What should I take...

I have commented before about the phenomenon that sees ordinary, otherwise sensible people apparently turn into blathering, indecisive jellies when confronted with a keyboard, an internet connection and an audience on a photo forum. There is a particular variant of that malady that tends to manifest itself in the Summer months - the thread that starts "I'm going to [insert as applicable] and I can't decide whether to just take [insert interminably long list of equipment] or whether I should also take [insert equally long list of equipment] what do you think?"

Leaving aside the probability that:

a) The audience doesn't know a lot about the poster in terms of their tastes, skills etc.,

b) Most of said audience doesn't know anything material about the proposed holiday destination either,

c) The destination given ("Europe", "China", "South America"...) is so vague that no answer can be meaningful,

and

d) Most of said audience only ever give the same answer to any such query based upon their own tastes and preferences.

The quality and usefulness of response is going to be dubious at best and bloody useless at worst.

So why (oh why) do people persist in these ridiculous threads? There can be only one answer.

They're boasting.

Yes.

That's it. They are simply taking the opportunity for a spot of self-aggrandisement. In fact, the seemingly innocent "holiday question" is a great 2 for 1:

a) I am going somewhere special/expensive/hard to get to

b) I have lots of expensive kit

This last is a particularly modern form of hubris. In the ancient world, excessive pride was a crime. Crowing over one's peers, or indeed one's vanquished foes, was regarded as very bad form indeed, much as owning an f1 Noctilux today and openly musing as to the benefits of adding a f.0.95 Noctilux to your collection of humidity-controlled dust-gatherers is guaranteed to reduce any right-thinking fellow photographer (for which read "real photographer") to acts of mindless irritation. The "autosignature" is a particular refinement of this phoenomenon, enabling the poster to re-state their entire palette of toys with the press of a button. I do wonder at the mentality of those whose signature is both longer and more interesting than their posts, however.

The only form of this question that makes any real sense is "From your own direct experience, what is [location x] like?". Any photographer with half a brain can do their own online research these days; the likes of Flickr and Google Earth provide the opportunity to find out what others have done, and what a given location looks like. The old advice used to be to go to a newsagents on arrival and look at the postcards - now with the "global village" we can browse through others' snaps, tagged - geotagged, even - without leaving the comfort of our own armchairs.

What is invaluable is "local knowledge" - places to eat, to sit, where photography is encouraged, where it is frowned upon, where and how the scam artists operate, how to get around, where the best beer is to be found. All of the above come from personal experience. People who have been there, or even better, live there -in other words, those least likely to be impressed by your ability to travel there.


I chose the lens, body, aperture, shutter speed and destination all by myself...


I don't want or need someone to pick my kit for me. I don't want someone to oo and ah over my equipment - unless they are particularly attractive, of course - I don't need people to be impressed by my choice of destination, or by the size of my wallet. It's useful to know that the lighting in museum x is particularly low, or that the queues for art gallery y only get bad after 10AM, but telling me that I absolutely must take a wide-angle or I will miss some great shots is about as useful as a photograph of a rope to a drowning man.

No, I don't care how much you have spent on where you are going, or the money you have invested in what you might take, but if I've been there before, I'll gladly give you my opinion on the place - provided you aren't just boasting, of course...


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.

Great Photo! Great camera...?

We have all been there, at one time or another. It is usually absolutely genuinely meant. It may come from a friend, or a relative, or a total stranger. When you hear those words, though, it is like fingernails on a blackboard for the photographer concerned.

"What a lovely photo! You must have a very good camera..."

What on Earth is an appropriate answer?

"Indeed I have - my sole contribution to the creative process was buying it in the first place..."

"No, it's a cheap piece of crap, but I have the compositional skills of Raphael."

...or something in between?

over the years I have been as guilty as anyone of the typical English passive aggressive non-response in such circumstances - smile, shrug and back away while simultaneously listening to the little inner voice chanting "Blood, blood, blood"... Of course it's hard to be rude when a) someone genuinely thinks they are paying you a compliment and b) they are either elderly or attractive. The natural impulse to snap back is repressed - bad for the blood pressure, I know, but good for the inheritance/prospects of a good night out.

Of course in many cases it is true. It is hard to find a truly bad camera these days. Even the cheapest digi-compact can turn out a halfway decent result if handled right. However, I think it is worth exploring what triggers such a comment. Look at it from the point of view of the other person - your photo has moved them in some way. Why? What was it that drove them to say something? I think in many cases it comes down to what they are used to seeing, and the results that they feel they can produce themselves.

