Don’t emulate the Poles in 1939

I can claim some authority in writing about the ostrich-like behavior of my noble Polish ancestors in 1939. You see, my ancestry goes back for more centuries than I care to admit in that most conquered, yet most proud, of nations. When I was growing up, I looked around, and once old enough to appreciate these things, I realized we were poor. Why so?

That was in London. Back in 1939 when the Stukas threatened and the Panzers loomed and the Polish army prepared to charge on horseback, my parents placed all their valuables in a safe in Warsaw. You might well question this asset diversification strategy when the most powerful, aggressive nation known to man was massing on Poland’s borders. I hold no rancor for my parents’ behavior. Hindsight tends to be perfect and if I could only get the Wall Street Journal a day or two early, place just a couple of hot trades, I would be writing this from my Gulfstream private jet. It happened. Get over it.

My parents, of course, were in deep denial. After all, how do you move 15,000 acres of some of the most beautiful land man has seen? Deep denial. Like modern users of film.

To get in the mood for this piece, I thought I would turn on an LP, for old times’ sake. They do sound good, we all know that. If you can disregard the scratches, the click and pops, the cleaning ritual and on and on. So I pulled an old Louis Armstrong number out and it’s playing as I write. There on the inner sleeve, forgotten, was a lovely note from my dear departed mother to herself. She wrote ‘od Tomeczka’, meaning it was from me. I had given her this LP on December 7, 1985.

So what has all this to do with photography?

Well, that little note on the inner sleeve of the 20 year old LP speaks to obsolescence every bit as much as film speaks to the sea change in photography. Like Proust’s madeleine dipped in tea, it brought thoughts of the need for change flooding back to my brain.

Like most of us, I have been forced to change. LPs gave way to CDs. CDs eventually moved to the iPod, 300 discs in the space of a shirt pocket, fidelity uncompromised. The cathode ray tube gave way to the flat screen. VHS tapes moved on as DVDs came in. They must be due for obsolescence any time soon. How else are the electronics manufacturers going to stay alive?

And, like the aggressive German masses congregated on the border of my parents’ estate in September, 1939, that change is now rolling over the serious photographic world faster than we can begin to realize.

It started with the mass consumer. Easy prey for innovation, digital cameras were sprung on him seemingly overnight and, even if he still struggles to get the picture while squinting at the barely visible screen in broad daylight, the digital camera has become as de rigeur as the SUV. A staple of American life, meaning the rest of the world will follow in short order.

The professional press photographer got the idea three or four years ago when up-market SLRs started sporting acceptable definition and the city desk editor wanted to beat the competition with the latest picture of the celebrity of the day behaving badly. The studio and wedding professionals followed suit and Apple recently jumped on the bandwagon with software aimed solely at enhancing digital workflow with RAW files. It’s called Aperture. Some one third of the content in the leading Macintosh monthly, Macworld, is now dedicated to digital capture. Capture. That’s hip talk, I have learned, for snapping pictures.

The Art Photography set, however, held out, clutching their platinum prints to their troubled chests. Nothing can equal the quality of a darkroom print. Deep denial.

One second – I have to attend to my 80 year old technology and flip the LP after all of 20 minutes of playing time.

Well, I think the Art Photography set, while not wanting to admit it, is getting the idea. The last ball to fall.

I subscribe to a couple of top quality photo magazines. Strictly minority material. LensWork and View Camera. They showcase fine work and offer a good reading of the pulse of the market.

LensWork has a very high opinion of itself, right down to its small size masquerading as Art. The magazine has very high production values. Printing is fabulous (as it should be for so small a format), writing is excellent, the whole thing reeks of quality. Until a couple of issues ago they refused to accept ink jet prints for publication! Suddenly, seemingly 50% of their content is all digital – camera and print – and the equipment, which they invariably mention, is pretty much at the consumer end of the spectrum, meaning mid-range SLRs and the like. Nothing like market forces. Needless to add, content is strictly monochrome. They say it’s for aesthetic reasons, which means they cannot afford color with their miniscule print run. No matter. It’s a fine magazine whose content always makes you think. It’s going digital fast.

