Our photographer routinely handles cameras from many different eras, using them to take pictures rather than keeping them for display. Those that work best are neither the youngest ones nor the most expensive. What design features make for a long life?
Our photographer accompanied a pair of artists on a picture-taking expedition this past weekend. As expected, he has observations to make about old and new technology. But he was also driven to more general musings about the relationship between artists, their visions and their tools.
In the Five Colors Science & Technology library of photography are a number of old books that we still find interesting. Apart from details of procedures and chemistry that are hard to find elsewhere, they show the different ideas, through the years, of just what was a good photograph.
Our photographer is bemused by modern efforts to re-create, digitally, two of the least desirable qualities of fast film: high contrast and large grain. But the paradox of limitations and defects becoming highly sought-after features is not new, and is as widespread as ripped jeans.
We turn again to the theme of technology transforming society, or at least one part of it. With the invention of the 35mm still camera about a quarter of the way into the twentieth century, a whole area of life was suddenly opened up to photography. That was not the intention of the inventor, who was only looking for a lighter-weight way to take pictures himself.
This week our photography consultant had the opportunity to watch as two young people developed their first rolls of film. Of course he enjoyed their excitement at actually using this unfamiliar old technology, and was reminded that his own first roll was a long time ago. (It’s still available in the archives, but is—understandably—not brought out for printing very often.) More important, though, are his observations on learning things, which is not the same as being taught.
We mentioned, some weeks ago, that our webmaster had been assigned to develop the Five Colors S&T social media presence. This wasn’t because he’s an expert already, but because he wasn’t; in fact his inclinations tend toward weekends reading eighteenth-century essays by the light of a kerosene lamp. We thought that, apart from the fact that he generally does a decent job of anything, it would be good for him to do something unfamiliar and especially to have contact with people not like him. As Calvin’s dad (from the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes) would say, he’d build character.
Our photography correspondent writes:
This time I’m singling out a type of camera that, while instantly recognizable and quite common in the days of film, was never ubiquitous. Most people preferred other kinds. But those who used them were very firmly attached to them and had definitely chosen them over whatever else might be on the market. This type found a particular home, among professional photographers, with those who specialized in portraits and fashion shoots.
This design is called the twin-lens reflex (TLR if you’re advertising to sell or buy one in the cost-per-word section of the photo magazine). “Reflex,” when used about cameras, means that there’s a mirror involved somewhere. “Twin lens” is obviously appropriate. But why twin lenses? It’s not a stereo or a panorama camera, a kind that takes two pictures at once. Well, the short answer is you need one lens to keep an eye on what the other is doing.
Our photography consultant writes:
What most often strikes people now about this camera is the “retro” styling. What strikes the person called to operate it, however, especially someone used to simple things like the Brownie, are the controls. You can adjust the focus from about three feet to infinity; you can set the exposure to squint into the desert sun or gather the glimmer of late twilight, or anywhere in between. (Our astronomer has used the camera for exposures of twenty minutes!) These two controls may not sound like much, but suddenly you have enormous creative control in your hands. There’s also a remarkably good lens; add some versatile 35mm film and there is hardly anything a photographer cannot do.
The downside (and there is always a downside) is that you may not be a photographer, or at least not feel like one. There is no “automatic” or “program” mode in this Agfa: you have to set the focus and exposure yourself. There are things to help you, though, and ways to get decent results even if your photographic ambitions are modest.
Our photography consultant writes: The Brownie Hawkeye is one of a long line of Kodak cameras designed to get everyone taking pictures (on Kodak film, of course). It was inexpensive to make, being mostly a plastic box of air, and simple to use—there are no adjustments to make. In the ‘50s and ‘60s this was the kind of camera given to kids as their first chance at taking their own pictures. No doubt there are still tens of millions of shoeboxes under beds filled with snapshots of family, pets, the neighborhood and summer vacations, all produced by this camera and its close kin.
These are now a half-century old and more, and were not constructed with longevity in mind. One would never repair a Brownie; it would cost less to buy a new one. But their very simplicity means there’s not much to go wrong, and there are still many of these around in excellent working order.