Santiago
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Interesting POV regarding state of photography
Many Nomads are very interested in photography; thought you might enjoy this.
By Craig Mod via the New yorker
This past October, just before the leaves changed, I went on a six-day hike through the mountains of Wakayama, in central Japan, tracing the path of
an ancient imperial pilgrimage called the Kumano Kodo. I took along a powerful camera, believing, as I always have, that it would be an indispensable
creative tool. But I returned with the unshakeable feeling that I’m done with cameras, and that most of us are, if we aren’t already.
My passion for cameras began when I was a teen-ager, but I took to them in earnest in 2000, when I arrived in Tokyo as a college student. Back then,
the city was rife with used-camera shops overflowing with rows of dusty, greasy, and dented bodies and lenses. I spent several lazy weekday afternoons
wandering through the stores, precociously bugging the grouchy owners about the benefits of one camera over another. Deep down, I wanted a classic
Leica M3, which cost fifteen hundred dollars at the time, though a choice lens could easily double the price. Constrained by a student’s budget, I
chose a used Nikon 8008 body, which the Times had named “the camera of the future” in 1988. I paired it with a cheap 50-mm. lens, then set off for a
month hitchhiking the entire breadth of Japan, from Tokyo to ***uoka, filling my backpack with delicately exposed rolls of film.
I shot exclusively with Fuji Velvia film, partly because of its famous lollipop-like color saturation and partly for the challenge of using I.S.O.-50
slide film. The lower the I.S.O. of a film, the less sensitive it is to light. This makes it more difficult to shoot with, but the images have a
smooth, polished quality to them; while high-I.S.O. film needs only a trickle of light to produce a usable picture, the images look rough and grainy,
like sandpaper. The experience of waiting for the slides to return from the developer was both petrifying and magical: Had any of the images that
appeared in the camera’s viewfinder made it back intact? I was rewarded with hundreds of gorgeous, otherworldly images, and I pored over those slides
for weeks.
Two years later, I used eBay to piece together a Hasselblad 500C, the classic medium-format camera. (It also has an impressive geek pedigree: Walter
Schirra took one into space on the Mercury rocket, in 1962, igniting NASA’s long-standing love affair with the company, which is based in Sweden.)
Depending on the type of medium-format film, the images can be anywhere from two to six times as large as standard 35-mm. photos. While the cameras
are larger and less portable, they capture an incredible amount of detail: if you were to take a picture of a man holding a penny from a few feet away
with an iPhone, a 35-mm. Nikon, and a medium-format Hasselblad—with equivalent lenses—you would notice the penny in the iPhone shot, you’d clearly see
it in the Nikon shot, and you could read the date in the Hasselblad shot.
Holding the 500C, I could hardly believe that I had spent so much money on a box. That’s all a camera is, really: a box with a hole. Film rests at the
back of the box and the lens is at the front. The shutter sits between them, and by opening for longer or shorter durations it exposes the film to
certain amounts of light. Most cameras have some kind of automation, elevating them beyond a dumb box. The Hasselblad doesn’t: it has no electric
parts, no automatic focus, no light meter; it doesn’t even have an automatic film-winding mechanism. It holds only twelve photos per (expensive) roll
of film. But it is beautifully machined, with solid, precisely interlocking pieces.
Because of its simplicity, shooting with a 500C is deliberate in ways that few other cameras can match: you line up your shot, take a deep breath, and
then, when everything comes together—light, shadow, and subject—squeeze the release and mumble a short prayer as the cloth shutter opens and closes
with a thick, satisfying thunk. It almost feels like the camera is munching on the photons of light passing through it. I loved looking at the world
through its precisely ground glass, though now it sits idly on my desk, its obstinate, mechanical simplicity a lifeless monument to the designer
Sixten Sason’s hard-edged minimalism.
In late 2004, after graduating college, I scrounged together enough cash to buy my first real digital camera: the Nikon D70, which was almost
identical to the 8008 except that, when the shutter opened, light hit an array of sensors rather than film. Even though that difference seemed small,
the purchase made me nervous. I had developed hundreds, if not thousands, of rolls of black-and-white film in my badly ventilated, chemical-filled
university apartment. Would I miss watching ghostly images appear from the silver halide salts, the sting of acetic acid on my hands and in my
nostrils?
I stopped using film almost immediately. The benefits were too undeniable: results were immediately visible on the camera’s rear screen, and I could
snap thousands of photos on a trip without worrying about fragile rolls of film, which were always an X-ray machine away from erasure. But the D70 was
unromantic. It didn’t have the strangely alluring mechanical rawness of the 500C, while the shift to digital imaging disrupted the compartmentalized,
meditative processes that had punctuated photography for the previous hundred and fifty years: shooting, developing, and printing. As anyone working
in a creative field knows, the perspective gained by spending time away from work is invaluable. Before digital (and outside of Polaroids),
photography was filled with such forced perspective. No matter how quickly you worked, it was common for hours—if not days, weeks, or longer—to pass
between seeing the image through the viewfinder and reviewing it in the darkroom. Digital technology scrunches these slow, drawn-out processes
together.
