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...

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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.

The weakest link

In today's mindlessly competitive world, a lot of rubbish is talked about what is the best... The best lens, the best camera, the best film, the best memory card, the best processing software, the best printer and so on. Internet fora thrive (if not exist) on this type of discussion (and uninformed speculation). There is a particular type of grown man who spends hours painstakingly photographing brick walls, newspapers, book spines and rulers to prove that the lens that they have spent a young fortune on is infinitesimally better (or unacceptably worse) than another. Similarly there are others who will blindly chant the sales straplines of their chosen "team" like the worst sort of football supporter. Insults and ad hominem attacks abound as the debate rages - Nikon vs Canon, Summicron vs Summilux, GF-1 vs EP-2, Sandisk vs Lexar, Aliens vs Predator, and so on.

There are three fundamental flaws in the vast majority of these arguments. The first is clear. "Best" is a relative, not an absolute concept, qualified and informed by the simple question "Best for what?". Context is vital, as is intended use. One man's best is therefore another man's "you must be joking".

The second flaw is more subtle, but clear once you focus upon it. Having the best of anything does not in or of itself deliver the best end result. This is of course nothing new - the realisation that "a chain is no stronger than it's weakest link" has been around as long as, well as long as chain. In photography, the optical "supply chain" has to be optimised just like any other. It's no good having the "best" lens if the film or sensor is not up to snuff. Similarly, the whole thing falls apart if you drop your films into the local high street chemist or or photo dealer currently offering "advice for life" (They don't, by the way - I asked an assistant in my local branch how I could eat more healthily and he offered me a Canon Ixus) or process your digital images with the freeware that you downloaded off a mirror of a mirror of a mirror site in Ulan Bator.

In business systems implementations, the current fad is to speak in terms of process flows; "Procure to Pay", "Hire to Retire", "Order to Cash", etc. Each flow is made up of a series of standardised and proven steps. Do a step well and the process is improved. Do all the steps well and the process is optimised. The same logic can be applied in the photographic world.

So. It's simple, isn't it? The image excellence flow is:

Lens=>camera=>capture medium=>post processing=>output medium

In fact, let's be more snappy and call it "Snap to Show". Optimise every one of these elements and everything will be fine.

Won't it?

No.

Because there are other contributory elements. You could be using an MP or M9 with a 50mm Summilux and if you stick a hokey-cokey filter on the front, or if you don't use a lens-hood you have compromised your carefully thought through Snap to Show flow at the outset. Similarly, step through all the other stages in good order and only show off your finest photos as "optimised for web" and you may as well be using a Box Brownie. One interesting aspect of this particular chain is that if you get it wrong at an early stage, there is little or no opportunity to get it right later. A poorly exposed negative, or badly captured file is a recipe for later misery; you truly cannot turn out a silk purse from a sow's ear.

Okay, let's say we've got those bits right... what else? Now it gets interesting. Having the best is not the same as being the best. The single most important influencing factor on the quality of your photos is you. Do you know how to handle your equipment, how to get the best from it? How do you feel? A bit hung-over? A bit out of breath from walking up all those steps, perhaps? Should you have had that second expresso at lunch? Looking a bit shaky there... Oops... It's started to rain - and you without a coat...

...and so on.

I'm not suggesting that photography becomes an Olympic event - Heaven forbid - I cannot envisage photographers the world over eschewing lie-ins, beer and cigarettes and embarking on intensive fitness regimes to compete to achieve the ultimate cat snap - but why put so much thought and money into the camera and lens then skimp on such a key element? There are easy things you can do - avoid stimulants, catch your breath before trying to handhold a shot - you are a basic part of the equation.

You see where I am going with this... EVERY contributing factor must be taken into account, it's virtues and drawbacks weighed up, and the decision made. The holy trinity of flexibility - portability - image quality cannot be ignored, otherwise we would all be carrying around large format cameras on studio stands, but each and every one of us has to decide what, and how much, to compromise to achieve the desired result.

It's all in the mind...



The last flaw is so basic, so elemental, that if you do not get it right you may as well throw away all your gear and buy a postcard. The most optimised Snap to Show flow in the World will not enable you to turn out a decent photo if there is a creative gap between your ears - if you are unable to "see" in the first place. A boring photo is a boring photo. It may be technically excellent, but if the subject matter itself is more tedious than a late night chat show on Belgian TV in August nothing will save you. It really is as simple as "Garbage in, garbage out". If you cannot see - or edit - to save your life, then it's true.

You are the weakest link.

Goodbye.

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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.

Hell, no, we won't logo...

I was buying a new car recently and I was asked if I wanted it "debadged". I'm aware of this "service", of course - a bit like having your hair cut or liposuction it is one of the few services in which you pay more to walk away with less - but it has always slightly mystified me. I have no particular desire to hide the model of car I am buying, so why bother? The salesman smiled. "Very well Sir", he said. and was going to leave it at that.

