The growing eye: When medium format redraws the boundaries of art

Why has this format—neither quite small nor truly large—left such a mark on the history of photography and contemporary art? Why did artists as different as Helmut Newton, Vivian Maier, and Gregory Crewdson choose these cumbersome cameras, these generous negatives, these viewfinders that force you to lean into the world as if to embrace it more fully? Medium format isn’t just about millimeters of film. It’s a philosophy of vision, a way of slowing time, of tracing the contours of reality with almost surgical precision. And today, as our screens bombard us with fleeting images, these cameras continue to fascinate—as a quiet resistance to the instantaneity of the digital age.

01The magic square: when geometry becomes emotion

There’s something almost mystical about the 6x6 format. This perfect square, born with the Rolleiflex in 1929, isn’t just a technical constraint—it’s an invitation to rethink composition. Unlike 35mm, which imposes its elongated rectangle, or large format, which demands tripods and interminable exposure times, the 6x6 offers a paradoxical freedom: the necessity of saying everything within a balanced frame, with no possibility of cropping.

Take Vivian Maier’s self-portraits. In these images stolen from bathroom mirrors or shop windows, the square frames her face with unsettling frankness. No escape, no diagonal to guide the eye—just her, her Rolleiflex at waist level, and that reflection staring back. The format becomes an accomplice to her anonymity: it allows no theatrical poses, no perspective games. Everything must fit within that tight frame, like a secret whispered in the ear.

And then there’s that particular light, that rendering of shadows that seems softer, more enveloping. The Rolleiflex’s 75mm lenses create a natural, almost human perspective. When Arbus photographed her "freaks" or bourgeois families, the square isolated them without judgment. It simply presented them as riddles to decipher. This geometry isn’t cold—it’s warm, almost tactile. You want to touch these images, to run your finger along the sharp edges of the negative.

02The dance of hands: when the body becomes a tool

Holding a medium format camera means engaging your entire body in the act of photography. Unlike 35mm, which you hold to your eye like an extension of yourself, these cameras demand a particular choreography. The Hasselblad, with its waist-level finder, forces you to bend, to look down at the world—literally. The Mamiya RB67, weighing three kilos, turns every shot into a near-sacred ritual.

Richard Avedon spent hours in his New York studio, a Hasselblad 500EL in hand, capturing the faces of the powerful. His assistant remembers those sessions where the photographer, dressed in black, circled his subjects like a predator. The electric shutter allowed bursts of shots, but Avedon preferred to wait. To wait until the model let their guard down, until the expression cracked. The medium format, with its shallow depth of field, allowed him to isolate a gaze, a wrinkle, a quiver of the lip. And when the photo was right, the Hasselblad’s "click" rang out like a verdict.

For street photographers, this dance takes on another dimension. Joel Meyerowitz, with his Deardorff 8x10, had to crouch, rest the camera on a wall, calculate the light. But with a lighter Mamiya 7, he could blend into the crowd, shoot without drawing attention. The medium format then becomes a tool of paradoxical discretion: cumbersome, yet allowing an intimacy that 35mm cannot offer.

And then there are those almost forgotten gestures—the film loading in the dark, the sound of the curtain opening, the smell of hypo in the darkroom. Rituals that slow the process, that turn the act of shooting into a meditation. In a world where everything moves too fast, these cameras remind us that art feeds on patience.

03The skin of images: when grain becomes texture

There’s a particular sensuality to medium format prints. Whether on baryta paper or inkjet, these images have a physical presence that digital photos often lack. The film grain, when it’s there, isn’t a flaw—it’s a signature. It gives the image thickness, a materiality that invites you to come closer.

Take Peter Lindbergh’s portraits. His models, often shot in 6x7 with a Pentax 67, seem to emerge from a haze of light. The grain of Fuji Pro 400H film softens the contours, giving skin a nearly palpable texture. You can make out the pores, the imperfections, but also that light that seems to come from within. It’s this tactile quality that made his campaigns for Calvin Klein and Dior so successful.

At the opposite end, Edward Burtynsky’s landscapes, shot with 4x5 cameras or digital Hasselblads, play on absolute sharpness. His images of open-pit mines, mountains of electronic waste, strike with their clinical precision. Every detail is visible, every texture rendered with almost obscene fidelity. Here, medium format becomes a tool of revelation—it shows us what we don’t want to see, but with a beauty that forces us to look.

And then there are those artists who play with the very materiality of the medium. Sally Mann, with her wet collodion prints, creates images that seem a hundred years old before they’re even finished. The irregular edges, the traces of manipulation, become part of the work. In her hands, medium format isn’t just a tool—it’s a material to sculpt.

04The theater of appearances: when reality stages itself

If medium format has conquered fashion studios and art galleries, it’s also because it allows the creation of worlds. Gregory Crewdson, with his David Lynch-worthy stagings, transforms ordinary streets into film sets. For his series Beneath the Roses, he used a Hasselblad H6D-400c, capable of capturing details invisible to the naked eye. But what fascinates isn’t just the resolution—it’s the way the medium format allows the construction of dense, almost suffocating visual narratives.

Each of Crewdson’s images is an enigma. A woman in a bathrobe, standing in the middle of an empty road, arms raised as if warding off a spell. A house whose facade opens onto a surreal interior. These scenes, shot with film budgets and teams of technicians, play on ambiguity. Are they real? Are they dreams? The medium format, with its shallow depth of field and saturated colors, heightens this sense of unreality. You feel like you’re looking at an image that shouldn’t exist—as if Crewdson had captured the collective unconscious.

