I noticed this when I received a beaten up Nikon F801 camera, won on eBay (or “that auction site” as it is so often referred to when people want to avoid brands; making clear that our internet auction needs are pretty much monotheistic) for €11,05 plus shipping. This worked out, all in all to €15,45 and even though the camera’s condition was untested and it was dusty and grimy, I considered it a good deal. The F801 was a semi professional camera when released in 1988, and probably cost more than I’d ever consider spending on a digital SLR these days. The camera was packaged with an extra back, the MF-21 multi function control back, to enable you to print dates and aperture and shutter speed on film, to time photos at intervals, or to “trigger trap” wildlife walking into focus. This seemed to me like a less sophisticated version of a police speed camera. Who knows how many cool wildlife shots that we commend the intrepid photographer for were taken with methods like this, on a tripod abandoned in the woods, just waiting for something, anything to walk into frame.
But I digress. The act of cleaning is the act of making one’s own. After unpacking and unwrapping the camera body, I first rubbed it off with a paper towel, getting most of the obvious dust. Then I put a cup of water, a cup of benzene, a small air dust blower, a used old soft tooth brush and q-tips on the table. The table was layered with more paper towels. I took of the camera strap. I rubbed the camera with paper towels and some water until it already looked much better. Its battle scars from a long life of use and a long life of neglect in a cupboard or closet somewhere became more visible than they had been. Little screws holding the machine together had small flecks of rust on their heads. I used q-tips dipped in water to clean these, and to clean the crevices and hard to reach places that the paper towel had not cleaned. I rubbed it off once again with a paper towel. Next, I dipped a q-tip in benzene and took to cleaning the less sensitive parts of the camera. The lens mount’s metal became shiny again, and the autofocusing screw appeared to be turning quicker and more freely after the operation. I blew out the mirror box with the dust blower, and unhooked the little latch that held the view screen to blow dust and dirt off it as well. This worked better than initially expected (I had half feared I would need to uninstall and rinse the whole thing), and only a few tiny flecks remained. The tooth brush was dipped in water, too, to get into even tinier crevices, into the rim around the control wheel. Then I dipped it in benzene as well and cleaned what had not responded to the water.I unscrewed the battery compartment and rubbed the contacts with another naphta-dipped q-tip. They did not look dirty to me, but there was no harm in giving them some extra cleaning. Maybe there was corrosion on them that I simply could not see. I put new batteries in the camera, and it started right up, though it remained wonky: the first shot after not using it for a few hours wouldn’t complete its cycle and the mirror would stay up until I pressed the shutter button again. I replaced the batteries with rechargeables and hoped this would fix it, but it did not. At this point, I do not know what will fix this, if anything will that isn’t prohibitively expensive for such a cheap camera. I added new batteries – 2 lithium CR2025s – to the data back, and it came to life also. Thankfully, it had been designed with foresight, and setting 2015 on the almost thirty year old piece of kit was not a problem. I cleaned the strap with some water and the toothbrush, and then disinfected it. I reattached it to the camera body, added a period 35–70 kit zoom lens, and pointed the camera at the window.
It did fire, at least it did the second, third, fourth, and fifth times. I put in a test film. How will I deal with the shutter problem? This morning I used up all the exposures on the test roll, took it out and proceeded to fire the shutter on high, 3 or so frames per second, for something between 5 and 10 minutes. Maybe this will fix it. Maybe it won’t. Then I will try something else.
Because the act of cleaning had made this my camera now, mine to own, to shoot, but also to maintain and fix. The act of buying it did not make it so, especially not since there was a long interval between clicking “bid” and being informed I’d won the auction and receiving the actual item and unpacking it and looking at it and holding it in my hand. It felt good in my hand. All it needed was a good cleaning.
Why oh why, you may think, is a blog dedicated to photography reviewing bags now? And not even photo bags? What has the world come to?
Simple: I have always liked bags, but I’ve never been a photo bag person. I think they’re generally meh-looking (too technical, too boring, too black nylon), and since I don’t do this professionally, I don’t want to be “that guy” who goes everywhere with at least two camera bodies and half a dozen lenses. So, for the most part, I don’t use photo bags. Instead, I stuff my camera du jour in whatever bag I’m using, and hope for the best. Will this remain so forever? Who knows; I’ve found more occasions where a dedicated photo bag may be desirable lately. Whether that is going to translate into me getting (and possibly reviewing) one is still up in the air.
This review came about because I saw something super interesting on Kickstarter a few months back: an everyday commuter messenger bag that could be transformed (hey, I’m a child of the 80s, I like that stuff) into a backpack. A weekender that functioned like an old-timey valise and still had an extra laptop compartment. Why not? So, a Kickstarter campaign, a few months, and a deduction from my credit card later, I had the thing in hand. And because I liked it well enough to test out all its idiosyncrasies, I ended up writing a review. Maybe there’s someone here who will find it useful.
I received my Venque Briefpack Utility XL as part of the Kickstarter delivery. First impressions matter, and this one was good: the Briefpack seems well put together, is very stylish in an unobtrusive fashion, and the fabric, metal clasps and leather accents all appear to be of such a quality that you never need worry about whether the bag will hold up to the rigors of a busy commuting life.
The “XL” in the name of this pack is deserved. It’s big, almost like a small valise, yet it’s not unwieldy. Its size (given by Venque as 19″ x 15″ x 6.5″, roughly 48 x 38 x 17 cm) is significantly below typical airline carry-on restrictions. I immediately got the impression that the size of the bag was arrived at after a lot of deliberation. It serves me well on trips to the office without seeming ludicrously large even if I’m only bringing my laptop, a book and some papers. It can easily hold a change of clothes for the day (think gym or biking to work). It was also perfectly adequate in size when I brought it as my main bag on a recent two-week vacation. A trip with just carry on baggage, thank you very much every single European premium airline for not distinguishing yourself anymore from Ryanair by much anymore. I digress.