The photos that I find get a strong reaction are those that either have a strong motif, or a particular "look" - that might be a macro shot, or one dominated by a single strong colour, or a powerful monochrome image, or, particularly, one with very shallow depth of focus. That last fascinates me - and I think it is because it is simply not available to anyone using a cameraphone, small sensor digicam or slow-lensed film compact that it is so worthy of comment. It smacks the viewer in the eye, because it isn't the way they see the world, or have been able to capture it themselves.

Okay bokeh?


Do the particpants and professional practitioners of other pursuits have to put up with this, I wonder? Does Gordon Ramsay get told his meals are delicious because of his great pans, or does Elton John get complimented on his choice of piano? I think not. Maybe it is because everyone fancies that they can take a photo, but that you need a "better" camera than the one they have to take a "better" photo than they can.

We aren't going to change the world overnight, though. So what to do? Now I am more grumpy old, than angry young man, I have more of an inclination towards the "mission to inform" approach. I try - gently - to explain that yes, I do have a good camera, but that it does need me to carry it from place to place, aim it in the right direction, decide what settings to use, where to put the point of focus, etc. I try not to sound condescending, but instead try to build a rapport, and generate some genuine interest in how I have achieved an image worthy of their comment, and how they could do the same.

The key to this approach is the counter question - keep it in mind, chant it like a mantra, so that you are ready for the next time.

Ok?

Ready?

Here we go...

"What makes you think that?"

Try it - it works, and is far less likely to get you arrested than clobbering an old lady around the head with a Leica...

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.

Unplugged...

I think it was MTV that first made popular the "unplugged" approach to music performance. It came as a reaction to the at the time almost inescapable use of electric this, synth that. I particularly remember the acoustic version of Layla by Eric Clapton - still recognisably the same song, but completely re-interpreted. Different. Fresh. What interests me about the very concept of doing something "unplugged" is that it implies a state of plugged-in-ness preceding it - less unplugged than post-plugged.

A musician performing acapella with nothing but an acoustic guitar is in effect putting their talent on the line. They cannot hide behind producers with mixing desks, or digital enhancement. It is them, their capabilities, their instrument and the music. It separates the men (and women) from the boys (and, er, girls). Not everyone can do it. Not everyone, to be fair, feels the need. Those that do, however, show a new dimension to their skills, and earn the respect of their peers and audience as a result.

In the photographic world, the relentless drive to bigger, faster, better digital cameras has led to an explosion of innovation. Product cycles have dropped from years to months or even weeks. From nowhere, it is now possible to buy, for considerably less than the price of a decent weekend break, a digital SLR that produces clean, high quality images without a film in sight. It is all so easy, quick, predictable, efficient, clean, clinical... did I mention soul-less?

I have in the past owned some of the finest film equipment in the world - Nikon, Leica and Contax SLRs and rangefinders, with lenses that were (and are) second to none. When digital happened, I joined the bandwagon after a while, then sat out a few rounds of innovation before rejoining in the shape of an Olympus DSLR. It does all that I ask of it and more, but like the most sophisticated film cameras, you are not always sure what it is doing, or, more crucially, why. There is so much inherent complexity in the modern DSLR - any modern DSLR, not just the Olympus - that it is indeed possible to get yourself caught at the bottom of a sub-menu and trapped there forever until your air runs out and you drown. The modern viewfinder is now more like a dashboard than an optical instrument, with head-up displays and overlays.

*sigh*

I had been aware of screwmount Leicas for as long as I had been aware of the brand. I knew they were the precursors to the M, and much more primitive for that. Separate view and rangefinders, the need for accessory finders for anything other than 50mm focal length, even the need to trim the leader - none of this was lost on me. It all seemed a bit old-fashioned, a bit anachronistic - even, for modern use, a bit masochistic. Why, I thought, would I ever want to use something that didn't even have a built-in meter? Where's the fun in that?

It was about two and a half years ago that I succumbed and bought my first "Barnack". My local dealer had a IIIc in the window, complete with 3.5cm Elmar - still the most compact lens in that focal length ever produced by Leica. It winked at me through the window like a rascally old lady - past her prime but still full of charm, fun and joie de vivre. It took minimal thought for me to go in, plant down my money and walk out with it in my pocket.

