Interviews
Alan Díaz
Alan Díaz is a photographer based in Barcelona whose creative universe revolves around the quiet depth of analog photography and the intimate pulse of nature. For him, photography is not a snapshot—it’s a slow ritual, a way to listen to the world.
With film as his chosen medium, Alan welcomes grain, blur, and imperfection as expressions of authenticity. His images capture moments that often slip through unnoticed: morning fog tangled in branches, rust creeping over forgotten metal, silence echoing through empty trails.
What first drew you into analog photography, and what do you think it offers that digital doesn’t?
I first got into analog photography at around 15 years old, when I picked up a disposable camera just out of curiosity for a trip with school. The results completely fascinated me, the grain, the unpredictability, the way a simple snapshot could carry so much feeling. From that moment, I stuck with film. What I love most is the spontaneity: you capture a moment without overthinking, and only rediscover its emotion and meaning once it’s developed. That delayed magic is something digital just can’t replicate.
Your images embrace grain, blur, and imperfection. How do you decide when a “flaw” becomes part of the beauty of a shot?
I’ve always found beauty in imperfection. Whether it’s the texture of grain, a slight blur, or an unexpected light leak, these elements speak to me in a way that polished, flawless images never could. I don’t see them as flaws, I see them as emotions, as moments that feel more real. If something feels honest and evocative, then it belongs in the shot.
I don’t take photographs to preserve what I see—I take them to remember how it felt.
You’ve mentioned that expired film plays a key role in your creative workflow. How does shooting with it influence your emotional connection to your images?
Shooting with expired film is always an adventure; sometimes frustrating, sometimes magical. There’s a certain vulnerability in trusting something so unpredictable, and I think that deepens my emotional bond with each image. It becomes more personal, more raw.
How do you cultivate intuition in your photography practice—what signals or feelings prompt you to press the shutter in a moment?
Light is always the key for me, especially sunset light. It holds emotion and nostalgia that I constantly try to capture. There’s a softness, a fleeting magic in that hour that instinctively draws me to press the shutter.
Your work captures subtle moments—morning fog, rust, silent trails. How do you train your eye to notice these everyday scenes before they pass?
Most of my photos are taken while traveling, during moments of disconnection from my daily routine. That’s when I feel most at peace and that calm allows me to truly connect with my surroundings. In those moments, inspiration flows effortlessly, and I begin to notice the quiet details that would usually go unnoticed.
You call photography “a slow ritual, a way to listen to the world.” Can you describe what that ritual looks and feels like for you?
For me, the ritual begins the moment I step outside with my camera. I try to capture moments that feel special to me, fragments of time I want to return to when I look at my photos again. Each image becomes a way of preserving something fleeting, something meaningful
If you were guiding someone in Barcelona who wants to explore film photography, what cameras, films or film-developing methods would you recommend to start with?
A point-and-shoot is definitely a great way to start, it allows you to focus on framing and reacting without technical distractions. But personally, I recommend one of my favorite cameras: the Nikon F3. It’s easy to use, and I find manual focus essential. It helps me stay present with every shot. Another camera I use often is the Olympus XA, beautifully designed by Yoshihisa Maitani. It’s compact, intuitive, and full of character. As for film, I suggest trying expired Agfa Vista. It’s harder to find these days, but I love the unique, unpredictable textures it can add to a frame.