It easily fits almost a week’s worth of t-shirts, and underwear, as well as an extra pair of pants, one or two extra shirts, a sweater, and a small ziploc bag of toiletries. The elastic straps in the compartment, held together by a solid looking half-metal half-plastic locking clasp, do a good job of keeping all your clothes organized. The clasp is another point where you feel like someone was paying attention. It uses plastic for the inner part, and metal for the outer one, and this seems to have been considered well in terms of quality vs. price point. The gist is that you’re truly packing a suitcase here, not stuffing clothes willy-nilly in a messenger bag.
The four inside compartments (three smaller ones on the top of the bag’s flap, and one larger one on the bottom) are also quite handy. For my trip, I used the upper compartment for additional toiletries, a small container of painkillers, and photo equipment: a small flash, some filters, cleaning cloth, etc.
The bag’s front pockets – two large and one small one on top of the right hand main pocket – are ideally sized for phones, keys, notebooks, a small camera, or glasses. I don’t always wear glasses, but I encounter situations often enough where they become necessary and thus typically keep a pair of regular glasses plus a pair of sunglasses in their cases in the left pocket with the leather flap, while my keys live in the small exterior pocket on the right, and a point-and-shoot camera, my wallet, and whatever else seems useful that day live in the larger front pocket on the right.
The back compartment easily holds my Macbook 13″, and has room to spare. It’s rated for 15″ laptops, and you should have no problem fitting one in. The padding is exemplary. I often cram my bags full, and then end up with laptop screens pressed too tightly onto keyboards. This, however, was never a problem with the Utility XL. Very nicely done, Venque. There are three holders for pens in this compartment as well, and three open compartments for phones, business cards, or possbly a cell phone, or a small notebook. There is also a zipper in the back that lets you store away power bricks, cables, and the like toward the middle of the bag. I found this to be a better solution to storing such things than putting them in a front pocket. Alternatively, this is also a good spot for valuables, such as a passport and travel documents if you’re in a place where you’re worried they might be stolen.
The Utility XL works well for most things, but maybe because it’s such a jack-of-all-trades, you don’t get everything you possibly could get in a commuter messenger bag or backpack proper. The large size and the lack of a water bottle sleeve, for example, grow out of the fact that the XL is so versatile. You can’t go smaller and still carry all that stuff, and by attaching a bottle holder you’d either lose a handle, or have a water bottle dangling precariously on the underside of the bag when in backpack mode. I’m completely fine with these tradeoffs.
There are some other things that I find somewhat confounding, though. Basically, it comes down to straps and zippers.
The Venque’s straps in backpack mode are of good quality and comfortably padded, but they are simply too long. They can be adjusted, but I never could get them tight enough so the bag was flush with my back. Biking especially was unnerving, the XL kept dangling about. This is also a problem when you’re walking for more than just a few minutes, as in airport terminals or through cities. I.e., pretty much whenever you’d prefer backpack mode over shoulder carry mode. Granted, this is a question of how tall you are, and of your body shape. But as a male of 180cm / 5’11” with a slim, athletic build and size medium for most shirts, it doesn’t feel like I should be out of the ordinary for Briefpack XL buyers. This issue could be solved either by shortening the straps (something that could be done aftermarket by a third party if desired) or by offering a cross-body strap of the type found on hiking backpacks. This would pull the contoured backpack straps towards the middle of the chest and thus make the bag sit closer to your back.
The supplied strap for carrying the XL messenger bag style is also comfortably padded. The padding covers most of the strap, but the “one size kinda fits all” approach also meets its match here. If you want to carry the bag not directly at your side, but slightly askew – which I’ve found is the most natural way to carry most messenger bags – the padded part pretty much covers all of your chest, but doesn’t reach all the way across your shoulder. A strap with an adjustable foam pad would have been preferable here. If you want to, it’s easy enough to attach pretty much any strap with a clasp, though you might be compromising the XL’s sleek aesthetics.
Lastly, the zippers are a bit of a mixed bag. There are three kinds: small internal zippers (I had no problems with these), small external zippers in the back, and larger zippers for all the various pockets.
The two small external zippers, under which are hidden the backpack straps when not in use, as well as a loop that lets you attach the XL to a larger piece of luggage in order to easily wheel everything through an airport or train station, don’t need to take much abuse. Still, they feel a little too rough for a product that otherwise appears premium in every way. On my XL, both zippers have an unfortunate tendency to open slightly just from rubbing up against my body when I am carrying the bag on my shoulder. In addition, one of them looks like it is permanently pulled apart a bit, and there is a noticeable “hump” you can feel whenever you open or close it. They will probably hold up just fine, but you will be reminded of the fact that they could be better quality every time you use them. Clearly, your mileage will vary on how much importance you attach to this.
The external zippers are well-dimensioned and they stay closed when you want them to. The zippers on the front pockets are a bit badly placed, but otherwise function well. The ones on the larger compartments, however, initially opened and closed a bit too roughly. One-handed opening of a compartment while wearing the bag wasn’t as smooth as I would have expected. Here’s hoping this will continue to improve with use.
So what’s the verdict? On the one hand, the XL is very versatile, sturdy, and good-looking. If you’ve been searching for the one bag that does it all, that’s good for a day at the office, a weekend away or a one-week trip even, if you’re packing light, this is the best design at this price point I’ve come across. Other makers, such as Swiss company Qwstion, may have comparable offerings (like their similar-looking Weekender, Overnighter or 3 Day Travel Bag), but you’ll either easily pay in excess of $100 more for the most expensive one from that line-up than you would for the XL, or you forego the XL’s size. On the other hand, if a bag that is touted as being both a backpack and a messenger bag is lacking in either of these modes, you may just be better off with a dedicated bag in your preferred style. Venque’s own Milano, Hamptons and Amsterdam models may be a better bet for many who already own dedicated weekenders, duffels, or other short term travel bags.
In terms of functionality, fit, and finish, the Venque is almost there. It’s almost the bag you want, but not yet quite. Maybe the production run after the Kickstarter deliveries will have solved some of these niggling problems. I hope so. The XL is already pretty close to what it could be.
This is essentially a three-out-of-five star bag that’s really closer to 3.5 stars, and with a few improvements could be even better. While I don’t love it unconditionally, I like it and will continue to use it.
