night falls on manhattan
When it comes to photography, I am an unabashed classicist. My first camera, a hand-me-down from my father, was a Nikon FM2, a rugged 35mm manual SLR that continues to strike me as an extraordinary feat of engineering -- how can it, through purely mechanical means, consistently measure out 1/4000th of a second for 300,000 consecutive exposures? (Of course, the FM2 is not alone in achieving this sort of precision and longevity, but it is a sterling example of its ilk.) When I finally graduated to a new camera, it was... what else... a Nikon FM3a, the company's only very slightly modernized version of their venerable warhorse. It remains one of my most prized possessions.
See, there is really nothing quite like a manual SLR. Everything you can do with it occurs with satisfying feedback and finality: the quiet ka-chunk of the shutter release, the resistance when twisting a new lens onto the body, or the whirr of manually rewinding the film. Even just the process of loading a new roll of film is an course in fine tactile adjustments: slotting the roll onto the axle, aligning the guide holes with the sprockets, threading the film lead into place, locking the camera back closed, cocking the shutter to wind the film into position.
I complain about the digital revolution a lot with criticisms that at best sound quaintly retro and at worst sound hopelessly out of touch. "So crisp! So antiseptic! Where's the grain? Digital film noise is not grain! How about those high-contrast edges? Low-light situations? Black-and-white? Show me a CCD that can capture the contrast range of a B&W negative!"
But deep down, my antipathy towards digital cameras has nothing to do with inferior light sensors or purple fringing or shutter lag. Neither do I mind that their ease of use makes anyone and everyone a "photographic artist" these days -- I'm all for bringing the wonder of photography to anyone with an eye and an itchy trigger finger.
What it pretty much comes down to is that a digital camera, and to some degree almost every kind of automated camera, robs me (not you, not the wedding photographer over there... me) of those sensations I fetishized above, that joy of process, the certain oneness with the tool that a manual camera cannot help but engender. With only a little metal, glass, and silver halide, a manual camera performs the absolute miracle of trapping an instant of light. Yes, of course, there is extraordinarily clever technology being applied in any digital camera, and that's not even taking into the account the amazing achievement that integrated circuits and the control of moving electrons are in the first place. Yes, the digital camera makes so many things much more convenient and gives us possibilities that we could not have even dreamed up before. But the experience is not the same. I can respect arguments that one or the other is better or more rewarding in the long run. But anyone who maintains that the camera is only a tool, that the "experience" has no real bearing on the final product and thus can be discounted... I would think such a person is missing out on enjoying a whole facet of the craft, of the art, and I would feel a little sorry for him.
* * * * *
So anyway, I bought my first digital camera. (A compact one, no less!)
Because I wanted to be a little mean to it, my first assignment was to take some no-light pictures to see how the camera would react. All things considered, I think the Canon acquitted itself quite respectably. Under the cut are a handful of views through the windows of my family's NYC apartment.
(Note: The combination of extremely low lighting and multiple JPEG re-compressions led to some pretty noticeable artifacting on these files. It's tolerable when I view them on my Mac, but I suspect that the different gamma standard on Windows will accentuate the problem. Still, it was just for fun, and besides, what do you want from me, these are my first digital shots...)
- Cal
See, there is really nothing quite like a manual SLR. Everything you can do with it occurs with satisfying feedback and finality: the quiet ka-chunk of the shutter release, the resistance when twisting a new lens onto the body, or the whirr of manually rewinding the film. Even just the process of loading a new roll of film is an course in fine tactile adjustments: slotting the roll onto the axle, aligning the guide holes with the sprockets, threading the film lead into place, locking the camera back closed, cocking the shutter to wind the film into position.
I complain about the digital revolution a lot with criticisms that at best sound quaintly retro and at worst sound hopelessly out of touch. "So crisp! So antiseptic! Where's the grain? Digital film noise is not grain! How about those high-contrast edges? Low-light situations? Black-and-white? Show me a CCD that can capture the contrast range of a B&W negative!"
But deep down, my antipathy towards digital cameras has nothing to do with inferior light sensors or purple fringing or shutter lag. Neither do I mind that their ease of use makes anyone and everyone a "photographic artist" these days -- I'm all for bringing the wonder of photography to anyone with an eye and an itchy trigger finger.
What it pretty much comes down to is that a digital camera, and to some degree almost every kind of automated camera, robs me (not you, not the wedding photographer over there... me) of those sensations I fetishized above, that joy of process, the certain oneness with the tool that a manual camera cannot help but engender. With only a little metal, glass, and silver halide, a manual camera performs the absolute miracle of trapping an instant of light. Yes, of course, there is extraordinarily clever technology being applied in any digital camera, and that's not even taking into the account the amazing achievement that integrated circuits and the control of moving electrons are in the first place. Yes, the digital camera makes so many things much more convenient and gives us possibilities that we could not have even dreamed up before. But the experience is not the same. I can respect arguments that one or the other is better or more rewarding in the long run. But anyone who maintains that the camera is only a tool, that the "experience" has no real bearing on the final product and thus can be discounted... I would think such a person is missing out on enjoying a whole facet of the craft, of the art, and I would feel a little sorry for him.
* * * * *
So anyway, I bought my first digital camera. (A compact one, no less!)
Because I wanted to be a little mean to it, my first assignment was to take some no-light pictures to see how the camera would react. All things considered, I think the Canon acquitted itself quite respectably. Under the cut are a handful of views through the windows of my family's NYC apartment.
(Note: The combination of extremely low lighting and multiple JPEG re-compressions led to some pretty noticeable artifacting on these files. It's tolerable when I view them on my Mac, but I suspect that the different gamma standard on Windows will accentuate the problem. Still, it was just for fun, and besides, what do you want from me, these are my first digital shots...)
- Cal