Showing posts with label Rodinal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rodinal. Show all posts

Monday, August 19, 2013

Rise Of The (Junkyard) Robots - Part One

Well folks - if you've read enough of these posts you'll know that I am a fan of a certain old camera - my Rolleiflex T - or Olly as he is known. He's a cheaper Rollei with the Tessar lens as opposed to a Planar or Xenar.
He is the camera I chose when I decided I wanted to start making photographs again - I bought him some, Oooo, ten years ago from the now defunct (and sorely missed) MXV Photographic. Olly cost me the not inconsiderable (at that time and even now) sum of £249 and that included a case and a proper scissor strap too.
Prices on T's have wildly fluctuated, and I have often wondered about that - I think a lot of people just see the name Rollei and are then underwhelmed by the results from the lens, but actually, the lens is rather good, you just have to know how to use it properly.
Forget the world of shooting wide open all the time (it just shows that you have little imagination as a photographer)- on the T, the results will be OK, just not stunning.
Mix it up for close-ups with some Rolleinars and you will end up with a photograph as sharp as any you could ever wish to take. Rolleinars are a close-up accessory and come in 3 sizes, ultimately going from face filling frame, to super-close.
When you have played enough with them, take them off and then stop down to the Tessar's optimum aperture of f11 and you have a different beast altogether.
For years I had stopped well down for landscapes and so on, and it was only latterly that I read about the Tessar being designed to work at its best at f11, so I tried it, and bingo! It took me a long time and a lot of film to try this - surely, I thought, stopping right down will give me the maximum DOF and detail . . surely ? ? ? ?
. . . in other words I was too pig-headed and stupid to try anything other.
Well I was wrong.
At f16 and f22 it is a good lens, don't get me wrong, but, simply put, at f11 it is pretty wonderful.
I've scanned a couple of photos made at that aperture for you to look at below; they were made on Ilford Pan F, developed in HC110.
I wonder if you'll agree with me.
Oh and I used a tripod for those too.


Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504
Don't Fence Me In.
I loved the fact that someone had trimmed this derelict garden, but had left the greenhouse.
Hard to tell from the web, but the detail goes on and on - none too tardy for an 'amateur' camera.
Rolleiflex T at optimum aperture f11, Ilford Pan F, Kodak HC 110
Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504, Untoned.



Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504
Primitive Landscape.
I've made a lot of landscapes over the years, but this is my favourite.
There's a strange 'plasticity' to the image which I find quite 'painterly'.
It happens every now and then with the Tessar and I have no idea why, but can you see what I mean?
This was made on a small foray along the Southern Upland Way - wish I had the time to do the full route.
Rolleiflex T at optimum aperture f11, Ilford Pan F, Kodak HC 110
Ilford Galerie - Grade 2, Kodak Polymax Developer, Rodenstock Rodagon, DeVere 504, Untoned.


In a lot of ways, thinking about things recently, I am almost wondering whether the TLR isn't just the most perfect travel camera. It is small and light enough not to be a pain, and yet you'll have a large negative to give you all the enlargementness you could want. Certainly using a slow film like Pan F (as used above) there is all the detail you could want . . the only hindrance being a tripod.
Anyway, wot's the upshot of me writing about Olly the Rollei?
Well, he's gone.
The film advance has decided to return to a state of shiteness (this happened when I first bought the camera) whereby you can wind a film on and in, expose a frame, and another and then the camera locks, the advance refuses to turn. This is quite upsetting - you hate to see an animal in pain and the same is true of cameras.
The problem is, rather like getting my Nikon F2 serviced and refurbished (£180 from Sover Wong - he will return it to a state of newness, but for someone with limited funds like myself, I simply can't even go there) the cost of a Rollei service from someone decent (not a tinkerer) is going to be prohibitive - you see the shutter is a tad slow too, and I'd rather like the taking lens cleaned of a little bit of haze.
I'd estimate at least £120 and probably more, which is getting into the grounds of, why bother.
You can still (just about) get Mamiya TLRs or Rollecords for not a whole lot more, they're newer too.
So I find (found) myself in somewhat of a dip, and then I remembered . . oh yeah . . years back . . that sub-£50 spontaneous purchase . . a 1958 Minolta Autocord . .
Wha???
Yeah, you remember . . the one you ripped most of the leather off, took the lens apart, cleaned a bit, sorted out the extremely gritty aperture and shutter setting controls, put back together, thought you'd done it wrong and have meant to get sorted ever since . .
Oh yeah . . that camera!
From this dear reader you will imagine me having piles of old cameras just lying around . . I don't, and I hadn't totally forgotten about the Autocord, it is just that Olly was my main MF camera . . . 