They took our Kodachrome away but we soldiered on. That we, film photographers, has had to see their medium of choice sink from a given of modern life to a specialist niche in no time flat. Where I live, I’m lucky to be in close walking distance of two drugstores that sell and process film, and two specialized photo shops that do the same. But most of us aren’t that lucky. It’s hard to shoot film in a digital world, at least when it comes to selection and availability.
A recent article on the photography website PetaPixel reminded me of the glee with which sometimes this “victory” of digital photography is lorded over the dying breed of picture makers who rely on arcane chemical processes instead of CMOS sensors. That article, ably penned by Randall Armor (ably except for a paragraph in which he tries to refute an argument by not responding to it on account of how ridiculous it supposedly is – that just rubs my academic self the wrong way) makes salient points here, gets ranty there, and ends, perhaps surprisingly, on a conciliatory note. Armor did not start the argument, to be fair. Neither did Sam Cornwell, arguing in favor of film photography, who came up with the list of reasons that Armor sets himself the task to refute point by point.
But by following the list format of pros and cons that seems to be the only way now people are told to make sense of the world, I think they both utterly miss the point. This is not a “fight” anymore that one format or the other wins by being inherently better at something objectively measurable. The medium, in some aspects, really is the message here. The fact that technology has enabled us to do certain things, and that for various reasons people seem to like those things, leads to an expectation that they will be provided.
Excuse my crypticness. What I mean, and let’s use the example of news photography here because it’s one of the starkest contrasts between the two “ages” of photography, is that technology has enabled us to take many more pictures for less money and then spread them more easily faster. In-focus, split-second, high-megapixel pictures or it didn’t happen. Sure, you could buy a Nikon F5 – twenty years ago the dream of many a freelancer, certainly – today and try to compete with the people who take digital pictures on their digital big guns with high ISO values, but you’d be at a clear disadvantage. You get 36 images to a roll and have to develop them. They get thousands to an SD card and can beam each one wirelessly to their newsrooms with no extra effort. And that newsroom expects more pictures than it used to. To put in their online slideshows, to select that one perfect moment in a series of twenty shots that look almost the same. To provide content for a content-hungry world. That game has clearly changed, and so have many others.
But does that matter one bit to the people in those bubbles where film is a viable option? The aspiring artist, the working portrait photographer who lovingly fondles their Hasselblad, or the newly minted Holga shooter? There is no versus here. No one goes home with a trophy after winning the film vs. digital debate. Armor’s article tries to defeat film photography by dragging it into a competition where the attributes that digital excels at dominate. If the question then is “is it better?,” the answer has to be “no.” But why is that even the right question to ask? What makes a technology “better” at being the thing you happen to like?
The only answer ever necessary on either side of the debate is precisely “because I like it.” The pursuit of happiness isn’t conditional. It is not something that can only be enjoyed by those who have convincing answers to questions that some panel of expert judges deems important to pose. So you’re into photography. Great. Artistic expression in any medium doesn’t need justification. It’s not like you’re doing anyone a disservice by performing brain surgery with IKEA cutlery here. No lives are lost when you choose one method or the other. There are certain things film is not good at, but then don’t use it for those things. Or maybe use it exactly for those things to challenge yourself. To have fun. To make art. To earn a living. To express yourself as a person. Stop making lists and make more pictures instead. Stop dividing the world in two. Just chill.
It’s one of those quotes that just won’t go away. It’s recited everywhere, whenever anyone wants to make the point that it’s the artist, and not the brush. Ok. We get it. Those who can’t measurebate. Those who can, well, they just go out and do. Take pictures that is.
You can hear that sentiment repeated over and over again, echoing through the ages. But, much like any other piece of eminently quotable drivel, from the insidious to the inspirational, it doesn’t become truer the morer. In fact, it hugely oversimplifies and denigrates the choice of tools for particular jobs. “Give a child a hammer,” the saying goes, “and the world becomes a nail.” Variations on this “law of the hammer” or “law of the instrument” are to be found all over the place, and the idea relates to analytical concepts from a wide range of academic disciplines, from psychology to economy. (Sidebar: Elsewhere, names like Habermas, Maslow, and Twain get thrown in for good measure. It’s not surprising that they may have had the insight, but it seems improbable that either came up with this idea first.)
“The camera doesn’t matter” is a variation on this, but flips it on its head: if you have a hammer, you can tackle any problem. It’s the un-ironicizing of a purposely ironic idea, if you will. The quote is catchy, no doubt, and it comes with the cachet of being attributed to and having been repeated by many influential voices in photography. The always divisive Ken Rockwell pontificates on it, and Chase Jarvis, yet another internet photography community mainstay, shot a whole photo book with his iPhone. He says that the best camera is the one you have with you. They’re not alone, and certainly not altogether incorrect.
The problem with the “camera doesn’t matter” statement is not the intent in its most benign reading. That is, the sentiment that you can go out there with what you have – iPhone, Rolleiflex, dad’s old point and shoot, sister’s first “serious” SLR from the 1990s – and get something out of it. An image, a learning experience, and hopefully some enjoyment. The problem begins when the sentence is interpreted to mean that equipment never matters.
While buying a high-end DSLR and some showstopping lenses and then ending up with the same uninspired shots with cut off heads that you took with that old APS pocket camera is a major source of frustration among newly minted photographers, it’s not the only valid frustration they have. Not being able to get the kinds of pictures that you wanted because you don’t have the camera you need for them is a close second.
So here’s my take: The camera does matter.
Luckily, this view has gained some popularity during the last couple of years. Sure, there is value to downsizing your gear ambitions. Fstoppers’ David Geffin wrote an article in 2013 on the evils of “Gear Acquisition Syndrome” and why one doesn’t need thousands of dollars worth of stuff to make a good photo. But in the same article he also talked about creative ways to deal with the insufficiencies of certain types of equipment, that, when overcome, will make for a better picture. That’s all nice and good, but what if your ambition is not to spend hours in photoshop (the program itself a not inconsiderable expense) but to simply set up your shot and have the outcome you want, as an exposed frame on film or an in-camera JPEG? No, a professional camera won’t make you a professional. And neither will a cheap crappy one take the experience and vision away from a great photographer. But there are several ways in which equipment influences your ability to take pictures, and they fall broadly in two categories: technical – and I include both artistic vision and the benefits of certain techniques or processes of achieving it in this category, and cultural – which has implications both at the end of taking a photo, and at that of selling images in a marketplace.