I resolved from the outset to go the whole hog and live the Barnack experience - I didn't own a handheld meter, so I decided to rely upon "Sunny 16". I also decided, to make my life a little easier, to only feed the old girl a limited diet - Kodak 400CN. Reasonably fast to compensate for the slow lens, easy to get developed in the high street (even today, if you know where to go), plenty of latitude and somehow black and white just seemed appropriate.

I cheated a little - I used a Panasonic digicam as a back-up to my exposure guesstimation at first, treating it as a meter that could take photos. I kidded myself that I was carrying it as a backup, but I soon realised that I didn't need it - practically or psychologically.

A couple of rolls of film through the gate also made me realise that, in the UK at least, Sunny-16 is nearer to Sunny-12. The little IIIc became my constant companion, in my bag, briefcase or pocket at all times - partly because it was small enough, and partly because it was really just that much fun to use. I got used to the poky rangefinder, and with switching over to the viewfinder for composition. Mostly I used it for "street photography"... I lived the HCB dream, or at least I wandered about with a Leica and snapped people doing vaguely interesting stuff in the street.

Caught with a camera older than you and me put together...

Continuing with the unplugged analogy, if the IIIc is equivalent to an acoustic guitar, then the II that followed is probably nearer to a lute. The II was an impulse buy, from the US via eBay. You know what I mean - I put in a bid and went to bed, and woke up with less money and a parcel on the way. When it arrived it was, er, "crispy" to say the least. Years of gunge meant it handled like a chewy toffee and the view and rangefinders were "atmospheric". A trip to CRR in Luton soon sorted that out, and a new chapter began.

My II is actually a I - it started life in 1930, and was factory-upgraded in 1934. It is both a demanding mistress and a delight - there is nothing between me and my subjects except a thin layer of brass and glass. I don't miss the slow speeds at all, and I find the wider spacing of the view- and rangefinders actually, if anything, make life easier. There are (many) days when it is the only camera I carry.

So does it take more skill to use a Barnack than a modern DSLR? In some respects, I would contend that it does. If you nail it - if everything comes together and you get it right - then the resultant image is all your own work. When you trip the shutter on an old Leica gears whir, springs contract and silk curtains part. When you press the shutter release on the DSLR, you send a command to the CPU that in turn starts a process that...

Let me conclude with this thought; the 40th anniversary of the Beatles' Sgt Pepper album has been marked by some of today's "stars" going into the studios at Abbey Road, using the original analogue 4-track equipment to record cover versions of the songs from the album. Their only recourse to getting it wrong was to re-record... Again, and again, and again... Without the aid of the Antares Autotune - the technology that ensures that however sharp or flat your voice is, you can appear pitch perfect when you "perform" (we have it to blame for the Spice Girls and many others) - the "Talent" struggled to rise to the occasion...

Enough said.

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.

Objective, subjective... selective...?

A lot has been written about whether or not a photographer can ever truly be objective in his treatment of a subject. Can a war photographer, for example, ever produce an image that does not have a bias of some sort? If they show soldiers celebrating a famous victory they can be accused of triumphalism, if they turn their cameras on the wounded and dying they can equally be accused of batting for the other side and undermining morale.

The first really media-savvy war of what could euphemistically be called "the present day" (i.e. during my lifetime...) was Vietnam. Photojournalists were given unprecedented access to the front lines. Reputations were made the hard way by men such as Philip Jones-Griffiths, Tim Page and Don McCullin. They found themselves, as young men, documenting the lives and deaths of other young men, going into battle alongside them in Hueys, armed with a Nikon or a Leica instead of an Armalite, but just as much in harm's way. For a flavour of the lives they led, pick up a copy of "Nam" by Tim Page. Don't just look at the pictures and read the words, feel the rhythm of the book - Page brings those days to life in a very personal way.

The saturation coverage backfired, of course. The US lost the war, not in the paddy fields of the Mekong Delta but in the hearts and minds of the people at home, who were fed, day after day, a diet of the horrors of war; US troops and Viet civilians alike ripped apart by explosive ordnance or flayed alive by napalm.

By the time the Falklands War came around, establishment attitudes, at least in the United Kingdom, had hardened. There was a recognition that open access meant that information could not be controlled; once the genie was out of the bottle it could not be forced back in and the "bad" would be shown alongside the "good". The government of the day were keen to keep things low key. Who can forget Ian McDonald, the MOD spokesman who appeared night after night on the BBC and ITN news, delivering carefully worded briefings in a wooden monotone? The very distances involved helped in the delay and censorship of images of course; if you are on a naval warship in the South Atlantic your options, back in those days, for getting your film back to shore, were strictly limited. It was the Falklands War that ended Don McCullin's career as a war correspondent - he was denied passage to the theatre of war, it is said, because Margaret Thatcher specifically objected to his ability to depict the horror of conflict. McCullin decided not to cover any further wars, but thankfully turned his lens in other directions.

