bad. A feeling of "it’s ok" hits me, I say hello to an unknown man who’s lighting a cigarette, he looks at me quite surprised but then says ‘bonsoir’ It eventually occurs to me in my tired state that I need to be more accepting of "what is"

" and show some gratitude for being here. I stop, close my eyes, breathe and all is well.

Coming back… After a week on the northwest coast of Ireland where the predominant sounds are of seagulls floating over crashing waves or a gale blowing through some oak or pine trees, and having nowhere to run to, no commitments to keep for a week, I now realise was like a meditation retreat. Donegal is a land of hills, hollows, bons, woods and the longent most majestés coastline in Ireland. As my mother rightly pointed out ‘you’re so taken with the landscape that you forget everything at home’. She’s often spot on my mother! And like all good things it had to end. Going back to Paris is never easy much as I appreciate the beauty of the city there’s no place like Donegal. I don’t like running. I tried jogging once, it just bored me. So now I’m back in Paris, I enter the metro ticket into the machine and it squeals a mechanical sound which makes me think it’s a used ticket, but no it’s a good one. Then I hear the metro approach, I catch myself starting to run like the others around me, we grab the handles of our rolling suitcases and run as if there won’t be another train until tomorrow, I even push the round shaped man who’s even slower than me into the metro as the doors make that terrifying, I’m about to cut you in two sound. Then a hissing sound starts just before the outer doors close all the while the warning sound of, I’m going to cut you in two if you chance it, is still screaming then thump the doors close. Tonight I also notice the light, it's much too strong after the soft ever changing light of Ireland. The metro scrapes and squeals, metal against metal sounds fill the tunnel, sparks fly from the tracks and electric blue darts around in the black of the tunnel as the metro leaves and gets swallowed by the black of the tunnel. I’m back in Paris. Everything seems violent to me. The metro doors open fast and noisily, the button I pushed to open them I had to push forcefully. I ascend the stairs with no enthusiasm, the doors that close swiftly behind me in order to keep the non paying out, open and close with even greater speed and noise than the doors of the metro. It's all noise. Everyone else is oblivious while engrossed in their telephone screens and tablettes. It’s midnight. I leave the stuffy polluted air of the metro and for once I’m surprised, and pleasantly so by what I would describe as fresh air in Paris. Now don’t lose the run of your imagination! It’s not Irish fresh air but it’s Paris fresh air. I hit the street with some hope. Paris is not so so bad. A feeling of "it’s ok" hits me, I say hello to an unknown man who’s lighting a cigarette, he looks at me quite surprised but then says ‘bonsoir’ It eventually occurs to me in my tired state that I need to be more accepting of "what is"

"is" and show some gratitude for being here. I stop, close my eyes, breathe and all is well.

The silence of Co Donegal

County Donegal in the Northwest of Ireland has been a well kept secret until the discovery of the wild Atlantic way. The region has not changed much apart from the cursed satellite tv and mobile phones. The people remain the same, speaking their native tongue with a brogue as soft as Donegal tweed. I know tweed is not so soft but it sounds good. Donegal town is a modern town with a population of less than 3000 inhabitants. I never stop in the town because I’m always in a hurry to see mount Errigal and the beach of Magheragallon. Over the years (35) I’ve driven up from Waterford and the 4 hours it takes to hit Donegal town is not so bad. It’s after Donegal town where the fun begins and the roads diminish to undulating sheep trails winding their way over bog and mountain. I stop in wonder at the ability of some people to live in such remote areas. They must be good in their skins. You have to be to survive here. This part of Ireland is not one you’d come to to top up your tan. The wind rarely ceases and the rain is never far away. Having said that my last 4 trips have been surprisingly dry and sunny. September and October are turning out to be great months in this region weather wise. I mentioned the wind, well I love this wind. It carries the sweet smell of burning turf fires, the soft salt air from the Atlantic and the orchestra of the birds from the hills and the valleys. At the same time there’s a silence to this place that carries you away when you sit in its silence. It’s an area where one can allow the internal to be heard. Deep in the valley of the Poison glen where the land is lush and the trees rich green the dawn chorus is one to behold. It will speak to you. It’s here in this wilderness that feels so far removed from modern life that one can listen and hear. Today we have so many questions but no time to ponder them. No time to stop and listen to the answers. The answers are within us all if we could just switch off the constant background static, but instead we race from one source of static to another and another and on and on… from one social networking site to another without taking a breath. Neither Facebook, Twitter nor Instagram have the answers. Are we afraid of the answers, or of what we maybe confronted with…ourselves? I feel blessed to have discovered this region so long ago because it has never failed to bring me back. I spent years in the wilderness of fear, panic and uncertainty. My tours of Co Donegal are based on photography and my photography is based on mindfulness and being grounded in the moment. All we have is now. Today I choose Co Donegal as the only wilderness to be lost in today. Thank you Donegal

