f8 and Be There

There aren't too many of us who have pockets large enough to walk about with a large format view camera upon our persons. By the same token almost everyone has a portable telephone that can be used to take pictures (even if it can't be used very well to make calls). They probably represent the extremes of photographic portability (I'm not counting here the wheelie-bin full of lenses, laptops, lighting and latte-makers that studio work demands). Both are trade-offs. One for quality and the other for Angry Birds.

The demise of the compact camera has been forecast for some time now, as more and more compromise and settle for the shampoo commercial approach to photography - "Take two image capture devices into the streets? Not me!" I do believe there continues to be a niche for a high quality compact camera that handles like a compact camera and not like a frozen slab of raspberry panna cotta. I have long said that I will take portable telephones seriously as an image capture device when they start showing up with tripod sockets but even I cannot fault some of the photos that come out from the likes of the Nokia N8 and others.

They are not cameras though, any more than a Swiss Army knife is a kitchen tool. It can do many of the tasks that you need in a kitchen but you would not use it to cook day in, day out because it is a compromise and an uncomfortable one at that. The last bastion of the compact camera is and will remain for some time the "high end compact". This has always been a rarefied and slightly odd niche, populated in years past by companies such as Rollei with the 35 and Contax with the T series. Everyone jumped on the bandwagon at some time - who can forget the Nikon 35ti and its beautiful dials? They were designed to be as much expressions of wealth as picture taking machines - nobody who used a gold Rollei 35 could ever seriously describe it as the easiest camera they had ever used to take a snap of their Persian cat...

The current crop is all digital, of course, and there are some crackers out there. The Canon G11 and Nikon P7100 represent the "prosumer" end of things - cameras that are big and complex enough to be almost as capable as their big DSLR brothers while still being portable (perhaps "luggable" is a better term). Leica has the D-Lux 5 and Panasonic its LX sibling while Olympus have the XZ-1. All are well thought of and all have zooms large and small.

Then there is Ricoh... They appear to follow their own trajectory, largely untroubled by such niceties as fashion and the latest trends. I was a Ricoh user many years ago, when they produced a quietly excellent SLR called the XR-X which took Pentax lenses. Today I already own a GXR with the M-Mount module that allows me to put Leica LTM, M or R lenses in front of an APS sized sensor and snap away to my hearts' content. Recently and as a result of my experiences with this setup I also acquired a GR Digital III. This is the penultimate expression of a line of cameras that echoes back to the film-consuming GR1 and continues with the recently released GRD IV. I picked my III up cheaply due to its having been superseded, at least in the minds of the marketing men and the early adopters for whom the next shiny thing is their sole raison d'etre.

Right from the early days the GR and now GRD line have been characterised by two key attributes - small size and a 28mm lens. The computation of that lens has changed over the years but there is still a striking family resemblance from first to last. Oh, the other defining characteristic worthy of a mention is the quality of the output, easily belying the size of the unit. The GRD is small, light and discreet. In use it reminds me of nothing less than my Leica II - almost instinctive to use and capable of punching well above its weight in all but the most exotic of company.

One of the simple joys of the GRD is its black and white performance. It really does produce outputs reminiscent of film. We don't all want to render the world all the time in razor sharpness or in shortbread tin hues and the little GRD is ideal for those who are more concerned with the image than their image. I am sure that the more recent GRD IV is better in all sorts of interesting ways but the III works for me.

Which brings me to the point of today's sermon. I have a number of cameras, all in regular use. If leaving the house on business or pleasure I always pop one into a pocket, a briefcase or a bag. Over the years my "camera I bring when I don't want to use a camera" has varied from an Olympus Mju-II to a Rollei 35, from a Yashica T4 to a Contax T2, from a Minox B to a Leica D-Lux 4 with a few others along the way. Today it is the Ricoh. It is not a Leica, it is not even a Nikon, but it is more than capable of acting as my visual notebook. If I had not been carrying it the other day I wouldn't have got this shot. If I hadn't got this shot I wouldn't have felt moved to write this piece.

What goes around...