By late 2009, the five-year-old D70 felt about as fresh as the twenty-year-old 8008. It captured only 6.1 megapixels, less than a current smartphone,
and the rear display was laughably small, the size of a postage stamp. On a whim, I picked up a brand-new Panasonic GF1, a so-called micro-four-thirds
camera.
The GF1 and its oddly named technology heralded a subtly new type of device. Most professional 35-mm. cameras and their digital equivalents were
single-lens reflex cameras. When you look into a typical S.L.R. viewfinder, you see a doubly reversed image, reflected once from a mirror in front of
the film (or sensor) and twice more inside the viewfinder’s pentaprism. When you squeeze the button to take a picture, the mirror slaps upward—the
loud clack that often echoes from professional-looking cameras—allowing the light to hit the film or sensor, capturing the image. The GF1 dispensed
with both the mirror and the viewfinder, making it significantly smaller and lighter. When I went to Annapurna Base Camp, in central Nepal, the GF1
was so slight that I could keep it strung around my neck the entire trip, and the results were extraordinary. Not peering through the viewfinder to
shoot provided a unique benefit: it altered the camera’s role in portrait photography. In an extensive field test from the trip, I wrote, “For better
or worse, a camera without a viewfinder is less intimidating. You are no longer half-human half-camera … which is wonderful if you want candid, real
photographs. Subjects focus on being human rather than being a subject.”
After two and a half years, the GF1 was replaced by the slightly improved Panasonic GX1, which I brought on the six-day Kumano Kodo hike in October.
During the trip, I alternated between shooting with it and an iPhone 5. After importing the results into Lightroom, Adobe’s photo-development
software, it was difficult to distinguish the GX1’s photos from the iPhone 5’s. (That’s not even the latest iPhone; Austin Mann’s superlative results
make it clear that the iPhone 5S operates on an even higher level.) Of course, zooming in and poking around the photos revealed differences: the
iPhone 5 doesn’t capture as much highlight detail as the GX1, or handle low light as well, or withstand intense editing, such as drastic changes in
exposure. But it seems clear that in a couple of years, with an iPhone 6S in our pockets, it will be nearly impossible to justify taking a dedicated
camera on trips like the Kumano Kodo pilgrimage.
One of the great joys of that walk was the ability to immediately share with family and friends the images as they were captured in the mountains: the
golden, early-morning light as it filtered through the cedar forest; a sudden valley vista after a long, upward climb. Each time, I pulled out my
iPhone, not the GX1, then shot, edited, and broadcasted the photo within minutes. As I’ve become a more network-focussed photographer, I’ve come to
love using the smartphone as an editing surface; touch is perfect for photo manipulation. There’s a tactility that is lost when you edit with a mouse
on a desktop computer. Perhaps touch feels natural because it’s a return to the chemical-filled days of manually poking and massaging liquid and paper
to form an image I had seen in my head. Yet if the advent of digital photography compressed the core processes of the medium, smartphones further
squish the full spectrum of photographic storytelling: capture, edit, collate, share, and respond. I saw more and shot more, and returned from the
forest with a record of both the small details—light and texture and snippets of life—and the conversations that floated around them on my social
networks.
In the same way that the transition from film to digital is now taken for granted, the shift from cameras to networked devices with lenses should be
obvious. While we’ve long obsessed over the size of the film and image sensors, today we mainly view photos on networked screens—often tiny ones,
regardless of how the image was captured—and networked photography provides access to forms of data that go beyond pixels. This information, like
location, weather, or even radiation levels, can transform an otherwise innocuous photo of an empty field near ***ushima into an entirely different
object. If you begin considering emerging self-metrics that measure, for example, your routes through cities, fitness level, social status, and state
of mind (think Foursquare, Nike+, Facebook, and Twitter), you realize that there is a compelling universe of information waiting to be pinned to the
back of each image. Once you start thinking of a photograph in those holistic terms, the data quality of stand-alone cameras, no matter how vast their
bounty of pixels, seems strangely impoverished. They no longer capture the whole picture.
It’s clear now that the Nikon D70 and its ilk were a stopgap between that old Leica M3 that I coveted over a decade ago and the smartphones we
photograph with today. Tracing the evolution from the Nikon 8008 to the Nikon D70 to the GX1, we see cameras transitioning into what they were bound
to become: networked lenses. Susan Sontag once said, “While there appears to be nothing that photography can’t devour, whatever can’t be photographed
becomes less important.” Today, it turns out, it’s whatever can’t be networked that becomes less important.