During the Gulf War(s), journalists were "embedded" - a term that first found currency in the Iraq invasion. The military machine embraced those journalists along for the ride, swaddling them so tightly that they were again, stifled. The old saying about holding your friends close and your enemies closer was never more clearly illustrated. Today, in the Afghan conflict, there is no concurrent front-line reporting at all; "news" is stale before it is ever transmitted or printed.

All of this has had two effects; firstly, the coverage of such "events" - if war can be couched in such terms - has, except for a few honourable exceptions, become anodyne and detached - subservient to the establishment. Cartoonish images of smart bombs falling on baddies, interspersed with marginally less cartoonish animations of military advances and deployments replace real, eyewitness accounts and images. The low-tech Panorama sandbox filled with Airfix tanks of the Yom Kippur War has been replaced by the high tech Newsnight computer simulation, but it is just as detached from reality. The detachment serves to make the horror of war seem somehow less real, less threatening. Soon wars will come, like movies in the cinema, with ratings - "contains mild peril and threat" for a "police action" up to "extreme action and scenes of a violent nature" for a full-blown war.

The second, and equally worrying consequence is that photojournalists - indeed any journalists - are no longer seen as impartial observers, their actions of equal benefit to both sides. Rightly or wrongly they are seen as instruments of the state, reporting what they are told, and therefore as much a fair target as anyone else on the battlefield. The net effect is clear - the more photojournalists are seen as being directly in harm's way, the less they will be free to show what is clearly going on.

So can a photographer - can a photograph - ever truly be objective? subtext and message free? Independent of all that is going on?

Peacekeeper or warmonger...?


No.

I have looked at this primarily from the point of view of a war correspondent, because it makes it easier to illustrate the point, but the same principles hold true in other fields too.

Just picking a subject makes it subjective. Pointing your camera in a direction is a conscious decision. The longer you take on composition, the more thought you put into it, the further the eventual photo becomes. Even your choice of exposure - dark or light - and colour - or monochrome - puts your own "spin" on your output. There is no such thing as a "straight record shot" - the narrative that is in your head, conscious or subconscious, comes out when you press the button. The art is to recognise that and to channel it in your work. Every photo tells a story - just make sure it is telling the story you want it to.

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.

Sharp is not the only fruit

In the realm of photography, much is made of the merits of good glass. And quite right too. If you want a tack-sharp rendition of your chosen subject, with "perfect" microcontrast and no coma, flare, vignetting, spherical aberrations, etc., then, like so many things in life, you gets what you pays for.

Things are certainly better than they used to be, of course. These days, even the worst cheap kit zoom is better than the average milk bottle thanks to modern formulations of glass, computer aided optical design and better quality materials, assembled by "infallible" machines to tight tolerances. Zoom lenses in particular, covering wide- to tele- ranges that would have been unthinkable a few years ago can now be produced to a "decent" quality at a "reasonable" cost. There are few, if any, "lemons" that can still be bought new.

So.

If "decent" is within easy reach, why do so many photographers still spend staggering amounts of money in pursuit of the dernier cri in optical excellence? It's a fairly safe bet that many (though by no means all) of the pursuers are not sufficiently talented to make the most of the optical qualities of the glass that they aspire to - and in many cases buy. A clear case of the unjustifiable in pursuit of the unfocusable.

In general, the wider or faster the lens, the more expensive it is. The lens speed "arms race" has pretty well been won for now by Leica with it's superlative 50mm Summilux f1.4 and frankly incredible 50mm Noctilux 0.95. They are not the first to build a lens this fast, of course, but you can count on them being among the last of a dying breed - the purveyors of "quality at any cost". What I find hard to believe, let alone understand, is those for whom the 0.95 represents a "must have" lens regardless of the fact that they already have it's predecessor, the f1.0. Are they truly good enough to push this lens to it's limits, or do they just have an overinflated bank balance to match their overinflated egos?

But I digress... Let us return to sharpness.