--o-O-o--

- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.

Replacement therapy

More thoughts on the GXR and the M Module...

The more I use this combination with Leica lenses the more I am growing accustomed to it and the more it resonates with an earlier experience. As I said in my last, it is not a replacement for an M, or a Barnack. It could never be that. What it is, however, is very evocative of my first "real" digital camera, the Panasonic LC-1. The LC-1 was of course the sexy black bodied version of the Leica Digilux 2, which was otherwise only available with a "silver chrome" top-plate. The estimable Thorsten Overgaard's views on this remarkable camera can be found here. Thorsten refers to the camera as a "New Classic" and I have to say that I understand where he was coming from with those words. The LC-1/Digilux 2 was an oddity in many ways - although both variants were manufactured by Panasonic the Leica DNA was clearly evident from the shape and handling to the remarkable "28-90"mm Vario-Summicron that to this day knocks more recent lenses into a cocked hat with its rendition.

I loved my LC-1, which worked like a dream up to the day that it suffered the dreaded sensor death (and subsequent resurrection after a bit of a barney with Panasonic UK). But it is a number of generations behind the curve now - something that matters far more with digital cameras than film - and I regretfully sold it on last year. The LC-1/D2 was one of those cameras that comes along occasionally that is more than the sum of its parts and thus becomes the perfect tool by supporting and encouraging the realisation of the photographer's vision rather than by acting as a lump of plastic that simply gets in the way. This is an experience I have only had a few times in my life; the M Leicas, of course, share this attribute by virtue of their handling and their pellucidly clear viewfinder. My Leica II is also a pleasure to use in the same way (although strangely enough not my IIIc which it replaced). Otherwise the only other camera that I can think of that has ever fallen into this category for me was my Contax RX.

LC1/D2... sheer enjoyment - in the old style

What made the LC1/D2 great was not one thing, it was a combination of things, mostly related to handling and rendition, as I have already said. It felt balanced in the hand, and was light enough to be carried around all day without getting a stiff neck. The shutter - effectively silent - was almost sensual with its soft, caressing snick to tell you - if you were listening carefully - that the shot was in the bag. And that lens... The fact that the zoom was manual was pleasurable enough, but that you also got an aperture ring and a manual focus ring that felt like those on a "real" camera were the icing on an already admirable cake. Digital snapping suddenly felt less like using a computer with a bottle on the front and more like "real" photography.

Finally, a word on the outputs. The raw files were a delight - easy to work on and immensely rewarding - but more importantly the LC1/D2 delivered jpegs straight out of camera that were not only usable but delicately beautiful in their own right.

As an aside I have a real issue with the school of thought that says jpeg is for cissies and real men use raw - it harks back to the "good old days" when "amateurs" had their photos developed in Boots the Chemist and "real photographers" spent all their time in the darkroom and smelled of hypo. The modern equivalent is those photographers who spend all their evenings using Lightroom, endlessly twiddling sliders and polishing their pixels - I can only conclude that they are the children of those men who avoided speaking to their wives by spending their leisure time in the bathroom and under-stairs darkrooms of the 1960s - which does make you wonder how they were conceived in the first place... What I think is lacking these days is the digital equivalent of Kodachrome - so much better than the prints from Boots but without the hassle of self-developing.

But enough of that, back to the plot. The more I have used the GXR the more I have found myself settling back into the metre and rhythm of those halcyon days spent with my LC-1. The controls fall easily to hand, the viewfinder, although irritatingly detachable and about as discreet as Quasimodo's hump, is a leap ahead from that of the LC-1. The handling is similar - well it is bound to be with a lump of Leica glass stuck on the front. Most similar in that respect is the 60mm Elmarit-R 2.8 which of course equates to approximately 90mm on the APS-sized sensor once the crop factor is taken into consideration. In fact the physically more bulky R lenses in general are more evocative of the handling of old than the M glass, even the smaller 28mm Elmarit-R.