View Camera, on the other hand must have either some of the most dyslexic, or most stoned, proof readers in the world. It reminds me of that old leftie standby of English newspapers, The Guardian, known to one and all as The Grauniad. Beloved reading of faded academics in tired tweeds who think fondly of Stalin as a great liberator. An issue of either VC or TG without typos is like a US Congress without crooks. But once you get past this slovenliness, you find a fine magazine with a balanced mix of the photographic and the technical. I just received the current issue and what do I find? Articles on digital backs for 4”x5” cameras! Reminiscent , it is true, of Lord Chesterfield’s thoughts on sex – “The pleasure, momentary. One’s position, ridiculous. And the cost …. damnable.” Now you not only have to lug the camera, lenses and tripod, you need a laptop computer, back-up hard disks, cables and a very, very costly digital back. We are talking the cost of a new car here. Of course you save the weight of all those film holders. Great. And if you use a scanning back every picture takes many minutes to expose. Go on line to one of the advertisers selling scanning digital backs and you find a comparison of full frame 35mm digital (meaning Canon) with scanning 4”x5” backs. Now is that defensive or what?

Another article in Veer Pamela, sorry, View Camera, speaks to ULF. That’s Ultra Large Format to the ignorant, meaning people silly or strong enough to lug around 8”x10” cameras so they can make contact prints from the negatives, allowing them to be printed smaller than actual size in photography magazines. No, I’m not kidding. These poor photographers pool their meagre resources (all that’s left after their chiropractors’ fees) to convince Kodak, Ilford et al to make just one more batch of 8”x10” or 16”x20” film. Please. Humor us. Just one more time. The fact that Kodak and Ilford even bother confirms that they both deserve to go out of business. You want to own stock in a company engaging in this sort of trivial pursuit?

Denial. My parents were graduates of the art. These fellows are post-grads. The only difference is they are not risking their lives.

Aargh! The needle on that LP is stuck again, right in the middle of Basin Street Blues.

Why are so few beautiful?

A friend kindly emailed me to alert me that a web chat board was offering a camera as a prize for the best picture taken in the style of Henri Cartier-Bresson. A worthy goal which will doubtless see some great work submitted.

Then I got to looking at the prize and was struck by how inexcusably ugly it was. Going by the name of the Zeiss Ikon ZM, there is no other way to describe this brick than in one simple word whose meaning needs no explanation: Ugly. I was going to preface the U word with a vulgarity describing part of the anatomy, the bit you sit on, but good taste prevailed. You get the idea.

Equipment, it seems to me, is merely to be a tool to do the job, so dwelling on it to excess is not productive. But this kind gesture on my friend’s part, who suggested I should submit some of my street snaps to the contest, got me thinking about the aesthetics of equipment, or more specifically, why so little in the way of camera gear is remotely attractive to look at.

So, like most photographers, I thought about the equipment I have owned, have borrowed and have lusted after. And in the interests of keeping this piece upbeat, I will concentrate on the cameras my eye remembers as beautiful, a work of art to hold and use, rather than all the others. And that is important to me. The old saw that has it that a poor worker blames his tools has it all wrong. It should be that a good worker uses beautiful tools. You think Michelangelo and his buddies didn’t discuss paints, brushes and canvases? Sure they did.

So I won’t refer to the brutish ugliness of the Nikon F, nor the brick like facade of the Mamiya RB67, nor even the Leicaflex Sl – a face only a parent could love – in this brief Statement of Preferences. And I will most certainly not refer to the Kodak Ektra.

The post-WWII list is, sadly, a short one.

Headed, of corse, by the chrome Leica M2. The most perfect blend of form and function ever designed. Color it black and you have nouveau riche – the young up-and-comer’s Porsche 911. Make it chrome and….aaahhh! Yes, this one is mine. With the wonderful 35mm Asph Summicron, no less.

But before that exemplar of taste and execution came along there was something equally fine to be had in the Zeiss Ikon Contax II and IIa. Forget the metered version with the ugly bump for the selenium cell meter. The un-metered camera was simply beautiful and aeons ahead of the cheesy looking screw thread Leicas of the time with their miserable viewfinders. A top hat compared to a cloth cap. Note the beautiful symmetry of the finder windows and the knobs, the gorgeous proportions of the body. You just must pick it up.

No Rolleiflex twin lens reflex can be left out of this reckoning with, perhaps the metered 3.5F at the pinnacle, the lens being just the right size for the body, something lost in the 2.8 variant. This one was mine until I gave it to a friend.

Whether it was because so many of the greats used it – Avedon, Penn, Beaton – or whether it had that secret something, call it balance, proportion, despite the rectangular shape, the Rollei is a beautiful camera.