Out of curiosity, I asked him what sort of customer said yes. His answer was an interesting object lesson in reverse psychology. It seems that debadging is most popular with those buying base models. They opt for it so that they do not have anything on the back of their cars that declares they have gone for the cheaper option. The irony is, the salesman continued, that it is for the most part only those buying base models who choose to debadge - those who can afford the top of the range have no issue in "flaunting it". Thus, he pointed out with a certain degree of schadenfreude, if you see a debadged car, it is almost by definition equipped with cloth seats, small wheels and a socially inept owner.

This led me to thinking. One of the stranger sub-plots in the world of Leica is the desire to eliminate the red dot; remove from the front of the camera that which proclaims most loudly that you are using a high-end piece of photographic equipment. There are regular threads on fora seeking views on the best tape to use, or the best means to eliminate not just the dot but also the white lettering. Gaffer, duck, duct, insulating, etc - all have their adherents (sorry!).

So what is going through these people's minds? The most oft-expressed desire is to make the camera more "stealthy"; to present a more ninja-like face to the world. The theory goes that the red dot catches the eye and the "decisive moment" is lost.

Bollocks.

What catches people's eye is a 160-lb bloke dressing like Action Man night-stalker, making sudden movements as if he has mallards in his underpants and waving a camera in their direction. The red dot, or lack of it, has no bearing in this situation.

Let's move on to justification #2 - "I don't want to attract the attention of thieves". In this case our taper has moved to a specific class of people by whom he doesn't want to be noticed. That red dot just SCREAMS money, doesn't it?

Bollocks (again).

The average street thief is a) opportunist b) unaware of the Leica price list c) not choosy. A camera is a camera. The thought of someone initiating a mugging and then saying - "oh sorry, mate, didn't realise that was a Niktax 3000P - thought it was the far more valuable 30xls. Sorry to bother you, mind how you go..." - is not really credible, is it? A camera is a camera - it is something you have, that they do not, and something that they can sell for money. It's that simple.

Red, and proud of it...

Sooo... Justification #3 - "I don't want to be seen using an expensive camera to shoot poor people." ...I love this one. Anyone who follows this philosophy really shouldn't be allowed out on their own. Let's turn it on it's head - a great way to test any argument - "I only want to be seen shooting poor people with a cheap camera." - Well, let me put it this way; if I were pushing a Lidl trolley along the embankment, dragging my cardboard after me and swigging from a meths bottle and two photographers approached, one with a cheap disposable, and the other with an M9, I know which is more likely to catch my good side - that's the one without the suppurating sores and alopecia. If this is truly an issue to you, just stick to shooting the sort of still-lifes and landscapes so beloved of Amateur Photographer - nice, safe, anodyne and completely non-confrontational.

...and that brings me neatly on to justification #4...

Aesthetics.

Yes, aesthetics matter. And to some extent, this is the one justification with which I have some sympathy. Here's my confession - I don't like logos. If a company would like to pay me for advertising their product, I will gladly do so, but I am neither famous nor high profile enough to be sponsored, so that isn't going to happen.

I had a splendid dispute with a car salesman (yes, another one) a few years ago. I was buying a Land Rover Discovery; the Series II model that still had the spare wheel on the back door. Now, I object to advertising a dealership, so asked politely for a plain spare wheel cover. Not only was this request refused (I later bought one myself) but also my request for no cover at all; I was told that the Sales Director would not allow a car to be driven off their forecourt without a suitably tacky cover shouting their name.

In the event, and having nearly cancelled my order, I came to what I saw as a suitable compromise; I collected the car, complete with stencilled cover, drove it all of one yard across the forecourt, got out and removed the offending article, before frisbeeing it up on to the showroom roof. It described a graceful arc, and settled somewhere highly visible but inconvenient. The salesman smiled - his responsibility was discharged - and my vehicle was no longer a 4x4 billboard.

But that's one thing, and easily dealt with. I would never dream of buying an article of clothing that proclaimed "Nike" or "O'Neill", or any of a number of other brand names. I may be a Bill, but I am not a board. However, I have never let a logo stand in the way of ownership either. I have never bothered about having "Olympus" or "Leica" on a pentaprism, and I am not about to start now. It is an integral part of the design, an integral part of the product. Nobody removes the Spirit of Ecstacy from a Rolls Royce, so why worry about that little red dot?

For those to whom it really matters, there is one simple alternative - buy a Leica old enough not to have the dot - suddenly all your problems are solved. Ok, it won't be digital, but for many who seem to care about such ephemeral matters, I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't really matter - it's all about appearances. After all - who actually takes pictures with anything other than a cameraphone these days...?

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.