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.
Fooling around with a certain bit of relatively recent technology prompted our photographer to ask the question: why are there so many pictures? Our main way of capturing reality, that great manifold of experiences, is still the two-dimensional image. Being a scientist he then sought an answer (where a philosopher might instead have fallen into existential doubt). It’s not so hard to work out, really, but does highlight something important about our memories, and how technology is changing them.
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 photographic consultant was somewhat bemused by the rise of the “selfie,” that picture of one’s self possibly including others, possibly including a situation or location, taken normally with a smart-phone camera and distributed immediately and electronically. Self-portraits are as old as art and pictures of the family in front of the Grand Canyon as old as Kodak Brownies, but the enormous flood of “selfie” shots seems to be a new phenomenon. An older generation is inclined to blame the self-centered Millenials, using the newest of technology mostly in an adolescent game of self-promotion.
We think, however, that the “selfie” instead demonstrates an interesting example of how a simple technological change can result in a social phenomenon. This is not to say that technology is a cause, but it enables unexpected things—when people are included.
Our photography consultant writes:
This is the ubiquitous 35mm SLR, the single-lens reflex camera, the design you’re most likely to have actually seen and touched. (The Contax of the picture is a lesser-known name, but still recognizable as the same type as millions of Nikons, Yashikas, Pentaxes, etc.) With its many variations it dominated photography from the 1960s to the end of the film era. In fact, one can argue that the current master of the field is only a modification of this type, as its name implies: digital single-lens reflex, DSLR.
One could also argue that for overall flexibility, ease of use and quality of results the SLR has never really been surpassed and that (as far as such a thing is possible) in this design we see photography perfected. Of course pictures are made by photographers, the camera being only a tool, but after its invention more professional photographers chose this kind than any other.
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.