MP Guy
06-10-2005, 20:17
A Random Walk in Photography
My doubts began whilst wandering in the hectic streets of Kathmandu.
Each time I raised my camera to my eye, everyone within fifty yards
would turn and stare right into the lens. I might as well have been
wearing a sequined jacket and carrying a trombone: whatever I tried,
it was impossible to take a picture without somebody in the shot
staring, gesticulating, or demanding money. In short, something
about my manner was not discreet.
-- White Elephant
Eight days later, and at an altitude of 18 000 ft (5500 m), my doubts
had taken definite form. The SLR had to go. Down in the valley the
gigantic lens had caught people's attention. Up here its
tombstone-like weight was swinging into my ribs with every step.
After trying countless permutations I still hadn't found a practical
way of carrying my SLR in the mountains, except on my back. And my
friends weren't going to stop whilst I rummaged in my rucksack every
time I wanted to take a picture, not with another 25 km to walk
before dinner.
-- Buttoned Up
"How many megapixels is that?" It's the first thing anybody says when
they see a camera. Followed by, "Haven't you gone digital yet?"
Tiresome, but maybe they had a point. For sure there are some light
and small digital cameras - maybe one of these would suit me better
than an SLR. Plus for a gadget addict like me, the latest models
offer hours of entertainment: flip-out screens, in-camera effects,
endless options and modes, and even more buttons than my SLR (now
relegated to macro and wide-angle).
My digicam (as we 21st century photographers like to call them) has a
dozen modes, some fifty adjustable parameters, and can bark like a
dog when you press the shutter release. This is a serious camera.
It switches on in three or four seconds, zooms and focuses in another
couple of seconds, and takes the picture in just another second or
so. By which time the subject has got bored and gone for a cup of
tea.
The digital camera is easy to carry, and once you've switched off the
sound effects it's discreet too. But the response time lets it down
badly, and setting the exposure or focus manually is slow and
fiddly. And then it's just too easy to get lost in the menus: one
mistake in the settings, and that fleeting street scene is taken in
macro mode. Damn. Finally, I missed the simple pleasure of
developing pictures. Bashing a computer is somehow less fun than
sloshing chemicals around - but maybe that's just me.
-- Back to Basics
So I retreated to my darkroom in a blue funk, and dug out the very
first photographs I ever took. I had borrowed my Dad's battered
Werra rangefinder for a school trip. It had three rings, for shutter
speed, focusing and aperture (settings which are buried in
sub-sub-sub-menus on my digicam), and a non-functional light meter.
No eye-controlled autofocus, flash exposure bracketing, or gadgetry
of any kind. And the pictures were just fine: sharp, contrasty, and
mostly well exposed - in spite of the defunct light meter. It was
embarrassingly obvious that the gizmos on my two modern cameras were
not helping me to make good photographs.
I tried to find that old Werra, but my father explained (a little
ruefully) that it had not survived one of my later school trips. I
don't remember what I did to it. After some searching I acquired a
dusty Konica C35 rangefinder for a modest sum. I think the shop was
glad to get it off their hands; it certainly looked out of place
amongst all the shiny modern digicams and their sub-sub-sub-menus.
This isn't a technical review of the Konica. You can probably find
one on the web, along with an analysis of how many equivalent
mega-pixels it can manage, but that would be missing the point. The
rangefinder doesn't attract attention in the street. I can carry it
in my pocket when walking in the mountains. When you push the
button, it takes the picture right away. And it's virtually
impossible to muddle up the controls. Hardly surprising, then, that
it turns out better pictures.
My doubts began whilst wandering in the hectic streets of Kathmandu.
Each time I raised my camera to my eye, everyone within fifty yards
would turn and stare right into the lens. I might as well have been
wearing a sequined jacket and carrying a trombone: whatever I tried,
it was impossible to take a picture without somebody in the shot
staring, gesticulating, or demanding money. In short, something
about my manner was not discreet.
-- White Elephant
Eight days later, and at an altitude of 18 000 ft (5500 m), my doubts
had taken definite form. The SLR had to go. Down in the valley the
gigantic lens had caught people's attention. Up here its
tombstone-like weight was swinging into my ribs with every step.
After trying countless permutations I still hadn't found a practical
way of carrying my SLR in the mountains, except on my back. And my
friends weren't going to stop whilst I rummaged in my rucksack every
time I wanted to take a picture, not with another 25 km to walk
before dinner.
-- Buttoned Up
"How many megapixels is that?" It's the first thing anybody says when
they see a camera. Followed by, "Haven't you gone digital yet?"
Tiresome, but maybe they had a point. For sure there are some light
and small digital cameras - maybe one of these would suit me better
than an SLR. Plus for a gadget addict like me, the latest models
offer hours of entertainment: flip-out screens, in-camera effects,
endless options and modes, and even more buttons than my SLR (now
relegated to macro and wide-angle).
My digicam (as we 21st century photographers like to call them) has a
dozen modes, some fifty adjustable parameters, and can bark like a
dog when you press the shutter release. This is a serious camera.
It switches on in three or four seconds, zooms and focuses in another
couple of seconds, and takes the picture in just another second or
so. By which time the subject has got bored and gone for a cup of
tea.
The digital camera is easy to carry, and once you've switched off the
sound effects it's discreet too. But the response time lets it down
badly, and setting the exposure or focus manually is slow and
fiddly. And then it's just too easy to get lost in the menus: one
mistake in the settings, and that fleeting street scene is taken in
macro mode. Damn. Finally, I missed the simple pleasure of
developing pictures. Bashing a computer is somehow less fun than
sloshing chemicals around - but maybe that's just me.
-- Back to Basics
So I retreated to my darkroom in a blue funk, and dug out the very
first photographs I ever took. I had borrowed my Dad's battered
Werra rangefinder for a school trip. It had three rings, for shutter
speed, focusing and aperture (settings which are buried in
sub-sub-sub-menus on my digicam), and a non-functional light meter.
No eye-controlled autofocus, flash exposure bracketing, or gadgetry
of any kind. And the pictures were just fine: sharp, contrasty, and
mostly well exposed - in spite of the defunct light meter. It was
embarrassingly obvious that the gizmos on my two modern cameras were
not helping me to make good photographs.
I tried to find that old Werra, but my father explained (a little
ruefully) that it had not survived one of my later school trips. I
don't remember what I did to it. After some searching I acquired a
dusty Konica C35 rangefinder for a modest sum. I think the shop was
glad to get it off their hands; it certainly looked out of place
amongst all the shiny modern digicams and their sub-sub-sub-menus.
This isn't a technical review of the Konica. You can probably find
one on the web, along with an analysis of how many equivalent
mega-pixels it can manage, but that would be missing the point. The
rangefinder doesn't attract attention in the street. I can carry it
in my pocket when walking in the mountains. When you push the
button, it takes the picture right away. And it's virtually
impossible to muddle up the controls. Hardly surprising, then, that
it turns out better pictures.