Much is made on internet fora about the "need" to have the most up to date, highest performing lens to get the best out of the sensor/film. Much is made about the "need" to have something sharp enough to shave with in order to produce "worthwhile" images. Leaving aside for a moment the need for talent in the equation, the "sharp is best" school of narrow-mindedness ignores a whole world of options. The more worldly photographer views the lenses in his bag not in technical terms - Xmm wideangle, fnn tele - with more letters after it's name than a 1970's Ford (GTXLR, anyone?) but as a palette of possibilities, or perhaps more appropriately as a selection of "paintbrushes" which can be used appropriately, to make the most of the subject at the time. Ask not an experienced photographer (as opposed to an "expert" photographer...) how many lenses he has of different focal lengths, ask instead how many he has in his favourite focal length.

For my part, I "see" the world in 50mm terms. I have a (big) fast one, a (compact and collapsible) slow one, and some in between. Some are sharp, with the ability to resolve individual eyelashes at ten paces, some softer, giving a more "rounded" image. I carry and use them according to whim, destination, subject matter and expected light levels. I could probably achieve similar results with a single Summilux and some plug-in Photoshoppery, but where's the fun, the creative enjoyment - in that?

Taken handheld, with an Elmar old enough to be my grand-dad - better sharper?

...not to me.

My favourite 50 by far is an ancient and crispy 5cm Elmar f3.5. It first saw the light of day when Zeppelins were in the skies, Frozen food was a novelty and wireless was something you listened to the BBC on, transmitting from Crystal Palace in dinner jackets and brilliantine. It is a soft, low contrast, old lady, that renders out of focus highlights with a gentle glow, while at the same time giving a modern kit zoom a run for it's money on a sunny day. It is generations behind the current wonderkinds, but it still has a place. Above all, the older, less "perfect" lenses have that indefinable something that I shall, for the want of anything better, refer to as "character" - something that the more clinical "scalpels", for all their carefully engineered and computer-optimised perfection, lack.

No, sharpness is not the be all and end all. It has it's place, as does fillet steak. But who would want to live on that every day...?

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.
- I don't care how good it is, I'd want more than just a knife if I was in the Swiss Army.

Great capture!!!

WOW! What a great image!!! Phantastic Foto!!

...and so on.

Give me a break.

One of the unexpected and largely unwanted by-products of the internet age is the ability to comment upon the work of others in a simplistic and anodyne fashion. Flickr and other photo sharing sites are the worst, by far, but the pernicious plague spreads far and wide to otherwise sensible corners of the web. The almost hysterical shriek of GREAT CAPTURE! leaps from the screen like a pair of fluorescent chartreuse cycle shorts on a middle-aged sumo wrestler. It's the electronic equivalent of a "high five", or chummy slap on the back, and generally has the same tea-spitting effect as the latter.

Do other pastimes have the equivalent, I wonder? Do watercolourists run around each other in circles shouting WOOT! at the sight of a well-rendered landscape? Do quilters experience orgasmic glee when confronted by a particularly, er, well-filled, one?

Now, you will probably by this point be thinking of me as a bit of a curmudgeon. Why shouldn't people be encouraging (and encouraged), I hear you say. What's wrong with a bit of heartfelt enthusiasm?

There's the rub.

What's missing for me, 99.9 times out of 100, is the little matter of "sincerity". Let's dwell on that thought for a moment. The origins of the word give us a clue as to what it is all about. It is from the Latin, "sin cere", meaning "without wax". I understand (I wasn't there...) that an unscrupulous sculptor back in the days of the Roman Empire might use an inferior quality of marble, or cover up careless chisel marks, by using wax as a filler. This worked well as a cunning ruse to fool the unwary art lover right up to the point that their newly acquired household god, tasteful nude or priapic faun was hit by the warming rays of the sun as it streamed across the Aventine. The wax would melt, leaving our hapless purchaser with something that looked like a large tabby had sharpened their claws on it. The sculpture was revealed as not genuine. The real thing was "sin cere"...

A genuine comment, truly meant, is worth a thousand times more than something that has been cut'n'pasted a dozen times already in that browsing session alone. I swear that some people leave such comments like some sort of electronic paper trail, just to prove that they have been there. They are probably the same people who had "I-Spy" books as children, bought to keep them quiet on long journeys as they assiduously ticked off each type of lorry, tree, pylon or whatever. Big Chief I-Spy has heap much to answer for, I fear.

I'm not saying don't comment - but if you have nothing genuine to say, then I don't think I'm alone in saying that I'd rather you said nothing at all. If you have the time, the inclination and the mastery of your keyboard to use the q,y,i,o,s,d,f,h,j,k*,l,z,x,v,b,n and m keys in addition to those that go to make up that most empty of plaudits, please do so. The best comments are thought-provoking. They make the photographer look at their own image afresh, to see it with new eyes. The vast majority of photographers are terrible self-editors, who need all the help they can get to separate their wheat from the chaff. Thoughtless praise for mediocrity, lightly given, simply encourages more mediocrity.