From a technical point of view, you sometimes need a certain type of technology to make a certain type of image. Night time shots require flashes, or fast lenses and/or high ISO sensors or film. Telezooms, high burst rates and fast autofocus may be he only way to get once-in-a-lifetime shots of sports events. Portraits, to most people’s eyes, will look more pleasing when there’s pleasant bokeh in the background, and when you use a portrait lens.
If your artistic vision is wholly based on making polaroid transfers, low-fi Lomo type shots, or wall-wide panoramas of the Arctic, you just may require an instrument that is actually capable of providing the material – and at least in the latter case, one that is able to withstand the environment. Depending on who you are and what your ideas or needs are, that might not be the same camera I’d pick for any of these. But only some cameras are capable of certain types of pictures. Great artists and capable professionals know how to work around insufficiencies in their tools, but only to a certain extent. You may be able to fix many things with gaffer’s tape, but it is only the best possible solution for some of them.
Now, assuming that the symbiosis of you and your equipment is technically capable to create the images you desire – or have been commissioned to provide – all is still not equal. The cultural factor comes in many guises. Much like any market, the one for photography is not quite as rational as the followers of Gary Becker would have you believe. People don’t have all the information, and they don’t shop around only for what is actually the best deal (be that the cheapest possible option, the most prestigious one, etc.). They want what they want for sometimes spurious reasons.
Photographers have ways of influencing what these are. Both as a group, and individually. But here’s the rub: If clients have been made believe (maybe by seeing the results of similar projects and attributing them to cameras more than vision or talent, or by other photographers who have to justify their multi-thousand-dollar purchase of that high-powered Nikon or digital back) they desperately need upwards of 30 Megapixels of resolution to print a billboard, even when 4 used to do nicely in the late 90s, they will seek out photographers that can provide that. If you are just starting out with a camera that may be able to deliver the goods but does not look the part, then good luck to you competing with those who have ones that do. The tools are part of your image as a professional or serious amateur. They tell part of the story that prospective clients will need to hear in order to hire you. Owning a Hasselblad has never hurt anyone’s case for being considered a pro.
The reason why no one can agree on the needs, musts and don’ts here becomes obvious once we look at the discussion from this point of view: cultural implications are not exactly the same anywhere, and markets keep on evolving constantly under our feet. Being a fashion photographer in New York in the 1980s is not the same as being one there today – or in 1960, or 1940. It is also not the same as being a wedding photographer in Tokyo at any date in time, or the person who takes passport pictures in Kuala Lumpur. A recent episode of the Lonely Photographers podcast centered around the discussion of whether film is dead or not. Both photographers who talked about the matter serve a roughly equivalent marketplace in about the same cultural space. Predictably, the discussion went nowhere. Both liked the look and feel of film to some extent, but both contended that the realities of their businesses made it impractical for them to use it. The conclusion they reached was to ask others who might have heard the show to tell them about their experiences. It was pretty much the only thing they could do.
But the cultural context is by no means limited to who you sell your pictures to, if indeed you do. It is just as important when you take them. If you take pictures of people, this is most clearly visible. While generalizations always fall short of reality, it is nonetheless true that many people react differently to different cameras. Here a “big gun” SLR is often a mixed blessing. The same thing that makes it a perfect professional tool in some settings, such as a studio or photo shoot with hired models, can induce paranoia when you’re walking around town trying to get candid street shots. This is why many street photographers sing the praises of Leicas, mirrorless cameras, and point-and-shoots. (Your personality will also matter here. Chuck Jines walks around Chicago armed with pocket-sized prints of his work and conspicuous Nikons, and he pulls it off). Old-timey TLRs, as a rule, though just as conspicuous, will raise interest rather than suspicion. Smartphone snapshots of anyone and everything have become so common that hardly anyone notices you taking one anymore, now matter how conspicuous. Places that have signs up with crossed-out cameras have begun realizing that they cannot control the sheer mass of people snapping selfies in front of the exhibition. I recently took an instagram shot inside one such museum, and it was promptly favorited by the museum’s official account.
What is the takeaway, if any, of all of this? By saying that the camera does, in fact, matter, I’m not saying that it is always quite as much the deciding factor as many are led – or lead themselves to – believe. Many perfectly acceptable options are cheap, and much expensive gear will give you benefits in extreme situations, but not much beyond that. Do you really care how some piece of machinery rates in an arbitrary test put together according to criteria possibly irrelevant to you, and written by people whse motives and point of view is always at least a bit questionable? Or do you just want to take some pictures? What matters is whether you get the results you want. Are you being honest to yourself about what you can achieve with what you have? There’s a saying that you should “beware the shooter with one gun” because they will surely know how to use it. While you’re unlikely to fall into a timehole and land in the Old West anytime soon, it’s still good advice. Know the tools you have and use them to their full capabilities before you feel jumpy about upgrading. But don’t be held back by some obscure belief that at the nexus of vision and technology, one of the above does not matter. Getting a new camera because you need it to do something the old one can’t (even if that thing is just “look professional”) is perfectly fine. So is doing it if you don’t, but just would like to have it, given you can afford it. But they are both very different things, and it makes little sense to confuse them. If you do, you’re bound to be disappointed.
Now excuse me, I’m going to head out there and take a polaroid portrait, some night time images with a fast prime lens, a picture of that bird that’s nesting in the yard, and a few instagram images of my lunch to be posted ASAP. And no, I won’t be using the same camera for all of them. I suppose I could, but the pictures would be very different than the ones I intend to take.