R-glass, Leitax, Novoflex... very reminiscent

But what, I hear you say, about the output? Well, it is still early days but... the more I use this combination the more that the sheer quality of the Leica glass shines through. The much bigger sensor (5mp vs 12mp) makes a huge difference of course, but I am increasingly impressed by the quality of the out-of-camera jpegs. I shoot raw+jpeg at the moment but there has so far been only one shot that has cried out for the slider twiddling treatment.

The journey continues, but the scenery thus far is most enjoyable...

--o-O-o--

- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.

New lamps for old...

Ironically, I started this blog with a review, and here I am a couple of years later writing another. The world has moved on, however, and now I am writing about a different concept, one that did not exist when I started.

I have recently acquired a Ricoh GXR in anticipation of the introduction of the M-Module A12. This module allows the mounting of Leica M (and other) lenses to the Ricoh body. An interesting concept that, if it lives up to its promise, could offer considerable scope and flexibility not to say a new lease of life for older lenses. The GXR itself has been around now for about 18 months, with a small set of dedicated "Lensors" - lenses and sensors combined into a single "dust free" unit. The GXR system is not cheap, and the four Lensors thus far available have themselves been quite pricey. The GXR concept is intriguing, but for a long time has looked like a solution in search of a problem. The GXR body is rugged and well-made and by all accounts designed by photographers for photographers but it has enjoyed only modest sales success in a market that seems awash with mirrorless interchangable compacts - Micro Four Thirds and others - from Sony, Samsung, Olympus, Panasonic, Nikon and now (amusingly) Nikon. Against that backdrop the Ricoh has been seen as innovative but just a bit odd - a bit like Saabs used to be before they were assimilated by GM.

The GXR kit I picked up came with the 28-300 lensor (I added the VF-2 viewfinder soon thereafter). This little setup is a competent but frankly lacklustre "travel zoom" that produces ok results but nothing to write home about. Ideal for slipping in a pocket and handing to a waiter in the beach restaurant to catch that snap of you and your loved one partly hidden behind unfeasibly large cocktails. Honestly, if this was all there was to the system the answer would be no. The two prime lenses (28 and 50mm) come with bigger sensors and are reputed to be a lot better, but I have neither tried them nor intend to.

I rummaged around looking for a UK price for the module and ended up visiting my friendly neighbourhood local "crack dealer". London Camera Exchange in Guildford has been my primary source for all things Leica for many years, both new and secondhand. The manager there knows me and was more than happy to give me first dibs on the first M Module that he was able to get his hands on. A week or three later the phone rang and I trundled over on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a bagful of lenses.

It was busy as usual in the shop but one of the staff handed over the box and they left me to it. First surprise, the Lensor once attached prompts you through a firmware upgrade - none of that sticking a file on an SD card and loading it up. The upgrade gave my GXR body the necessary changes to menus etc to accommodate the M Module. It fits like a glove, of course, with a bulge that doesn't appear on the other Lensors which actually adds to the handling. My first, hurried shots in and outside the shop were what you would expect - crap - but good enough to show promise. Card details were provided and I walked out with another of those brown cardboard Ricoh boxes that looks as if it has been recycled from old cereal packets - very green, very now.

Apart from the Lensor, the box contains a sheaf of instruction books and stuff and a little bit of plastic that resembles one of those drain sieves that stops bits of carrot from blocking the U bend in the kitchen. This neat device is actually a "lens gauge" that allows the user to check if their lenses will mount without fouling the sensor. First (but not unexpected) disappointment - my three collapsible lenses, 5cm Elmar, 50mm Elmar M and 90mm Elmarit, cannot be mounted and collapsed - c'est la vie, but a shame since two of that three are my favourites.

Lenses that do mount, I am here to tell you, do so with a satisfying snick - there is no play in this mount. So far I have tried it with a range of lenses from Leica, Zeiss and Voigtlander and have yet to be disappointed. M Mount lenses fit and perform of course, but so do LTM (Leica Thread Mount, or Screwmount, or "Barnack") lenses such as the tiny 3.5cm Elmar and the 15mm Cosina Voigtlander Color Heliar. No accessory viewfinders needed, of course, since the view, on the rear screen or through the Electronic Viewfinder ("EVF") is WYSIWYG (TTL). I have tried it so far with focal lengths of 15, 28, 35, 50, 60 90 and 135mm and have yet to observe any significant vignetting, darkening or colour shift at the corners.