In the valley wedding

There’s one outstanding advantage of being a wedding photographer in France and that is that during the Summer months we’ve a better chance of sunshine than say Ireland. Having said that this year has been only so so weather wise. Back in June I covered the union of Mylène & Alexandre in the valley of Chevreuse which is 40kms south of Paris and close to Versailles. Hélène and I set off with plenty of time to spare and to discover the town of Gif sur Yvette where the civil ceremony was taking place. I headed for the hairdresser to cover a little of the preparations (even if it’s not requested it helps both parties to relax). The day warmed up nicely, even too nicely. I ended up using a little fill flash to avoid the panda eyes and at the venue Hélène controlled the reflector for me. Gold reflectors are great on the right skin tones. The venue was a charming old farm with an antique style garden full of mature trees and scented climbers like jasmine and clematis. The friends and family were super friendly and cooperative, I couldn’t have asked for better. They all showed up for groups photos and individual portraits in a cool and even fashion which made it so easy for me. And the light was simply delicious. And from the comment below I think they liked the results. http://www.kevinhayden.book.fr/ Nous avons reçu aujourd’hui clé USB avec toutes les photos. Elles sont extras ! Nous allons en profiter pour les regarder longuement pendant les vacances. A notre retour on pourra vous dire lesquels on voudrait mettre dans l’album. Merci encore infiniment à tous les deux. Mylène & Alex

Paris mariage and pre - wedding shoot Paris

On meeting clients for the first time both parties are in a no-mans land. The photographer (me) doesn’t know what mask to wear or how to act, comic, serious solemn etc and I guess it’s the same for my prospective clients. This is where the “shrink” in every photographer comes into play. The photographer must very quickly read the faces and get a sense of the character of his/her clients. Well last night I didn’t need to act other than naturally thanks to the laid back disposition of Robert & Ludo. Last night was the pre wedding shoot the Jour J is August 20th. We met at the metro musée du Louvre and headed straight for the palais Royale and then the interior court yard of the Louvre. They both relaxed into the session with ease and that saved me from from trying to sing which I do or try to do when my clients are less than supple. I didn’t even have to tell an old Irish joke. I let the guys relax and remember why they are here and then took some candid shots from as far away as my lens would permit. The results were good for me and Robert emailed me today saying that ‘They’re beautiful’! Another great day under my belt. For more go to http://www.kevinhayden.book.fr/

Gay pre wedding shoot Paris

On meeting clients for the first time both parties are in a no-mans land. The photographer (me) doesn’t know what mask to wear or how to act, comic, serious solemn etc and I guess it’s the same for my prospective clients. This is where the “shrink” in every photographer comes into play. The photographer must very quickly read the faces and get a sense of the character of his/her clients. Well last night I didn’t need to act other than naturally thanks to the laid back disposition of Robert & Ludo. Last night was the pre wedding shoot the Jour J is August 20th. We met at the metro musée du Louvre and headed straight for the palais Royale and then the interior court yard of the Louvre. They both relaxed into the session with ease and that saved me from from trying to sing which I do or try to do when my clients are less than supple. I didn’t even have to tell an old Irish joke. I let the guys relax and remember why they are here and then took some candid shots from as far away as my lens would permit. The results were good for me and Robert emailed me today saying that ‘They’re beautiful’! Another great day under my belt. For more go to http://www.kevinhayden.book.fr/

See2be Photography: Photo tours Ireland

See2be Photography: Photo tours Ireland: Want a week of fun in Ireland? From Sept 10th-16th inclusive. Get picked up at Dublin airport and head chauffeur driven into the West for ph...

Photo tours Ireland

Want a week of fun in Ireland? From Sept 10th-16th inclusive. Get picked up at Dublin airport and head chauffeur driven into the West for photography, fun and fine food in Co Donegal. Everything inclusive, hotel, dinner BnB, photo tuition and transport at a cost you won't believe!!! After visiting places like the highest cliffs in Europe at Slieveleague, the volcanic form of Errigal mountain, the rugged and barren headlands of the Inishowen peninsula and much much more, and not forgetting the music, beer and food after long days of photography you'll be ready for a pint and a fine Irish dinner. Perhaps a dance or two later? After six days you will be chauffeured safely back to Dublin airport by a qualified chauffeur. For more info email me kevinhayden62(at)hotmail.com