Some miniature format cameras had that something called beauty too. Two of the best were the Tessina and the Minox. Regardless of their clandestine Cold War role in life, these two, especially the watch like Minox, had the secret ingredient. Have you ever opened a Minox for action? Try it. Sensuality redefined.

At the other end of the size spectrum,Linhof had what no American manufacturer could presume. A divine aesthetic sense. I won’t say anything about the Crown Graphic (heck! I own one) but just feast your eyes on this Super Technika.

Aaah!.

Now that is a camera.

Now there’s a lot of German equipment permeating this piece. A nation that makes fine cameras and killing machines. But it’s eastern emulator, Japan, has had some pretty fine things to contribute to camera aesthetics too.

Take the fine line of early Canon SLRs. This is an FT. Note the finely sculpted controls and the general balance of the machine.

Olympus made a fine effort with the Pen F and even the bold gothic letter ‘F’ seems to work well for this courageous, innovative design. A camera with a sweet, feminine grace, with a bold escutcheon. I loved mine. Wish I had never sold it.

They tried later to recapture the spirit of the Pen F with the OM1 but the magic spark was, alas, gone.

Then two really great Japanese designs come to mind. One very good – the Pentax MV/ME. Another camera with jeweled precision and an absolute joy to use. My ME Super fell apart but not before we had had the most wonderful relationship.

But their earlier Pentax Spotmatic was, after all, an impossible act to follow. Here was a camera that was a joy to behold. To hold. To use. Forget all that nonsense you read about the Japanese being imitators. Just take a glance at the raw sensuality of the advance lever. The most beautiful thing to ever grace a mass produced object. And note those angled ‘Zeiss’ corners. The sincerest form of flattery is imitation. This was something that you would think should have set an example for the designers of the miserable looking Zeiss Ikon ZM, that execrable excresence passing for a camera. An example of which, sadly, they seem damnable unaware. As unaware as they are of their company’s glorious history of design.

So you thought the nation with the largest contiguous border with the most successful, the most powerful, nation the world has ever seen, not to mention the most altruistic, had nothing to offer but cheap prescription drugs and cold winters?

Well, think again.

Dialing up the foul eBay the other day in search of a better price on a used LowePro Omni Trekker bag the better with which to carry my magnificent fifty year old Crown Graphic and its many film holders and accessories, I came across a Canadian vendor selling new versions at half the price of the ones available to those of us who count ourselves blessed to be Americans.

So I splashed out my $119 (US) and no less than five days later the new Omni-Trekker, or at least a very good rip off, tags and all, was on my doorstep.

My dog was happy, as it meant a cookie from the UPS man. I was happy as someone from Canada had actually shown some business acumen (we need all the friends we can get) and geopolitics was happy, reassured that maybe those neighbors of ours were not complete losers after all.

The point of this preamble, of course, is that humping the Crown over California’s magnificent landscape, rugged as the camera is, in an old LA Rams gym bag, the Linhof tripod carelessly slung in insouciant manner over the other shoulder, was not a prescription for longevity of either the equipment or the operator.

So on my 140 mile round trip trek to that Top Secret Highway One Location today, the casual observer would have spotted a rather well dressed gent, yes, Harris Tweed cap and all in deference to Her Majesty and our northern neighbors, sporting nothing less than a magnificent LowePro Omni-Trekker bag (or cheap imitation thereof – you decide) in backpack manner with Linhof tripod prominently displayed. Thank goodness for quick release straps.

It has to be said that this huge investment in carrying capacity and function paid dividends. First, in reducing the stress caused by its predecessor, the LowePro earned its keep right there. Second, in spreading the load over the body, sternum and waist, it made a damnable trek into something more resembling sheer bloody hell. A whole lot easier, in other words.

But. most importantly, this Canadian import made it possible to reach places heretofore unknown and that’s what makes for great photographs.

So if you don’t care how you carry your equipment, think again. Canada is not just a haven for those favoring socialized medicine. You can also get cheap camera bags there.

I finally got the first 4”x5” negatives back from the processor and began making some 13” x 19” prints. Amazingly, I had managed to load the film in the right way around and all the exposures, using my highly refined Modified Zone System (see June 25, 2005, below), were spot on. It probably did no harm to use negative film with its enhanced latitude for error even if the orange masked-negatives are harder to evaluate than transparencies.