1958 Minolta Autocord - Special Risqué Export Model.
Eagle-eyed readers (and those who can see around corners) will see it is sans most of its leather.
To the right you will see a mug handle poking out of its back . . .
Of course it doesn't have a mug handle attached - don't be daft.
Oh and don't worry - it isn't a Nuclear Bomb going off  -I couldn't be arsed with colour balance.


I was sure that in my disassembly of the lenses I hadn't set focus properly, but having a tootle around, I discovered that the taking lens is actually very simply set . . it either has a spacer behind it, or it is screwed flat into its mount . .no tinkering. I had reassembled exactly as I found it. Ergo, unless it had always been a taker of out of focus pictures, the focus must be correct . . but I had to find out . . . .
So I dragged him out of the cupboard, marvelled again at how the shutter and film advance are a million times smoother than the Rollei, stuck a roll of TMX 100 in and proceeded to use him over the holidays.
A couple of the results are below.


Lights, Camera, Action!
For some reason my son has taken to dressing like a 1930's film director.
This was at Dunnotar Castle, after an extreme rain shower followed by 80 Degrees of unusual heat.
Man that guano can't half pong!
As you can see the Autocord has imparted a nicely vintage feel to the image.
Kodak TMX 100, Agfa Rodinal 1:25.
Kentmere VC Select Finegrain, Kodak Polymax, home-made Hypo, Untoned



Into The Unknown
Again, a nicely vintage feel from the lens.
Kodak TMX 100, Agfa Rodinal 1:25.
Kentmere VC Select Finegrain, Kodak Polymax, home-made Hypo, Untoned 

Just to see the quality of the lens.
Individual hairs are very apparent on the negative.
The mottled stippling comes from the surface of the paper.
Kentmere Finegrain is a Matt paper, with a slight surface texture.
It is really lovely stuff.




Now you'll be thinking to yourself . . what?
Sub £50?
That is a bargain!
Well there was a reason for its bargain price . . the taking lens had been cleaned for nigh on 40 years by a nefarious collection of ties, hankies, jacket sleeves etc . . in other words it is well sandpapered!
Here are some pictures of it backlit, just to give you a shock.



I know - it looks like fungus, but in reality it is a good ol' example of
that famous lens affliction of old - Tiekerchiefitis


And of course, what do you get with a lens like that?
Yep . . .flare . . lots of it, so a hood is a prerequisite.
My initial results with the camera when I bought it weren't great, but neither were they bad, however I dunno, I just never clicked with it.
But now?
Well, needs must when the Devil drives . . and not only that, I can counteract the low contrast from a flarey lens by using a stronger/more contrasty film and developer combo . . . the things you learn eh?
The TMX 100/Rodinal combo from the above photos was good (and very smooth - I'd also had good results with the now sadly defunct Neopan 400) but nothing prepared me for the next bunch - TRX 400 and Rodinal.
Grain as crisp as a freshly starched and ironed pair of underpants.
Greys like God's hair.
As I get older I find myself drifting away from the zero grain option in pictures, simply because (and with T-grain films especially) it is getting so fcecking hard to focus a negative onto the baseboard!
My eyes aren't what they were . . even with my Peak focuser . . so grain it is . .
I don't mind, just bring it on!
And flare?
Blasted into oblivion! The negatives are so dense that anything flarey just wimps out and runs off to the corner to hide.
Happy days indeed.
Don't you find it surprising that a lens that looks like it is worthy of being nothing more than a paperweight, can actually produce any images at all, let alone the ones I am going to show you next time.
It brings to mind tales of aerial recon. lenses from WW II, where, hit by pieces of flying shrapnel, the offending chips, gouges and missing chunks of glass were simply painted over with a matt black paint, and photography resumed, with little effect on the images.
I have a 150mm Symmar-S which has a decent sized missing crescent of glass on an inner element - I used a Mattel Matt Black model paint on it (it dries matt-ish, not totally flat, but not bad) and it is absolutely fine - a Sharpie would do the trick too.
Anyway, back to the Minolta . . . it was a Saturday afternoon and having been self-scuppered by not getting out early morning with the Wista, I had to take some photos, so thought I'd have a wander down the Hawkhill.
I loaded her (Minnie . . doesn't everyone give their cameras names???) up with TRX 400, and this time took my meter, which I set to EI 320 (which seems to be a nominally accepted EI for Tri-X 400 - though possibly not quite enough for this combo - should be more like EI 200) got my stomping shoes on and went out, mind alert and eyes open.
And now a  brief aside into the fun world of dimensions . . .


Woooooooah, man, did he just say dimensions?


Yep, I certainly did Space Cadet, so hand me my Cormthruster and make sure the Space FogBluggy has its stabilisers fitted . .it could be a bumpy ride!

I have been thinking lately about photographic satisfaction.
You know what I mean:

There's a lovely scene.
I'll take a photo.
Oh.

It often doesn't end up how you wanted it at all.
So I thought, well that's because you are trying to stuff a lovely 3-Dimensional scene, into a 2-Dimensional object (the print).