Note: The images in this post were taken with various cameras, and are of all kinds of subjects. My aim is to provide some “as is” samples of pictures that were taken with the tool I had handy at the moment. You can judge for yourself whether the camera was up to the job.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the decade (or by now, decades, I guess) old debate of analogue vs. digital when it comes to photography.
There’s much to be said for each side. And I agree with both of them. One is faster, more economical. The other more permanent and deliberative. And whoever wants to discount one or the other as a whole is arguing from personal incredulity, from a limited horizon, an inability to see what uses a world population numbering in the billions could find for literally any technology ever developed.
I love the analogue world, and I love the digital world. I grew up during what is now recognized as the digital revolution. But for a while the old and the new way of doing things existed side by side. Pictures of me as a child were, by necessity, all on film. The first digital picture of me was taken at a trade fair in my home town of Ulm, Germany sometime during the late 1980s. I have long forgotten which forward-thinking company had set up a booth with their then high tech instruments to take pictures of willing attendees. But I remember that my parents sat, one after the other, both me and my brother on the little chair the photographers had set up, and had our pictures taken.
Today these pictures exist only as a faded black and white needle prints of low resolution, hanging on the wall of a staircase at our parents’ house. In what presages a huge problem of today’s digital world, long time archiving of images and documents, the only reason the images still exist is because they were printed out. No one in the 1980s would have thought to offer digital media of raw image data as the end product of a photo session.
My first cameras were 35mm point and shoots. Most of the slides and negatives I took with them during the ’90s still exist in boxes somewhere. Ready to be rediscovered. Analogue has an edge on digital here. In a hundred years, barring flood or fire, they will still be there. But while archiving is always on my mind (I’m a historian, it comes with the territory), the main thing I’ve been thinking about lately, is the problem of scarcity in photography. It’s way of approaching the taking of pictures, and it’s a different but related issue to the archival one.
With film, the number of pictures one can take at a time is limited. 1 for sheet film. Typically between 9 and 36 with various types of roll film. I’d wager the most you can get out of a regular 35mm film cartridge and still achieve acceptable picture quality is around 75 half frame shots. But half frame is not a typical format. For most people the magic number is between 12 and 36 frames before you need to pause and reload. That’s between 12 and 36 pictures before you need to decide to spend time, money, and effort reloading your camera and taking additional pictures. Compare that to a 32GB SD card, an average size these days, which depending on resolution and quality will easily hold up to a couple of thousand pictures. It’s no contest.
Yet, I don’t come away with more keepers when I go out with my digital camera, compared to an analogue one. Digital is like commercial fishing with a net. Analogue is standing in a creek with a fishing rod. Analogue teaches you to get it right, and to move on with your life if you didn’t. Much like pen on paper, what’s written cannot easily be erased. Like most things in the world, that can be a good thing, but also a limitation.
Garry Winogrand, who used to take hundreds of shots in one outing, constantly reloading his Leica with yet another roll of 36 exposure film, has been called the “first digital photographer.” That’s not wrong, when you look at his approach, which used to be atypical, and now has become commonplace because of digital technology, the great enabler. His standing allowed him a way of working inaccessible to those who did not have the name, or the money.
I recently read an article about a photographer who revealed the process behind a stunning portrait he had taken. He had set his camera to take the maximum of consecutive shots per second, picked it up, pointed it at his subject, and let fly. He ended up with more than a hundred similar pictures, and one that was worth keeping. He took it, and cropped and post-processed it to his liking. I was dumbfounded. That was not what I had come to regard as photography. That was shooting some video and then choosing and cropping out a freeze frame.
But I caught myself. I should not discount the image because of the way it was created. Instead, I should acknowledge that someone had found a way of working that let them produce stunning imagery. Why should I care how they did it? As with every technology or technique, as the field matures you need to do something different to distinguish yourself. That might include getting better at whatever that field defines as craftsmanship. Or it might mean redefining what is needed in order to be where you want to be.
We can bemoan that working photographers today do not even know the basics anymore. But it certainly doesn’t help that many of these complaints have an air of ageism – towards young people, in this case – and sexism: an old guard of very technically well versed male photographers needing to reassure themselves that young people, and young women especially, can’t be good photographers just because they produce good images, as long as they don’t understand the arcana of the techno-priesthood. Because reasons. But who gets do define what the basics are 175 years after photography first came into the world? Who after all, are we to judge today’s farmers for not being able to plough a field with a team of oxen anymore?
Myself, I’ve made peace with the inadequacies of each approach, digital or film. I don’t raise my eyebrows anymore when pros and amateurs alike clock in at 500+ photos per day. I’m no purist when it comes to using filters before an image goes into Photoshop, getting exposures right in camera, or getting shots spirit level straight. Turns out, you can fix things in post. Whether you choose to or not is nobody’s business but your own. But when it comes to my way of seeing, I’m still much more of an analogue photographer. I remember the first time I finished a film, the 12 exposure roll that came with a red Konica Pop Super I was given for my ninth birthday, and was shocked to realize that I’d blown the opportunity to take any more photos. I remember how carefully I then planned how many shots I had for any given period of time, be it a trip, vacation, or other event. I also recall that, when I first entered the digital age, I would shoot with no abandon, capturing dozens of frames of the same thing, and somehow never being quite inspired while doing it. Whereas, when I picked up a film camera again two years or so ago, it became part of who I was, and of how I saw things. When shooting digital pictures, I now usually leave the huge memory cards at home. Instead, I’ll go out with two or three 1GB cards. At the highest picture quality setting, that’s 27 exposures in my Fuji X100s.
Gear Acquisition Syndrome – “GAS” or “gas” – is one of the most insidious things about photography. Admit it, you *know* you don’t need more than one camera. But if you’re like me (and if you came here by googling “GAS,” while I can’t speak for any other similarities, at least when it comes to buying cameras, we seem to be in the ballpark), you still can’t resist acquiring several. And then several more. Because they were cheap. Because they looked cute, or cool, or interesting. Because they have emotional or historical cachet. It’s why I still am longing for a full set of A. Schacht lenses: they were made in Ulm, Germany, the city I was born in, and where I spent my childhood and teenage years. It’s why I’m only barely controling my trigger finger when it hovers over a “Buy It Now” for a Leica M6 in good condition.