You notice I listed 60mm in there - that's not M, but R... I have three Leica R Mount Elmarit lenses - 28, 60 (macro) and 135mm - that I have already converted with Leitax mounts to use upon Nikon bodies (in my case an FM3A). With the addition of a Novoflex "Lem/Nik" converter from the nice people at SRB Griturn, they can also be mounted to the M Mount and thus the GXR body. The same would be true, of course, of any Nikon AI, AIS, AF or AFD lens although you could not mount the G lenses with this combination without losing aperture control. (By the way I initially tried a "cheap" mount that I found on eBay. It was looser than a footballer's morals; the lens drooped from the mount like the "before" metaphor in an impotence advert. The Novoflex, on the other hand, is tighter than a 10th generation Scotsman's sporran clip; proof of the old adage "buy cheap, buy twice"...)

So, I have a single platform that is able to take any Leica LTM, M or R mount lens (with a litttle prior adaptation). I can use glass from the 1920s to 2011 with a modern, APS-C sized sensor. As a backup this is ideal, but it also has advantages as a primary system under certain circumstances.

So, what's it like to use and does it deliver the results?

We all get there, Sonnar or later...

The most important thing for me is that this combination allows the character of each lens to come through. I have chosen the lens "palette" that I have for good reasons - each performs differently and delivers a different rendition. The GXR sensor does not get in the way but instead delivers a faithful result. Each focal length is multiplied by 1.5x, of course but in practice this is workable and certainly won't come as a surprise to those who come to the GXR from the M8, M8.2 or Epson R-D1. Where the little GXR scores over the M8 of course is that it doesn't require UV/IR filters, let alone dedicated viewfinders for the wider focal lengths. That, coupled with the ability to take lenses of greater than 135mm focal length, starts to add up to a compelling package.

Handling takes a little getting used to. The need to grip the body while manually focussing the lens means that one has to think about where to put one's fingers... Initially I found myself regularly pressing buttons on the rear with my right thumb - irritating, but soom remedied with some self-discipline. Larger lenses are heavier, of course, but not unduly so. The offset tripod socket may be a little irritating, however and for lenses larger than the 135mm Elmarit R I think I would be happier with a tripod mount on the lens rather than relying upon the body.

Focussing is via two different Modes - much has been written about these already from a technical standpoint so I will focus (pun intended) on the practicalities. Mode 1 provides a "marching ants" white dotted outline around anything within the plane of focus. It offers the advantage of maintaining a "natural" view of your subject, in colour (if set) but is not that easy to use, particularly in very bright or low light. Mode 2 provides a monochrome view that again highlights the plane of focus with whiteness but this time against a grey background. Although less "realistic", I find this easier to use in all conditions. A half-press of the shutter release gives you a normal view and I find myself toggling between the two easily. For critical focussing applications it is possible to enlarge the view, either as a central "picture in picture" or filling the screen. I have tried this but don't find it particularly useful. Focussing close up with the Macro Elmarit is particularly interesting with Mode 2; it's easy to rock back and forth and watch the plane of focus wash across your subject until it is were you want it to be.

Overall, how easy is it to focus? Here is a very subjective, very personal league table - you may be able to relate to it, but then again, maybe not...

• M2 - simply the clearest of all
• MP/M7 - mine are both .85. My MP only has four framelines so is marginally clearer than the M7
• Contax RX - about the best film SLR I ever owned
• Nikon FM3A with R lenses
• M6 "classic" - I've had a couple of .72 Too many framelines for my taste
• Epson R-D1
• Ricoh GXR with M Module
• Leica II
• Leica IIIc
• Olympus XA
• Panasonic LC-1 (Digilux 2)
• D-Lux 4
• Olympus E-P1 with M lenses

So far I have not had the time or opportunity to do much more than scratch the surface with the M Module. All of my shots have been test shots, with no "soul". I'll address that in the weeks and months to come. For now, you can see the fruits of my experimentation here, together with a bit of "camera porn" that shows a number of lenses mounted, either directly or with the Novoflex adaptor.