My first reactions on getting the 13 negatives back was shock – those are really large pieces of film – and satisfaction when I saw just the very high level of definition they possessed. The mask in my flat bed film holder is actually 3.7” x 4.7”, so a 13” x 19” print works out to an enlargement ratio of only 4x so it’s hardly a surprise to see that sharpness and detail are the order of the day.

On my first outing I had taken just four pictures, constrained by the fact that the Crown Graphic camera came with just two film holders. One of those four was double exposed. Don’t ask. What with all the rushing water and beauty of nature going on, I couldn’t hear the shutter trip so tripped it….again. Now if I had been using a Holga or similar toy camera the result would have immediately qualified as Art, but I instead consigned it to the round file.

On my second outing I had taken 12 more pictures, using the six additional film holders I had since acquired. Well, that turned out to be 11 pictures as I had inserted one of the film sheets incorrectly and had to pull the holder out of the camera without its dark slide, the latter proving impossible to replace. There I am, standing in the middle of the street, struggling with a sheet of film, more than a tad over-exposed, hoping no one was witnessing this debacle. Indeed, I found out that I have to do a good deal more practicing with film loading as a couple of my other shots were less than centered on the sheet. However, the film is so much thicker than 120 roll film that handling it is a joy and no cotton gloves are needed as it does not buckle when held by the edges.

Scanning on my flatbed was very simple, if slow, at 2400 dpi – I reckon that will give me the requisite 300 dpi at an 8x enlargement ratio, which is a print sized no less than 32” x 40”. Now that is really large! I found there is no need for a glass film holder, once more thanks to the high rigidity and flatness of the negative. The scans in PSD or TIFF format come in at 280 megabytes, give or take, and that takes a while to load on the computer.

Over the past week I had finally bitten the bullet and decided to upgrade my outstanding Apple iMac G4 (the one that had locked up once in thirty months on, you guessed it, a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet) to an iMac G5. A colleague had reported how his dad was loading large files in no time, so it wasn’t just the mildly enhanced CPU speed at work – Apple must have done something to upgrade image processing. By way of comparison, as 250 megabyte medium format scan which would take 90 seconds to load now loads in 10 (yes, 10!) and all related actions – like rotation, levels, sharpening, etc in Photoshop are similarly faster. The time savings really add up, for 90 seconds is too short to leave the computer to do something else and too long to be fun.

Once I took a hard look at the scans I could see that the four element Schneider Xenar lens – probably single coated given it’s 40+ years in age – is a tad prone to flare into the light, so I will have to watch that, but covers with high resolution to the edges of the frame, although I should add that I have not used any swings or tilts to really test edge definition.

Anywhere, here is a much reduced version of my first every 4” x 5” photograph in one of the magnificent redwood forests off Highway 1 in California – 4 seconds at f/32 if you must know:

On my second outing I had decided to use the Crown as a hand held rangefinder camera and while this occasioned more than one questioning look from passers by (they did at least give me generous space on account of my presumed lunacy), it turned out to be wonderfully engineered for just this purpose, even if film changing is a bit of a challenge if you only have two hands. The New York street photographer of the 1940s, Weegee, knew what he was on to.

Here’s the first hand held shot in one of those many broken down old towns in central California:

So, all in all, this Crown Graphic experiment has all the makings of a beautiful friendship, once I learn to load those film holders correctly.

This is a tough question.

When I was a kid my pictures were lousy.

The composition was poor.

The exposure was wrong.

The processing was worse.

And the subjects were uninspired.

Though I had a deep appreciation of the arts and many years of studying the masters of photography in my psyche, my pictures reflected little of this acquired knowledge.

I also used poor equipment because that is all a kid can afford.

Then I worked and saved mightily and my first Leica came along. This is the first picture ever taken on that Leica, on the day of purchase, August 2, 1971:

The light is just so, the exposure fine, the moment captured.

So what happened? Did I suddenly become a much better photographer because I used a Leica?

The answer is an unequivocal and resounding Yes.

You see, what happened here was that the very fact that I had inherited a duty of care, of quality and of accomplishment in the ownership of this magnificent instrument made me rise to the occasion. Every driver is a better driver in a Ferrari. Every rider rides better on a Ducati. And every photographer is a better photographer with a Leica.

So the conclusion of this short parable is simply this: Get the best camera you can afford. Stop making excuses about great pictures being taken on lousy equipment. They never were. The reality of that costly purchase will force you to become a better photographer too.