Issue 4 | A New Disaster

A Polaroid Land Camera Automatic 100, bellows out, on a garden table

Land Camera, 2026

All at Once

Ceci n’est pas un Polaroid. It’s a picture of one, of course.

A sepia instant print of a baby sitting in long grass under a tree, held in a hand — In the grass, 2019

I really loved peel-apart film. Fuji FP-3000B in particular, in a comically old-fashioned-looking, bellows-y Land Camera. You took the photo and pulled the tab, somewhat carefully, to squeeze the film and chemistry through the rollers. After about a minute you could peel it apart and get a sharp, contrast-y black-and-white photograph, and a toxic, vinegary goop with a theoretically retrievable negative.

A black and white peel-apart print of a man at a desk holding up a print of himself

A reclaimed peel-apart negative, stained at the edges, of two people talking in an office — Print and negative, 2015

I enjoyed the integral formats as well: SX-70, Spectra, 600, and the bland but convenient Instax. Once Polaroid stopped producing film, their cameras showed up in second-hand stores for small amounts. I once got a police-kit Spectra, designed for documenting evidence at crime scenes. It had a hood that clipped over the lens and flash, for consistent exposures.

A black and white Spectra print of two men talking under a vine in a garden — Spectra, 2015

The Impossible Project purchased the Polaroid facility in Enschede and started producing film. It was, and remains (as Polaroid Originals, and now just Polaroid), somewhat inconsistent.

The Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign at night, the whole print washed magenta, in a lime green frame — Las Vegas, 2026

At our wedding we left cameras and film on the tables. The guests photographed each other, and we got what they got, though we did have to employ my friend Malc to police people sneaking away with their favorites.

A black and white print in a green frame of a smiling wedding guest holding a drink

A black and white print in a purple frame of bridesmaids lined up in dappled shade — Other people's weddings, 2017

When you take a picture with instant film, you’re done. There’s no Photoshop, no darkroom, nothing else you can do. You get what you get, as a print.

A giant STAY sign painted on the side of the Hotel Metropolis — Hotel Metropolis, 2016

The prints are glossy. Take a picture of them with your phone and you get the picture, and a picture of your phone.

The Las Vegas print photographed on a paint-spattered table, a streak of glare across it — Las Vegas, and a phone

To scan them, I built a thing. You move your phone over the print, the glare slides around, and software stitches together a version where it’s gone, and you have a picture of the picture.

A black and white print of a giant metal praying mantis sculpture against a cloudy sky — Mantis, 2026

This was fussy, despite the fact I delegated all the actual work to Claude, and it wasn’t till it was done that I asked myself exactly why I was doing this. The joy of Polaroid, for me, is that it is done, all at once. But still, you weren’t there, and I wanted you to see some of them.

A color print, photographed on black, of a man in a straw hat and apron at a barbecue — Barbecue, 2016

You can do this the other way round. Polaroid make a device that lets you print your phone photos on instant film. Fuji have the same thing for their Instax. Conceptually, I could edit and select the best possible photo to print, but then I could just print the photo.

A medium is, in the end, just a set of premade choices. And sometimes, the reason something exists is that it’s what was there at that moment.

So, these are some polaroids.

Streetcar tracks running between palm trees toward downtown, under a red light — Tracks, 2018

A sepia portrait in a round frame of a young man in a shirt and tie, grinning — Round frame, 2016

A woman in sugar skull face paint and a white veil, colors shifted to lilac — Halloween, 2018

Crape myrtle blossoms against a pale blue sky, in a gold foil frame — Gold frame, 2026