Craig Mod is an independent writer and designer who divides his time between Tokyo and New York. He is the co-author of “Art Space Tokyo” and author
of the forthcoming novel, “Stosh.”
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CortezBlue
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Wow
Change the age bracket and it is my story
I started shooting in the 60's with a Kodak brownie that belonged to my mom.
While in high school, in a journalism class I shot with a Rollieflex and then a Nikromat and a Nikon F
While selling cameras while going through school, cameras changed and technology was replacing light meters. I bought a Pentax ES but still held onto
my Nikon connection.
As life went on and my photography became more as a family event and less of an art form with landscapes etc.
As the digital landscaped changed, I did buy an original Kodak 260 digital camera and then, finally, the Nikon D70
I have worked my way up to the Nikon d800, but a few years ago I stepped back and bought a never used 1992 hasselblad C/M 500
In fact I took it out yesterday to shoot the sunrise in san Felipe. I did shoot with Fuji film 100 as a
1 min exposures at f/22
There is a wonderful feel and look of film, it also requires using a light meter and brings back a fond memory of my youth
“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.”
- Albert Einstein
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durrelllrobert
Elite Nomad
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How many years before film is no longer made/sold? Any guesses?
Bob Durrell
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Osprey
Ultra Nomad
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Touched me too when I remember, while vacationing using my Toyo View, taping up the windows and doors in motel bathrooms so I could load more film
trays in complete darkness for the next day's adventures with the big box.
BTW it worked too. Never ever exposed film out of the camera.
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Whale-ista
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Mood: Sunny with chance of whales
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Evolution
Interesting essay. We have certainly seen tremendous changes in cameras in the last 20 years.
Theres a multigenerational camera evolution in my family. my dad was a USMC photographer in WWII and Korea, so I have some of his old equipment and
glass/metal slides from those days.
60s: I grew up with Polaroids, instamatics, 110 film
70s: bought a Pentax K1000 while in college and started developing my own black-and-white prints.
80s: My Pentax ME travelled to Hawaii and throughout the SW United States and Baja, in kayak and backpack. Even when the electronics were damaged by
water the manual function worked fine. I still find occasional rolls of REi slide film from those days, and have boxes of processed slides in storage.
90s: In 1999 I made my first trip to Japan with a clunky digital camera. The city was still full of secondhand camera shops but they were already
looking like antiques.
00s: That first camera died on the way back from costa Rica in 2000, to be replaced by a series of small, light waterproof Digital cameras.
Today: I still use digital for Baja trips, especially whale watching. I like submersible waterproof cameras so I can put my hand under the water to
photograph the whales.
But my favorite camera now is my mini iPad. It is small, simple, takes great photos, and they can be shared immediately. (And versatile: I'm using it
now to post this information.)
My sister and I each used a mini while traveling in Europe last summer. Apparently they were not as easily available in other countries, so we
attracted many stares, esp from children and teenagers who love new toys.
Hers was on the cloud so her photos were immediately shared with her friends at home. They were able to see her photos in almost real time that way.
That experience reminds me of the authors points: images are improved when shared and discussed by others. Technical skills complement the immediacy
of Digital uploads to Facebook, Twitter, vine etc These networks Give us a chance to share our view and also see the world through others' eyes.
Now if only it was easier to share them on Baja Nomad! 
\"Probably the airplanes will bring week-enders from Los Angeles before long, and the beautiful poor bedraggled old town will bloom with a
Floridian ugliness.\" (John Steinbeck, 1940, discussing the future of La Paz, BCS, Mexico)
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Whale-ista
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| Quote: | Originally posted by durrelllrobert
How many years before film is no longer made/sold? Any guesses? |
Kodak is fighting to survive. Fuji makes digital cameras. But Polaroids are still vintage-cool. Their film is crazy expensive.
\"Probably the airplanes will bring week-enders from Los Angeles before long, and the beautiful poor bedraggled old town will bloom with a
Floridian ugliness.\" (John Steinbeck, 1940, discussing the future of La Paz, BCS, Mexico)
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LaTijereta
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I can totally relate to this story..
After 30 years shooting photography for a living, I hung up my cameras in 2007..as the "magic feel" of film shooting was passing..
And yes..we owned a couple of those 8008's back in the day..
Democracy is like two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote.
Ben Franklin (1759)
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Frank
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Mood: Is it time to leave yet?
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Film is still magic, always will be. What type of photography did you do LaTijereta ?
My son (Nate) and I are photographers (part time). The digital age requires images to be cut, cropped, and captioned and uploaded on the net almost
immediately for college and pro sports.