So... the verdict so far is a qualified but approving thumbs-up. The GXR system comes of age with the M Module and it will be fascinating to look back in about 12 months time and see what has developed next. For now, the GXR has a firm place in my kit bag. It does not replace my M or Barnack cameras but it augments them well and gives my Leica glass - all my Leica glass - a strong digital platform.

--o-O-o--

- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.

Me and my shadow

Boo!

Did you jump at that? Are you the sort of person that worries about what's around the next corner? Do you lose sleep over losing sleep? Above all, do you worry about using your expensive camera equipment out of doors?

Stop laughing at the back there - this is a serious question. In the Northern hemisphere at least, it is Summer and the holiday season. Many are thinking of packing their bags and going somewhere new and hopefully worth a snap or two. They are packing their trunks, their sun cream, a big thick book and... Judging by the number of questions that start "Is [insert location of your choice] safe for my Leica?" or "Should I just take my [insert cheaper kit] to [x]?" there are an awful lot of people who worry about whether they will come back tanned, tubbier and robbed.

I appreciate that when we are talking about an MP, M7 or M9, plus a lens or two, you are looking at a substantial wodge of cash hung around your neck. But what did you buy it for? Do you really only want to use your "investment" in your home town, or worse, within the confines of your own home?

Let's look at this logically. In most parts of the world the average thief is a) an opportunist b) a coward c) ill-informed as to the value of a Leica. What they see is a convertible commodity - a camera that can be converted into cash. It doesn't matter to them whether it is a Holga or an S2 - if they think it has a value it is fair game. Ditto bags. Don't make their lives easy by wandering around in a daze with that split-screen Morris Minor of bags a Fogg over your shoulder - it just screams "more money than sense" - or indeed taste. Equally, don't fall into a false sense of security with your nappy sack/Gap messenger bag. Even the lowliest holdall these days can be relied upon to contain an iPod or it's bloated brother an iPad. Just the fact that you have a bag means you are of interest; your friendly neighbourhood thief can take first, value later if you are careless.
Dangerous or safe? You decide.


So you are by definition a target. Fact. What can you do about it? There are some simple rules.

1. Don't be a victim
A few years ago, a team of clinical psychologists showed photos and videos of people in the street to felons in a local prison. They were simply asked to nominate who they would mug. A clear pattern emerged, with the would-be robbers singling out those who looked like they were least likely to fight back, and those who appeared most unaware of their surroundings. That in and of itself is interesting enough. When the researchers correlated those results with the people pictured they found that many of those would-be victims had already been mugged or had suffered violent assaults ranging from playground bullying through to marital abuse. They concluded, in simple terms, that if you look like a victim you raise your chances of being one. The corollary is straightforward. Val Doonican had it about right. Walk tall, walk straight and look the world right in the eye. Look as if you mean business and you are more likely to be left alone. Look as if you are uneasy or afraid and you are, quite literally, asking for trouble.

2. Fit in
When in Rome, look like a Roman. When in Birmingham... Well, you get the idea. If you stick out like a sore thumb you will attract attention, potentially unwelcome. This doesn't mean that you have to buy an Armani suit for your next visit to Verona. It does mean that you should try to avoid shouting to the rooftops that you are new in town. When I was in Hanoi a few years ago I learned a useful trick. I certainly couldn't pass for a local - I was nearly 2 feet taller than most - but I could walk slowly. By doing so I gave the impression that I had all the time in the world. I was not obviously a tourist on a schedule ("if this is Tuesday it must be Ho's tomb") I was clearly a visitor, but one who "knew the ropes". As a result, I was largely left alone by the street traders as somebody who had probably heard it all, already. Other useful tips include avoiding socks with sandals, zip off shorts, flip-flops in the city, and any hat with writing upon it. Another trick that works surprisingly well is to carry a local newspaper; the implication that you can understand the language well enough to read about the ins and outs of local bin collection politics infers that you are not a newbie. Try to learn about your destination before you go. Conduct your own "threat assessment" and act accordingly. Don't ask for trouble by being a soft-touch.