There’s inspiration to be had by the greats, no doubt. Who, if they’re into photography, hasn’t wanted to duplicate the wanderings of Henri Cartier Bresson or Garry Winogrand with their iconic rangefinder cameras, or wished for a Crown Speed Graphic because Weegee used one? Who could resist the temptation of a large format field camera or a medium format Hasselblad? After all, those were the preferred tools of quasi-god of landscape imagery, Ansel Adams?
I confess, when I read that William Eugene Smith’s famous Miramata documentary series was shot on black Minolta SR-T 101’s, I went straight to eBay to look if I could score one. Despite the fact that I already own a silver colored SR-T 100x, a close cousin. And after seeing, hidden in the back of Luigi Ghirri’s book “Kodachrome,” that he had used a Canon AT1, I googled that model immediately.
Is there something wrong with me? I am very much aware of the fact that more gear frequently only means more things that can break, or get lost. It doesn’t usually mean better pictures. Sure, if you’re a professional, you might really need an 800mm telephoto lens, or a fisheye, or a zoom that’s image stabilized and goes to f2.8 throughout the range. You might live or die by fast autofocus and high ISOs. But then again, “professional” is one hell of a sliding scale of a term, as evidenced by so many opinions out there in the wilds of the web of what constitutes a pro, and what the things are that professionals need or don’t need. Who are we counting? People shooting iPhone pictures to accompany blog posts for which they’re getting paid, if only a pittance? In the strictest sense of the word, we should. Do we count visual artists? Even those who purposely use “vintage” equipment? Small town newspaper shooters, just starting out, provided that species still exists? Wedding photographers who have shot exactly one wedding, or three hundred, or anything in between?
When it comes to the definition of what a professional photographer is, people usually have an idea in their mind that they then present to others, and they make claims based on that idea. They spent years being a sports photographer, and thus proclaim that no professional would ever buy anything but an SLR because of course, we need crazy reliable autofocus and still image frame rates that would but a Super 8 motion picture to shame. And of course, if that image that’ll show up as a maximum 6×4 cm rectangle on a newspaper page or at 150dpi online via the AP isn’t sharp corner to corner, you’re never going to work in this town again. Or they insist that shooting film for weddings is passé, and impossible in this day and age, because you need to be able to give your clients turnaround times that rival that of Smart car. Because, else.
The simple truth is, whether you’re professional, amateur, or somewhere in between, your needs will not be the same as anyone else’s. Sure fashion photographers all work exclusively on medium format. Except those who don’t. Sure, you need at least two reflectors and three speedlight flashes with you at any given time. Unless that’s not your style, and you’ve never even owned a flash.
After getting serious about photography again a year or so ago, it took me about a week to buy my first analog camera, and about six months to decide that what I needed for my style of shooting was a digital Fuji X100s, because all over the internet people loved it for its compactness, image quality, and style. But if I’m honest, this camera – the one I spent by far the most money on – only left me wanting for the thing that it pretends to be but isn’t, a 35mm film Leica.
Maybe if I get that Leica, I’ll finally be content, and will only spend money on film and more of their exorbitantly expensive lenses. But it’s also possible that I’ll soon set it aside and reach for one of my much cheaper SLRs again. Because the camera that’s “you,” much like your personal style, your way of speaking, walking and what you like to eat and watch on TV, is something that happens to you, something that’s not a result but a process. My girlfriend has none of my problems. I gave her a Minolta X300s last year, bought used with a 50mm f1.7 lens from a small camera store in town. When we go out on a photo walk, I stand before my shelf of candidates like a deer in the headlights and eventually decide on something that will likely make me wish I’d brought something else instead later in the day. She grabs her Minolta. She grabs hercamera. Because that’s what it is. There’s no contender.
Unlike her, I haven’t found my spiritual home camera yet. (I also credit her with coining that term, by the way). The closest I can come is probably my aforementioned SR-T 100x. The first SLR I ever bought in my life, in the summer of 2013 at a thrift store/antique shop near Munich’s Rotkreuplatz. The money I paid for it was less than what it cost to have it CLA’d, and less also than the leather strap I bought to carry it. The list of things it doesn’t do is longer than the list of things it does. But there’s something right about it. Maybe I keep recalling the words of the seasoned camera repairman that I brought it to for adjustment not long after acquiring it: “Good camera. Very reliable. Good lens. Very sharp.” And really, is there anything else you ever need to know about your camera?
The Fuji X100s, and its predecessor, the X100 before it, have received bothaccolades and disparagament from many a commentator during the past three years or so. Though the camera is not everything to everyone, it seems that it is one thing: everybody’s favorite digital rangefinder camera that’s not actually a rangefinder.
This is now a camera category. With its digital X-series of retr0-styled – read: designed to look and work the way that most cameras actually looked and worked from the early 20th century until the mid-1980s – cameras, Fuji hit a nerve. It didn’t hurt that its postmodern forays into yesteryear produced more than acceptable digital pictures. Some photographers even seemed to rediscover an analogue soul in the by now bewildering number of digital offerings from a company that still makes, and importantly, still calls itself, Fujifilm.
The Fuji X100/s had the looks and many advantages of a rangefinder complete with close enough simulations of favorite Fuji film stocks, some ironically long discontinued in real life. As the owner of an X100s who began once again taking photos on film a little over a year ago, I wondered: was there an analogue equivalent? And not an expensive Leica M series camera, a somewhat less expensive but still not-cool-if-you-leave-that-on-the-bus C0ntax G, or one of the plethora of fixed lens rangefinders from the 1960s through early 1980s. No, those were fun, but I wanted something for those occasions when the camera I brought would be cheap, competent, and idiot proof.
Was there a camera, conceived at the time with a good fixed lens, 35mm or so field of view, some automation, and built in flash? Something that could be used like an X100S in program mode for unobtrusive pictures of streets, buildings, and most importantly, people? Something, in short, that I could carry everywhere instead of my trusty, but heavy and very very manual Rollei 35T? This is where, by way of an unexpected side entrance, the Minolta Hi-Matic AF2 appears on the scene.