At the opposite end, the Bechers and their Düsseldorf School used medium format to document the world with almost scientific neutrality. Their series of water towers, mine headframes, and grain silos are catalogs of industrial architecture. Yet in their repetition, in this obsession with symmetry, something poetic emerges. Here, medium format becomes a tool of classification—but also of revelation. By framing these structures with manic precision, the Bechers reveal their hidden beauty.

05The legacy of giants: when the past inspires the present

Medium format cameras carry their history in their bodies. The 1950s Rolleiflexes, with their cracked leather and brass buttons, bear the traces of thousands of photos. The Hasselblads from the Apollo missions, modified to withstand the vacuum of space, tell another story—that of humanity seeing its planet from afar. Today, these cameras are collector’s items, but also tools still used by artists.

Take the Fujifilm GFX 100 II, released in 2023. With its 102-megapixel sensor and hybrid autofocus, it represents the culmination of nearly a century of evolution. Yet it retains something of the spirit of the first Rolleiflexes: that ability to capture the world with almost painful precision. Contemporary photographers who use it, like portraitist Annie Leibovitz or documentarian Sebastião Salgado, play on this duality. They have all the power of digital at their disposal, but choose to use it to create images that seem to come from another era.

And then there are those artists who blend eras. Thomas Ruff, for example, scans old medium format negatives and enlarges them until the grain becomes abstraction. His jpegs and photograms series play on the boundary between figurative and abstract. Here, medium format is no longer just a capture tool—it’s raw material to reinvent.

Even in the world of contemporary art, where NFTs and installations dominate, medium format retains its place. Artists like Refik Anadol use high-resolution scans of medium format negatives as the basis for their generative creations. The film grain, the development imperfections, become elements of a new digital aesthetic.

06The collection that breathes: when the format adapts to your life

Building a collection around medium format means accepting that art evolves with you. These images, often larger than 35mm prints, demand space. They don’t just decorate a wall—they transform it. A Crewdson photograph, with its saturated colors and infinite details, can become the focal point of a room. A platinum print by Sally Mann, with its deep blacks and creamy whites, brings a warmth that screens can never reproduce.

But medium format also offers unexpected flexibility. Well-preserved negatives allow prints of different sizes, from intimate small formats to spectacular large ones. The same image can thus adapt to different spaces, different moods. And then there’s the magic of contact sheets, those sheets where each photo tells a different story. Vivian Maier never saw her images exhibited in her lifetime, but today, her contact sheets are works in their own right—visual narratives that unfold like novels.

For collectors, medium format also represents a particular investment. Prints by artists like Arbus, Avedon, or Crewdson gain value over time, but it’s their ability to transcend eras that fascinates. A 1960 photo taken with a Rolleiflex can feel more contemporary than a 2020 digital image. The film grain, the development imperfections, become timeless signatures.

And then there’s that tactile, almost sensual dimension of collecting. Holding an original print, feeling the paper under your fingers, observing the nuances of gray or color that change with the light... It’s an experience that screens can’t replicate. In an increasingly virtual world, medium format reminds us that art is first and foremost a physical encounter.

07The future in large: when digital embraces film

While some predicted the death of medium format with the advent of digital, the opposite has happened. The high-resolution sensors of cameras like the Hasselblad X2D or Phase One XT have restored the format’s prestige. And today, a new generation of artists is rediscovering the joys—and constraints—of film.

Take the "slow photography" movement, which advocates a return to more thoughtful practices. Photographers like Alec Soth or Rinko Kawauchi use medium format cameras to slow their creative process. The weight of the camera, the limited number of shots, the manual development... All of this forces them to think about each image, to wait for the right moment. In a world where billions of photos are taken every day, this slowness becomes a form of resistance.

And then there are those artists who play with the limits of the format. Japanese photographer Rinko Kawauchi, for example, uses a Mamiya 7 to capture moments of grace in everyday life. Her images, often blurry or poorly framed, seem to defy the rules of composition. Yet it’s precisely this apparent clumsiness that gives them their power. Here, medium format is no longer a tool of precision—it’s a playmate.

Even in the fashion world, where digital dominates, medium format is making a comeback. Photographers like Harley Weir or Jamie Hawkesworth use hybrid cameras, mixing film and digital, to create images that have both the warmth of analog and the flexibility of digital. Their campaigns for brands like Gucci or Prada play on this duality, creating visual universes that are both retro and resolutely modern.

08The art of seeing differently

At its core, medium format isn’t just about technique. It’s a way of seeing the world, an invitation to slow down, to observe, to immerse yourself in details. In a century where everything moves too fast, where images scroll across our screens without leaving a trace, these cameras remind us that photography can be so much more than a simple click.

They remind us that every image is an encounter—between the artist and their subject, between light and matter, between past and present. That behind every print lies a story: of a camera that has crossed decades, of a negative that waited its turn in the dark, of an emotion captured in a fraction of a second.

And perhaps that’s the true power of medium format. Not just in the size of its negative or the resolution of its sensor, but in its ability to make us see the world with fresh eyes. To see, in a face, in a landscape, in an ordinary scene, all the complexity and beauty of existence.

So the next time you come across a photograph taken with a medium format camera, take the time to get closer. Observe the details, let yourself be enveloped by the nuances. And remember: behind that image may lie a whole life of gazes, doubts, chances, and choices. A life that, for the duration of a click, met yours.