Blog 16 – Post Arts Show Reflections: Photography, People, and Place

I went into the arts show at The Nest in Leicester carrying what was, in hindsight, far too much gear. I keep telling myself I will pack lighter, but I never do. I end up convincing myself I will regret leaving something behind, and so the bag fills with every lens I can squeeze in. This time I really did bring the lot.

The 85mm, my usual comfort zone, was there. The 35mm for wider storytelling. The 24–270mm zoom that still amazes me with its flexibility. Even the 20mm was packed, though I never ended up taking it out. And tucked in were a couple of manual focus lenses that I knew were unlikely to see daylight, but they came with me anyway. Carrying them gave me a sense of security, even if they did not earn their place on the day.

The Lenses

The 85mm

The 85mm is usually my go-to. It flatters portraits, gives me the depth I want, and lets me stay just far enough back to avoid being obtrusive. At the show it did exactly that. I was able to catch stallholders leaning forward to explain their work, or quick moments between customers and exhibitors, all while staying relatively unnoticed. But the challenge was space. The Nest is not a cavernous venue, and in some spots there was hardly any room to step back. On one occasion, trying to get a portrait of a dad and son together, I actually had to press the button and step back into the open lift car just to get enough distance for the frame. It worked, but it summed up the limitations of shooting with the 85 in tight spaces.

The 35mm

The 35mm gave me more breathing room. It worked well for capturing fuller scenes, whole stalls, people browsing, or small groups in conversation. It pulled in the context, the artwork, and the feel of the place. The trade-off was that I had to be close, sometimes closer than I wanted. I like to keep out of people’s way, to let them carry on naturally, but with the 35 there were times I felt like I was intruding. It made me pick my moments carefully. When it worked, it gave a real sense of presence, but it also pushed me into situations where I would rather have hung back.

The 24–270mm

This lens saved me repeatedly. The flexibility to go from wide to tight without swapping lenses or physically weaving through a crowd was invaluable. I could hang back, frame compositions without interrupting anyone, and pick off details from across the room. It let me get the compositions I wanted without being in people’s faces. Sometimes I miss the character and discipline of primes when using it, but in a setting like this it was easily the most useful piece of glass I had with me.

Shooting with Intention

One of the best things about photographing events like this is the chance to use the environment itself as part of the composition. I had plenty of opportunities to experiment with foregrounds and framing. Shooting through wire trellis gave a sense of texture. Using clothes rails as a partial border felt like you were peering in on a moment. My favourite was shooting through the wooden frame of a stall, where the rough edges blurred into soft bokeh while a customer stood sharp in the centre. Those details broke up the rhythm of the set and made the gallery feel more alive than just a run of head-on portraits.

Conversations

The day was not only about photographs, it was about people too.

Stuart, one of the exhibitors, and I ended up in a good chat about vintage kit. He had his own Mamiya as a go-to and we traded stories about the quirks of older cameras. There is a mutual recognition when you find someone else who gets why these old machines matter. The slower process, the unpredictability, and the satisfaction of producing something tangible with a tool that has been around for decades. I mentioned my Voigtländer Brilliant from the 1940s and how I had recently run a roll of 120 film through it, capturing some of my favourite shots of Bow. The idea that an 80-year-old camera can still produce meaningful images never fails to get a reaction.

Elsewhere, the team from Art Social had set up a space that was buzzing all day. They were not just showing work, they were inviting people to make their own. They had art supplies spread out and encouraged attendees to sit down, create something, and even turn their designs into pin badges to take home. It gave the event a participatory energy. It was not only about looking and buying, but about engaging, making, and leaving with something personal. That added a different dimension to the show and reminded me how broad the idea of art can be in a community space.

The Room and the Light

The Nest has its own atmosphere. It is not a neutral white cube gallery, it has texture and character, which came through in the photos. What dominated the light was the floor-to-ceiling glass window that ran across one side of the room. It acted as a giant diffuser, filling the space with soft, natural light. But because it only came from one side, it created challenges too. One side of a face might be lit perfectly while the other fell into deep shadow. Stalls near the window looked vibrant, while those further away drifted into darker tones.

It forced me to adapt shot by shot. Sometimes I leaned into the contrast, letting the light fall harshly to create atmosphere. Other times I worked angles to balance it out. It meant there was no single formula to rely on, but in a way that made the edit easier because the mood of the room was built into the images already.

Editing Afterwards

When I got home and loaded the files, I knew this was not going to be a bright, airy gallery. The lighting simply had not allowed for that. Instead, I leaned into a darker, moodier edit, which suited both the space and the character of the show.

Balancing colour was the first hurdle. With light flooding in from the window on one side and stalls lit more dimly on the other, there were variations across almost every frame. I did not try to force everything into the same look. Instead, I kept the tones rich and slightly subdued, which gave consistency without erasing the natural differences.

I experimented with black and white too. A few of the portraits worked beautifully stripped back to monochrome, focusing attention on expressions. But most of the images needed colour. The deep reds of fabrics, the green signage, the warm browns of wood, even the subtle shades of ceramics were part of the story of the day. Losing them would have been losing part of the memory.

The compositions I had experimented with, shooting through trellis, rails, and wooden frames, really paid off at this stage. The blurred foregrounds gave depth and atmosphere that stood out even more in the final edits. They broke the set up and gave it variety, making the gallery feel more like a series of lived-in moments rather than a catalogue.

Sharing the Work

Once the edits were ready, I put the first reel online. I did not have expectations for how it would land. I was not chasing numbers or waiting for collaborations to drop in. I simply wanted to share what I had seen and how I had captured it. The comments that followed were generous, especially from the people in the photos themselves. It means more when an exhibitor or artist sees an image and says they like it than any amount of likes or reach. It feels like you have reflected them back honestly, and that was what I was aiming for.

Lessons Learned

Every time I shoot something like this, I come away with small lessons.

The 85 is brilliant but has its limits. That lift-car moment with the dad and son showed me that sometimes you just cannot make it fit, no matter how much you want the lens to work.

The 35 gave me presence but at the cost of space. I had to push myself into the flow of the room more than I usually like.

The 24–270 was the practical hero. It let me step back, stay unobtrusive, and still frame the shots I wanted. It might not have the character of the primes, but for an event like this it did the heavy lifting.

And perhaps the biggest lesson was that I did not need to complicate things. I had packed flash gear expecting a battle with the light, but it stayed in the bag. The Sony handled the dynamic range, the big glass window gave me enough to work with, and the rest came down to noticing moments and framing them.

Why It Matters

This show was not just another outing with the camera. It was a chance to connect with people making things, sharing them, and putting themselves out there. It reminded me that photographing events like this is not only about documenting, it is about being part of the community that makes them happen.

I walked out with full memory cards and a shoulder that felt the weight of too many lenses, but I also walked out with conversations that will stick with me, images that I am proud of, and a clearer sense of how I want to approach this kind of work in future.