3. Think
An ex-mother-in-law of mine used to say that the strange thing about common sense was that it was so uncommon. In that, at the very least, she was right. It's not the hardest thing in the world to keep your wits about you and by extension your property in your possession. Never leave your pride and joy unattended for a moment, no matter how "safe" you feel. A posh hotel lobby is a target-rich environment for the opportunist thief - like shooting fish in a barrel. Likewise keep your kit in sight at all times. Keep your bag over your shoulder or with an arm or a leg through the strap. Hold it at the front, don't sling it at the back. Take it with you to the salad cart - and to the gents. The only person you can trust is you.

4. Don't rely on gadgets
Put very simply, they don't work. cable locks, motion sensitive bag alarms and the like are targeted at the nervous and sold in their millions all around the world. They neither deter the determined thief nor protect your investment for more than a moment. Worst of all are the straps with a steel cable running through an otherwise normal leather or fabric strap. They may defeat the sneak with a sharp knife, but they are a completely suicidal idea in those parts of the world where the preferred modus operandii is to snatch and ride off in a car or on a scooter. You may think you can stand your ground and manfully wrench control of the situation and your camera back from the robbers, but believe me I would rather let go than be dragged along down a cobbled street behind a Fiat Panda.

5. Stand beside a victim
This may sound callous, but it's true. The best way to avoid being bitten by a mosquito is to put on repellent AND stand beside someone who hasn't. If you look like a harder target than the man standing next to you, you improve your chances of being the one that lightning does not hit.

6. Insure
I never cease to be amazed how many people overlook this point. When all else fails, claim and buy another one. Don't risk your life for a camera, no matter how valuable. Hand it over with a smile, report the crime, get a police report number and file a claim. I would rather be a living insurance claimant than a dead have-a-go hero.

Oh, and while I am in advice-dispensing mode, one more point. It's easy to laugh at and ridicule those who ask such questions and seek such advice, but we must remember that not everybody is a well-travelled man (or woman) of the world with the chameleon-like ability to blend in wherever they find themselves. Not everybody is 6'3". Not everybody is young, or steady on their feet, or even just confident. It takes all sorts to make a world, and it is up to those with that confidence to try to share it with those for whom taking their kit out of doors is a genuine worry.

So, there we have it. Whether you are roaming through Italy, or peeking at China, the ground rules are the same. Don't look like an easy target, keep your wits about you and take out insurance. Above all, don't be afraid of your own shadow - it's actually quite photogenic...

--o-O-o--

- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.

Tantric Photography?

What (or indeed who) springs to mind if I say “tantric sex”? (No sniggering at the back there...) For most people of a certain age, in the UK at least, it is Sting and Trudie Styler. Sting was once famously quoted as saying that the couple enjoyed hours of tantric lovemaking. An image was conjured up of Mr and Mrs Sumner lying intimately entwined in a protracted state of ecstacy, each on the brink of a wardrobe-trembling climax, holding the same position for ages in order to prolong the moment until, when it – and they – came, it provided the ultimate high. This slightly disturbing image was shattered forever years later when in another interview, Sting confessed that the hours of tantric sex alluded to actually encompassed going to a movie, followed by a decent dinner and a bit of begging on his part.

Seldom has an illusion been cruelly and totally shattered; women the world over sighed and resigned themselves to forever muttering “No, its alright, you tried, you couldn't help it” and men smirked in the confirmation that their sexual stamina was not going to be compared unfavourably any more to that of the great Mr Sumner.

Which of course brings us, as you knew it would, to the world of photography. Since the dawning of the Age of Digital (AD) photographers have become hopelessly addicted to the siren lure of instant gratification. In the past, the only way to hold the image in your hand shortly after exposure was to invest in a Polaroid camera, film or back. The slightly ridiculous looking act of shaking the print worked the necessary chemical magic and in moments you could find yourself holding the end result. Of course the great advantage of the instant camera was cutting out the middleman – the processor – and hence keeping your sordid little snaps to yourself. It was said that Edwin Land, the inventor of the Polaroid camera refused to include a self-timer in any of his products in order to dissuade their use for immoral purposes.