In the late 1970s, the all-metal, mostly manual operation design language of SLR cameras was slowly but surely on its way out. Canon introduced the AE1, which in 1981 gave way to the AE1 Program, and on the heels of those cameras’ successes, Minolta thought it could capture the mass market with something a little cheaper and a little more technically advanced than it’s top of the line XD 7 (a.k.a. XD 11) camera. That something was the Minolta X-700, and it was a design they felt no great rush to update. In fact, it continued to be made well into the 1990s.
The X-700 sold, and it sold well. This would ultimately enable Minolta to throw some of the money earned into research and development for what became the Alpha (a.k.a. Maxxum, a.k.a. Dynax) 7000. The 7000 would set the standard for all autofocusing SLR cameras. Though today it exudes a naive 1980s charm, all the major elements of today’s high tech digital Canons, Sonys, and Nikons are already present in this, their ancestor. The 7000 had autofocusing built into the camera, not the lens (as Canon’s first attempt at the technology did), an LCD display, motorized film transport, and a menu system for settings. It was a technological achievement, and a commercial success.
Before that, however, Minolta had released a point and shoot autofocus camera that showed its old school rangefinder heritage: the Hi-Matic AF. Introduced in 1979, the AF was part of a class of small, semi-automatic cameras from different Japanese manufacturers that looked much the same. Konica’s C35 AF led the way in 1977. It used the simple passive autofocusing system patented by Honeywell. Canon’s AF35M (also in the guises of SureShot and AutoBoy) was not too far behind in November of 1979. Minolta’s entry, still featuring the cursive mid century modern logo that had branded their cameras since the 1960s, innovated on details (it had an auto focus lock, so you were not limited on getting the middle of your picture in focus, but could recompose after having focused), but otherwise stayed the course.
In 1981, coinciding with the release of the X-700, and the unveiling of Minolta’s new round, blue “rising sun” logo thought up by graphic design legend Saul Bass, the Hi-Matic AF got a makeover and became the AF2, to bring its look subtly in line with the X-700. Both were affordable yet not cheap, solidly performing cameras in their respective niches. A typical camera store ad in Popular Photography from 1983 prices an X-700 with two lenses and a few extras at just under $300 (US). The AF2, with an ambitious original list price of $250 sold for $100, including the case, two years after its introduction. (The AF2-M was $140).
Both sported a sleek, black, angular look that is forever associated with the 1980s – the technotronic age of Casio, early home computers, and MTV. The AF’s autofocusing system was updated from a passive one to an active one, rivaling the Canon AF35M’s.
In 1982, the AF2 received an even more modern, motorized sister, the AF2-M. The trend towards small, ever more automatic cameras usable even by absolute photography beginners was well on its way. Its current outgrowth is the smartphone camera: good enough for most people most of the time, but not longer a dedicated tool with manual settings and professional control over image parameters.
The camera that now sits on the table next to me, liberated from – judging from the almost imperceptible strands of lens fungus that adorn the rear element of the 38mm f2.8 lens that produces joyful color and sharp black and white images – a damp closet or garage, still looks almost pristine. The mold would have rendered it useless (“uneconomical to repair”) before too long, but it’s not now noticeable on pictures, and since the fungus that in wet climates so often attacks optical lenses is averse to UV light, it’s all the more reason to take this camera out and about and just… shoot.
After a few days worth of research and search search on eBay, this particular AF2 was mine for under $20 including shipping. It takes two regular AA batteries, and any kind of 35mm film you want to throw at it, but has a maximum ISO of 400 in its exposure settings. The manual remarks that you should set it for ISO 400 when using ISO 1000 film. In all likelihood this means that the camera will treat it like ISO 400 film, but that the manual writers felt confident the one stop plus change overexposure would not hurt the resulting images. Since the AF2 has a built in pop-up flash, I haven’t found the 400 ISO limitation particularly problematic yet.
The flash is small and not particularly powerful, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s enough for pictures of individuals or small groups, and that’s fine by me. I appreciate that the camera will beep if there’s low light, but won’t insist on activating the flash before firing. To activate it, move the “flash on” slider and hear it pop up with a satisfying clack. Charge time seems to be about five seconds when depleted, less if there’s still some charge left. The flash can also be used when there’s plenty light, as a fill flash, for example. The fact that the AF2 has a leaf shutter makes this all the more exciting and useful.
My AF2 came with a set of third party tele and wide lens converters and small goggles to indicate the changed field of view in the camera’s viewfinder. They seem like nice additions, but are by no means essential to enjoy the camera. They screw into the AF2’s 46mm filter mount if you need them. In this, they resemble the screw on lenses offered by Fuji for the X100 and X100s, though I would wager the newer lenses, benefitting from the fact that they are made by the manufacturer of the camera, and use electronic corrections applied in camera, offer much better picture quality.
In fact, the 2010s era digital X100s and the 1980s film AF2 have quite a few things in common. They both look like, but are not rangefinders. They have fixed lenses with similar fields of view (23mm f2 on APS-C format on the Fuji, 38mm f2.8 on 35mm on the Minolta), share a similar size, have autofocus and an on board flash that can be activated or deactivated according to the user’s wishes. They have decent build quality, though the edge goes to the Fuji, with the Minolta’s plastic wind lever and rewind spool looking a bit more flimsy than necessary. They are quickly ready to shoot, and both give good picture quality, though of course each offers the up- and downsides of its respective kin in the film vs. digital debate. They are both quiet cameras. Both use leaf shutters. The Minolta’s goes off with a small “snitch” sound that almost sounds like a repressed sneeze, while the Fuji’s clicks almost imperceptibly.
For some applications, they actually can fill the same photographic niche. If you need a good quality camera for street, travel, people, or vacation photography and aren’t looking for full image control, either will easily suffice.