We also shoot is obstacle course races. Spartan Race is our big one, we may shoot Tough Mudder this year if we get the contract. During a typical race
we will shoot 15-18,000 images each, over 2 days. We have to make sure everything is correct in camera, exposure, horizon, framing, focus etcetera. In
just a few days 50,000 images are processed, tagged by race bib number, time and obstacle so that the racers can have their "free" photos. Social
media is a huge factor in filling these high dollar races. 9000 racers x $100 (entry,food) plus spectators x $10 = big money for the race organizers.
I stopped shooting spot news. They were only interested if I had death or destruction and they dropped the pay rates down. Lots of free photos sent to
the news agencies, so I understand.
Nate wanted to be a photojournalist, but has switched to Radiology. Technology is a double edged sword.
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LaTijereta
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Frank..
I was involved in motorsports photography.. started in Baja shooting for media/ AD clients involved with SCORE (when the factories were
invloved)..Then spread to other forms of racing at Daytona, Mid-west, SCCA, NASCAR, Pikes Peak..
The Art Directors dictated alot of went into a images needed on Monday morning..
Democracy is like two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote.
Ben Franklin (1759)
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monoloco
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I don't miss film at all, I have spent thousands on film, film processing, prints, projectors, light tables, etc., and I still have thousands of
uncatalogued slides in boxes that will take hundreds of hours to scan and organize. I love the freedom of being able to organize and post-process my
own images on a portable device. It will only keep getting better.
"The future ain't what it used to be"
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Gulliver
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And now for a contrarian and grumpy view of all this (my wife is laughing).
The common theme in all of this is an obsession with sharing. Everyone seems to need to share EVERYTHING! Share your photos. Share your fleeting
thoughts on social media with ridiculous names like grunt, tweet, fart, or whatever. Share your half of a conversation with everyone within earshot
when you are on your cell phone in a public place.
I use various picture taking machines for different situations. I wouldn't think of hanging a phone on the back of my telescope for long exposure
astronomy and neither do I make a habit of dragging my heavy and bulky DSLR along when I'm exploring goat tracks in my motorcycle. I have a small
point and shoot for that.
My pictures, thoughts and actions are for my enjoyment. I don't much give a hoot whether anyone else sees my pictures. If they ask, fine. But I find
this need to pester everyone with one's experiences vaguely ridiculous. In other words, I don't want to know. I value my privacy. So I don't push
myself into their space.
The world seems to be set up for 14 year olds of what ever age. All just gossip.
Needless to say, you won't find me on any social media sites.
Grumble, grumble.
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Whale-ista
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Location: San Diego
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Gulliver- thanks for sharing! 
\"Probably the airplanes will bring week-enders from Los Angeles before long, and the beautiful poor bedraggled old town will bloom with a
Floridian ugliness.\" (John Steinbeck, 1940, discussing the future of La Paz, BCS, Mexico)
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motoged
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Yes, I have several Canon and Pentax camera bodies and more lenses that are essentially worthless in that period of time....and I now upgrade my point
and shoots every several years (Canon and Panasonic)....the challenge now is to use just Program mode, or take the drudgery of scrolling through menu
options (takes at least a minute  ).
My brother publishes photos on several websites and ONLY uses his Iphone and some apps....produces things that would take days in a darkroom.
Don't believe everything you think....
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CortezBlue
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Whale-ista
| Quote: | Originally posted by durrelllrobert
How many years before film is no longer made/sold? Any guesses? |
Kodak is fighting to survive. Fuji makes digital cameras. But Polaroids are still vintage-cool. Their film is crazy expensive.
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I think Kodak is done. I am pretty sure they sold off some of the intellectual property
“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.”
- Albert Einstein
Follow Cortez Blue
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We put the FUNK in disFUNKtion |
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Skipjack Joe
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I've often wondered what your car keys jiggling in your pocket do to the lens of your iphone. How much scratching can it handle before you decide
that, yes, this is noticeable. Perhaps there is a protective cover you can purchase now.
Personally I find little to agree with in that article. But we've walked down this road before. About 10 years ago it was argued here that nothing
over a 2.8Mpixel camera was needed for the screens being used.
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durrelllrobert
Elite Nomad
Posts: 7393
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Location: Punta Banda BC
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| Quote: | Originally posted by CortezBlue
| Quote: | Originally posted by Whale-ista
| Quote: | Originally posted by durrelllrobert
How many years before film is no longer made/sold? Any guesses? |
Kodak is fighting to survive. Fuji makes digital cameras. But Polaroids are still vintage-cool. Their film is crazy expensive.
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I think Kodak is done. I am pretty sure they sold off some of the intellectual property |
When I worked for
DoD Kodak used to make bomb fuzes for us (in the Vietnam days)
Bob Durrell
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