Whatever.

The reality was that Polaroids were a niche product, and it wasn't until digital image capture really took off that instant photography came into its element. Suddenly you could take a photo of granny and show her the immediate result (bifocals permitting). Suddenly you could fire off a snap of kids in the street (PCSOs permitting) and show them the immediate result, to their delight (assuming they didn't try to up their ASBO count by stealing your camera). Above all, suddenly you could take a photo and see for yourself if it was blurred, poorly exposed, or just plain crap.

Enter the “chimp”.

I don't know who first coined the phrase, but they had clearly spent time observing both apes and humans; perhaps on the same zoo trip. “Chimping” perfectly describes the act of snap-check-snap-check-snap-check that the inexperienced or insecure indulge in. Some risk repetitive strain injuries as they whip their heads up and down. No thought is given to the very real risk of missing what is going on now while checking what has happened in the immediate past. Chimpers, in effect, spend more time living in the past than capturing the present. The hunt-peck, hunt-peck action is actually reminiscent of an inexperienced typist – maybe the eponymous chimp was one of those employed to knock out the works of Shakespeare...

Back to the plot. The problem with instant gratification, as is well known by anyone who has succumbed to the lure of a bag of sweets, is that a moment of pleasure is followed by an anticlimax. The moment has passed, and the only way to recapture it, to get that high again is to have another

and another...

and another.

Before you know it you feel both mildly nauseous and forever dissatisfied. Instant gratification has devalued the experience for you, reduced it to a ho-hum norm. You are engorged and unhappy, and worst of all, a suspiciously porky looking Jamie Oliver is contemplating visiting you to make an infotainment programme pour encourager les autres.

As with bags of sweets, so with digital photographers. Just before the mighty SD card swept all before it, the high-street processors battling for your business were offering ever shorter turnarounds on your prints of little Tarquin and Tasmin. Modern machinery such as the Fuji Frontier series reduced an already rapid one hour service to 30 minutes, then 20 and in some cases 15. I don't know about you, but I struggle to drink a cup of tea in 15 minutes let alone dip, dunk, develop, print and cut to CD. At one point you could walk into some branches of Sainsburys, drop your films at the dry cleaners just inside the door and receive a text to tell you your snaps were ready before you had even got past the cake ingredients – well, certainly long before you got to the wines and spirits.

Queen once released a song called I Want It Now. This elegant bit of pomp-rock could have been penned as the theme tune to today's cash-rich, time-poor, need it yesterday consumers. The entire concept of patience being a virtue has been devalued to the point of parity with the Zimbabwean Pound.

The nearest I get to phallic symbolism...

And therein lies my point. In sales, there is a concept rather unpleasantly but graphically referred to as “the whores dilemma”. In simple terms this states that there is no point in asking for the money after the product or service has been provided; the act of provision has in effect reduced if not eliminated your customer's willingness to pay for something that is already in their possession. The immediate availability of the image on the back of the digital camera reduces both the enjoyment of “rediscovery” hours or days after the event and the likelihood of the image ever being printed at all. At best it may be shared with “m8s” on Facebook, at worst it is consigned to a computer hard-drive or never taken off the card at all. The print, on the other hand can be displayed, passed around, touched, felt, put in a drawer, forgotten then rediscovered months or years later. It can be written upon, front or back, or stained with tears of sorrow or joy. It exists, therefore it is.

Call me old-fashioned (it wouldn't be the first time) but the instant nature of digital photography has impoverished the photographic experience. Tantric photography is as much about the journey as the destination; tantalising expectation is part of that journey. Sometimes it is truly better to travel than to arrive.

And sometimes you should seek to prolong, not just preserve, the decisive moment. Try it – think Tantric. But please don't stand so close to me...

--o-O-o--

- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.