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...

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

Tools for the job

Consider for a moment the humble bottle-opener. An unsung hero of the kitchen drawer, found in a million hotel rooms worldwide. Simple, effective and downright essential at times. It is basic, in a good way. Pared to it's bare functional essentials it is all that one needs to open a bottle. A shaped hole at one end, and a corkscrew that, more often than not, folds out.

Simple. It does the job.

Or does it? Type the words "bottle opener" into Amazon and you get an astonishing twenty-six thousand, five hundred and fifty-six hits. The cheapest is 49 pence and the most expensive (by Le Creuset) an eye-watering £99.00. Both will open a bottle, so why the difference? Why such disparity?

Manufacturing cost is one answer, of course. One is made of chrome-plated steel, the other of aircraft grade aluminium. Quality is a factor, as is aesthetics and design. But a bottle is a bottle is a bottle. It doesn't care if you use a high-end tool or something that you got free out of a cracker. Both are tools for the job.

It's a short step from bottle-openers to clasp knives. Another tool to do a straightforward job. You would think, wouldn't you? Consider the Opinel "No. 7"; a single blade, a simple beechwood handle, 9cm long. Then consider the Victorinox "Swiss Champ XLT" - 50 functions crammed into the same 9cm length. Both will cut things for you, from a piece of string to your finger, but they are worlds apart both in design and concept, quite apart from the fact that one sounds like a lipstick and the other a turbocharged Gruyère cheeseburger.

The Opinel is spartan in it's simplicity - no more than a sharp blade in a simple handle. The handle is organically ergonomic, offering a firm, sure and comfortable grip. The only "advanced technology" in the entire design is the simple locking collar that prevents the blade from closing on your fingers in use. It is simple, light and will last a lifetime. The Champ is on the other hand the exact polar opposite in concept and execution. Weighing in at a pocket-straining quarter of a kilo, it is packed with features and functions, ranging from a large blade to a toothpick, via assorted screwdrivers (flat and cross-head) torx bits, wood and metal saws, a fish scaler and disgorger and of course a "pharmaceutical spatula".

The two tools represent extreme approaches to the same requirement - the provision of a portable tool. Whilst it is true to say that the Champ offers by far the more functions, it does so in a heavy, unwieldy package that sits uncomfortably both in the pocket and in the hand. Have you ever tried to use a Swiss Army Knife for more than a minute or so to cut through something? The corkscrew digs into the palm of your hand. Great when you have a break and want to open that bottle of Chateau Lafitte, but bloody annoying when you are cutting through one length of carpet after another.

The Opinel on the other (less sore) hand does just one thing and it does it extremely well. It is a knife. It cuts things. If you want to cut things (as opposed to scaling fish) it is by far the better choice.

And that brings me to camera design (you knew I would get there in the end...) Consider the Opinel as a Leica M. It fits in the hand like a glove. It's basic design has remained unchanged for over half a century. It does what it sets out to do, without compromise or digression. It does not have autofocus, face recognition (nay, not even Pentax's pet face recognition), or HDR. It eschews little-used features in favour of giving the experienced, confident photographer what he wants - a tool to do the job.


"Leica" vs "Canon" - simplicity vs. stuff...

You can manage aperture, shutter speed and ISO; balancing the three will result in a correctly exposed image under most circumstances - all you have to do is point the camera at the right thing, at the right time and press the shutter at the right moment. How hard is that? Consider now the Champ as a Canon or Nikon DSLR - large, heavy, a "master of all trades" - albeit you need a jack to lift it. It doesn't quite cut boxes as well as a box-cutter, nor cut wood as well as a rip saw. It isn't quite as good at pruning roses as secateurs and the pharmaceutical spatula is very hard to sterilise, but what the hey, it's ALL IN ONE!

Mediocrity of design reached it's apogee in the 1980s with the myriad of jellymould designs that followed in the wake of the Ford Sierra. For a time 90% of the cars on the road looked the same - half-melted metal boxes. The designers claimed it was because form followed function - this was the result of wind tunnel testing to achieve the best drag co-efficient. But it was BORING and counter-productive. Over time diversity reared it's beautiful head once again and cars today are again easily differentiated from 50 feet away.

Canon, Nikon and the rest produce fine products that aim to be all things to all men, provided those men have the patience to read through a 300 page manual (actually the theory falls apart right there, doesn't it?), have the biceps of a bodybuilder or a live-in chiropractor. Leica produces pared-down, minimalist cameras for photographers who know how to use a camera.

Simple.

Bill

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