The Unexpected Magic of Photographing Vintage Nürburgring Cars on Film (And Why It Still Matters)
Welcome to another captivating photo essay, this time by Markus Kirchhofer. We'd love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to comment below and, if you're interested, share your photo essay with us. Your perspectives add valuable dimensions to our collective exploration.
Some moments can only be captured on film.
Film photography shows what digital often misses: emotion and atmosphere. At the Nürburgring Classics, Markus Kirchhofer used a Leica M6 to photograph pre-war cars in action. These cars are not just machines, they are living history.
The right camera can change how you see a subject.
The Leica M6 let Markus work quietly and focus on real moments. Film forced him to slow down, watch, and wait for the best shot. Every image became more personal because of this slow process.
Analog photography unlocks the emotion digital leaves out.
ALT & SEXY - Capturing Time: An Analog Look at the Pre-War Nürburgring Classics
Photographing the Pre-War section of the Nürburgring Classics is more than documenting old machines; it’s about capturing a living history. With my Leica M6, loaded with Kodak Tri-X 400 and developing the film in Rodinal, I set out to create images that reflect not only the visual beauty but also the atmosphere and soul of this unique event.
The Pre-War cars, Bugattis, Bentleys, and BMW 328s, are engineering artifacts that still perform with the energy and sound of their era. These aren’t museum pieces; they’re loud, imperfect, and full of character. Shooting them on analog film mirrors their authenticity. Every frame is deliberate. There’s no screen to check, no automatic corrections. It’s just light, metal, movement, and patience.
The Leica M System, a fully mechanical rangefinder, is the perfect tool for this kind of work. It’s unobtrusive and intuitive, allowing me to get close without interrupting the moment. Whether it’s a mechanic adjusting a carburetor or a driver sipping a glass of wine beside his vintage racer, the camera fades into the background, letting the story come forward.
Shooting analog is also a statement. In a time of digital overload, working with film forces a slower, more intentional process. There’s something grounding about measuring light, focusing by hand, and waiting to see the results only after development. That delay becomes part of the connection to the subject.
Ultimately, this project is about respect for the machines, for the people who keep them running, and for the craft of photography itself. Film doesn’t just record what was there; it invites us to feel what it was like. And at the Nürburgring Classics, among the roar and the quiet, the grit and the elegance, analog photography feels not just appropriate but necessary.
You write that every frame is deliberate and that shooting film is a slower process. Can you describe a moment at the Nürburgring where that slowness helped you notice something you might have missed otherwise?
One moment that stayed with me happened early in the morning, before the paddocks were fully awake. A driver was sitting alone beside his car in a garage, hours before the first race was going to start. He looked so peacefully and truly in sync with the moment. The light was soft as it was an overcast day, and there was a kind of stillness in the air. With a digital camera, I might have quickly fired off a dozen frames, probably interrupting the moment and moved on. But with my small analog camera, I paused, watched, and waited, without disturbing. I took just one frame. That slowness made me truly see the moment: the quiet tension before the day began. Without the constraint of film, I might have missed its emotional weight entirely.
You mention the mix of elegance and grit, the roar of engines and the quiet between races. How do you decide which of those moods to focus on in a photograph?
It depends on the rhythm of the day. I try to stay open to what the environment gives me. When the engines are roaring and the cars are racing, I look for dynamic frames, motion, expressions, tension. But it’s often the quieter in-between moments that reveal the soul of the event: a mechanic wiping grease from his hands, a driver sharing a laugh with a fellow enthusiast, the dusty silence after a run. I don’t plan the mood beforehand; I let the mood guide me. I trust my instincts and the character of the light to decide.
How does using a quiet, simple camera like the Leica M6 change the way people react to you when you’re photographing them at an event like the Nürburgring Classics?
In an event like the Nürburgring Classics, you see a lot of photographers with huge cameras and lenses, in my opinion not an ideal setting to blend in with the environment. The M6 instead invites curiosity rather than suspicion. People recognise it, some even used one in their youth, and that creates an instant connection. It allows me to work quietly and respectfully. People are less likely to pose or stiffen up; they tend to carry on naturally. Most of the time they don’t even notice that I am taking a frame.
You say film invites us to feel what it was like. What do you hope people feel when they look at your Nürburgring photos, beyond just seeing old cars?
I hope they feel a sense of time bending, like they’re standing in two eras at once. These cars are from the 1920s and ’30s, but they’re alive today, moving under their own power, maintained by hands that care deeply. I want the viewer to feel the romance of that dedication, the dignity in the wear and tear, the quiet pride in keeping history alive. Ideally, my photos don’t just show cars; they show people, passion, and moments that could just as easily be 1935 or 2025. I want the viewer to pause and feel the texture of time. That is why I chose Rodinal for developing the film, as it gives an extra portion of grain and vintage touch to the images. It would have felt inappropriate to shoot this series in digital. I think the participants of the Nürburgring Classic feel the same about their craft as I feel about analog photography.