There are, of course, differences. If you need something to take white water rafting, the cheap old Minolta might be a better bet than the expensive Fuji. Likewise, if you need instant feedback and digital turnaround times, only the Fuji will do. Also, 30 years of camera development have not been for nothing. The Fuji has video, manual controls, and the high ISOs nowadays associated with big sensored digital cameras. If I needed to pick just one camera to do everything, the Fuji it would be. Then again, the Fuji is battery hungry and uses proprietary lithium rechargeables, while the Minolta happily sips AA batteries, alkaline or rechargeable, of any provenance. The Fuji is also $1300 sans case, while a fully functional AF2 will set you back an average of $20. That’s 65 AF2s for the price of one Fuji. Film, of course, costs money, but so do SD cards, backup hard disks, and extra batteries.
Why would one even attempt to compare two products from a full human generation apart that were designed for different people in different eras? For the same reason that one would ever look back at history; to try and understand where we are now, and understand how we got here. Also, to remind oneself that the amount of money you invest in a gadget often has very little correlation to the enjoyment you can get out of it.
So, what is there to consider if you want to buy an AF2? Luckily, not a whole lot. If you’re trolling garage sales or looking on eBay, make sure the shutter and flash work. Even sellers that do not know anything about cameras can often be asked to pop in batteries and try out those fundamental functions if you tell them the AF2 takes common AA batteries. Since the case was usually sold with the camera, most AF2s today still come in one. It’s a useful thing to have. I usually use mine as a bottom half case and bring the lens cap if I need to throw the Hi-Matic in a bag (the lens cap also prevents the shutter from firing accidentally). Check if there’s bad lens fungus, unless you’re going for an artsy out of focus vibe in your pictures. Finally, as a result of 1970s and 1980s Japanese camera manufacturers’ reliance on foam to make their cameras light tight, your AF2 will likely have some of that now degraded foam gunking up its film compartment.
This can easily though somewhat messily be cleaned out using some toothpicks, cotton swab, and rubbing alcohol. The little Minolta does not seem to rely on the foam to keep the film in its belly from undue exposure, however. I cleaned out all the foam, and immediately put a test roll through it without any visible light leaks. Eventually, I’m sure I’ll put light seals back just to be on the safe side, but it seems to me that if you keep the bottom case on while you use the camera, you won’t have much trouble.
Apart from that, the AF2 offers some useful functions, a very good and reasonably fast lens, enough automation to capture quick snapshots without feeling like an overengineered plastic wonder that whirrs and whines at the most inopportune moments, and a fun throwback design that looks perfectly in tune with Minolta’s SLR offerings from the same era.
If you want to learn the nuts and bolts of exposure and film photography, then the AF2 is not for you. It is for you if you like the look of film, but don’t much care about the technical ins and outs of photography, or if you already have a more manual camera and want something smaller, faster, and cheaper to accompany you every day, or during a vacation trip where expensive gear is liable to get stolen or damaged (beach, anyone?).
If you need any more convincing, just look at the pictures.
I’ve found myself shooting more and more with a camera I picked up on a whim this summer, the Minolta X-700.
Information isplentifulonlineabout this camera. It was introduced in 1981, and could be bought new still in 1999. In essence, it was produced from a time when you could still buy all-metal all-manual SLRs new until the digital era began.
Minolta’s Rokkor SR-mount lenses have a reputation for being mostly excellent, and can be had cheaply these days, mostly because no digital camera will natively support them. The only way to use them on a digital camera is with an adapter, and the only camera so far that will accept them and also take full-frame pictures is the recently released Sony A7/A7R.
The X-700 is certainly no high-tech whiz-bang DSLR-type wonder of microchiped technology these days, but it also doesn’t feel ancient when you use it. Its claim to fame in the early 1980s was its P-Mode, which selects aperture and shutter speed automatically, leaving only focusing to the photographer. Yes, that’s not a big thing now. It was a big thing then.
Certainly, the emphasis here was on simplicity, and the X-700 delivers. It’s the kind of camera you can hand off to a complete photography newbie, and as long as they get the focus right, usable pictures will result.
But the X-700 also lets you take control and experiment.
The only major quibble I have with the camera so far is that it doesn’t like the cold. At all. It frequently needs coercing to work in temperatures even slightly above freezing, though I recently purchased some lithium batteries that might help in that regard.
Despite being marketed as a professional camera initially, the X-700 never seems to have grabbed much of that market. It does have all the necessary accoutrements, however, including a massive motor drive. The motor drive is really something you’ll want for this camera. It simply feels good in your hand, and is a lot of fun to use.
Without it, the X-700 is nicely small and portable, especially with the 45/f2 lens that often comes attached to it. If walk-around type street photography is the name of your game, the X-700 – small, black, and with some really great and cheap fast primes – will deliver. Yes, the shutter is not completely silent. But neither is that of a modern DSLR.
With the drive and a portrait or zoom lens attached (the cheap and excellent MD 35-70/f3.5, a version of which was also sold as a Leica lens, is a favorite), the camera becomes a different beast. It will do a respectable-for-film 3.5 frames per second, and with the dedicated flash unit attached, it wouldn’t look out of place in the hands of a news photographer. Well, if there were any of those left. More likely, you’ll want to use that configuration for travel photography, if you don’t mind being that tourist with the big camera around their neck. The motor drive also has a dedicated shutter button for vertical pictures, so portraiture is another thing the X-700 excels at, especially with a matching through-the-lens flash such as the 360 PX that was once sold as an accessory.
The more I learn about analog photography, and about what styles of camera and photo-taking I prefer, the more I keep picking up the X-700. Once I weed out the camera collection I have, kind of accidentally, amassed over the past few months, I will likely get rid of many impulse buys and once seemingly good investments. Along with the Rollei 35, the Minolta X-700, however, is likely to stick around. The 35-70/f3.5 lens especially has proven wonderfully versatile. Provided I want to keep taking pictures with that one, the only real upgrade path from an X-700 (or any of the Minoltas) would be a Leica R camera. But that would mean switching to yet another obsolete camera system, and giving up one thing that adds to the X-700’s draw: it’s cheap, and so many were made that you’ll never worry about losing and replacing it. In fact, I already ended up with another X-700, and also its somewhat less capable sister, the XGM.