Like it? Loathe it? Let me know. But DON'T say "Great capture!"

Original is here: Berlin

There is another dimension to this. There seems to be an almost paranoid fear of causing offense. Critical comments, especially constructive and well-composed ones, are so rare that the WWF are starting an appeal. I suspect that this is in part because it is easier to carpet-bomb with smileys than snarlys (Is that a word? It deserves to be). Constructive criticism, or critique, is HARD, because it requires TIME and THOUGHT. Those are increasingly precious commodities in the modern World, where Apple and Blackberry are now communication devices instead of something that goes well with crumble and custard.

So.

Please - comment away, but do so with your mind in gear, not your rubber stamp in hand.

Bill

*I'm assuming that you are not one of those who think it's cute to spell capture with a K...

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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.
- This Blog entry has been brought to you by the Provisional wing of the Popular Front for the Promulgation and Preservation of Constructive Criticism.

Smart Metering?

Much has been made in recent weeks of the forthcoming introduction of "Smart Meters" for domestic use. Depending on the hue of your morning paper this is either a necessary thing (broadsheets) a costly thing (red tops) or a filthy communist plot to spy on our domestic energy consumption (The Daily Mail). All this hot air, however, has set me thinking about the a type of metering much closer to my heart.

Don't read this expecting a technical paper - these are (as usual) my personal views, based on the journey I have taken over the years.

Like many, I started off by really not understanding metering, beyond the basics of too much light = overexposure, too little light = underexposure. I relied heavily at first on built in metering (centre-weighted, of course) and aperture priority auto and gradually fumbled my way into a broader understanding of light and exposure. The greatest lesson I remember learning in those early years was that there is no such thing as "correct exposure" - there is only the exposure that gives you the end result that you are happy with. That may be too dark for some, too high-key for others, but hey, that's their problem.

The next thing that moved me forward was spot metering, combined with the use of slide film. Suddenly not only could I expose easily for the element of the subject that I wanted, but I could also see the end results as I indended without the well-meaning intervention of a spotty youth tweaking the processing machine in my local branch of Boots.

Not averagely metered...

Matrix metering - great if you are not very experienced, if you are feeling lazy, or if you are Keanu Reeves (you may of course be all of the above, in which case welcome, Mr Reeves, and when are you going to make a decent movie?) I have had various cameras with matrix metering or some variation thereon, and have generally found it to be akin to trying to get through the day wearing gardening gloves - I can still do what I want, but I cannot feel anything; subtlety is lost.

So.

That takes me full-circle. The scales fell from my eyes when I finally, after years of "I can't do that" excuses, I acquired my first totally manual, meterless camera. That was a Leica IIIc, which has subsequently gone on to new owner, but has been replaced in the proverbial gadget bag by a II and an M2. I rushed out and bought a hand-held meter (the tiny Gossen Digisix - accurate and easy to use, but with a frightening appetite for batteries.). I religiously metered each shot for all of half a roll of film, before realising that the reading did not change that often. I metered every other shot, then every 3 shots, then...

Freedom!!! My generally lazy nature combined with the realisation that I could guesstimate the majority of lighting conditions, and rely on the latitude of film allowed me to leave the meter at home. The feeling of walking around with a purely manual camera, adjusting exposure by experience and by eye and getting good results has to be experienced to be believed. Whole rolls of film slid through without a single exposure reading being taken. Sunny-16 became my friend, albeit in the UK at least, it is more like Sunny-12.

Real men don't use meters...

I've mentioned film already, and this is a key part of the equation. My camera food of choice is Kodak 400CN, a chromogenic film that means I can (still) get a 30 min high street dip and dunk and proofs to disc without too much hassle. I don't use anything else, so I have learned how this emulsion behaves under different lighting conditions and how far I can trust it.

But... here's the funny thing - although I can, I don't manually estimate, or indeed manually set, exposure on my other cameras. I am still happy to rely upon automation when it is available, even though I have tasted the fruit of self-reliance. Do I feel guilty because of this? No. No more than I do leaving my car gearbox in auto mode for 95% of my journeys. Sensible, non-invasive automation is an asset, but going "unplugged" is something special.

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.
- I'd rather have a week of Fridays than a month of Sundays.