Below is an official communication I received from the NAOTLRP (National Association Of Twin Lens Reflex Photographers). I was a bit surprised when I opened the envelope, not least because there was a thrupenny stamp on it. Anyway, after I recovered, I thought it best to pass it on in the interests of all things photographic.
It reads a bit weird, so you are best to speak it aloud (preferably to someone else) in your finest 1947 BBC English accent. It makes perfect sense then.


I say chap.
We've got some bad news.
Corners have to be cut, departments shaved, budgets adjusted, bits snipped off, weight lost . . etc etc . .
So why not make today a happy-chappy sort of day, grab a nice handful of Capstans, adjust your tie properly and head off out and photograph something proper.
You know, something for all intents and purposes Two Dimensional, like an interesting wall.
See what you can do.
That's a good fellow.
Toodle-oo

Runciter Barking (President)



Quite a strange thing to receive don't you think - I do wonder why I was singled out, but there y'go.
Anyway, this rule of flat-earthness is of course a well-known get-out-of-jail technique that has been used by pretty much everyone from the dawn of photography - name the photographer and I will almost guarantee that somewhere in their pantheon, there's a picture of a poster or graffiti or something very flat . . It is seemingly simple, and I always thought something of a cop-out, however I have now come to rethink that actually it is a valid bit of your self-expression (but maybe that's only 'cos I've just taken some photos of something similar).
Anyway, the other thing to remember about photographing flat surfaces is that really for the photo to work you pretty much have to get your film plane parallel with the flat surface (hence all the talk about converging verticals and all that stuff).
This is a strangely obvious thing which it has taken me a loooooong time to understand properly and it probably explains why the majority of my LF photographs are so terrible.
Your film plane equates to a picture frame if you think about it.
It is what your film (and ultimately, barring any darkroom trickery, your print) is positioned against (in a manner of speaking) no matter what you are photographing.
I think if one thinks about the film planes' position when making a photograph, it can help you get an idea of the final image. I certainly did that with the following photographs and it made me more careful and choosy. Obviously I have subconsciously been doing the same thing for a long time in that I like my verticals vertical etc etc, but I'd never thought in terms of film plane positioning before (at least not consciously and conscientiously whilst photographing). And I had certainly never made photographs with a thought in terms of the 2-Dimensional world that is The Print, and how this cross-dimensional challenge might work.
On the other hand, am I reading too much into it?
Isn't a photo, just a photo, just a photo?
I'll leave that for others to discuss - meanwhile Sigismund and his Treens are attacking and I need to defend my borders . .
Zooom, Whoooosh, Blat, Blat.





So where does all this get us?
Well, here's the Contact Sheet.


Contact Sheet


The keen eyed amongst you will notice that the film rebates are not printed to paper black, and that is for the reasons that:
A./ I buggered up the print, and
B./ you have to balance contact prints when your aren't being totally consistent, also web-viewing isn't the best for these things, hence it is lighter than it should be.
All rectifiable in the darkroom though as you will see below.
The images which struck me most were 4 to 9 inclusive . . that central portion.
Yes there are two of my own style of self-portrait in there . . .sometimes when you are wandering around looking down onto a TLR focus screen, you are struck by something, and that was the case with those two, however the others were conscious efforts.
The only problem I found with these, was the Minolta's lack of parallax compensation . . so it was down to my own style of compensation: basically when you are in very close, compose your image, and then lift the camera a few centimetres . . it sort of works actually - it is a bit trial and error, but these things are.
You don't have a parallax problem with Rolleis though - clever and expensive design and all that . . .
But no Rollei, and as I said before Needs must  . . .
Oh, and I used the Rolleinars on frames 4, 5, 6 and 10.
The Tri-X was developed in 1:25 Rodinal at 20° C for 11 minutes. it always amazes me that people don't put their agitation sequences into the equation when they write down what their development times were - agitation can make or break a roll ,and it is quite an organic thing, not the slosh around that most people think it is. My sequence for this was gentle (as always) for the first 30 seconds, then a 10 second sequence every minute and a half, so:
0 (start the 30 second sequence at 0)
then 10 seconds at:
1 minute 30 seconds,
3 minutes,
4 minutes 30 seconds,
6 minutes,
7 minutes 30 seconds,
and then at 9 minutes I gave another 30 second agitation sequence and let the tank stand until 11 minutes.
It could have actually done with slightly more agitation, but I will save that for next time!
And on that (hopefully) tantalising note I am gong to call it a day for the noo.
In the next post, I am going to put on my Mr.Pompous Trousers and round this off by showing you how equipment that could easily be regarded as junk, can actually be employed (with some judicious thought and care) to produce work you can (possibly) be proud of.
Be sure to check out Part Two - loads of people have read this one, but hardly anyone the next one - most perplexing!
There, you can have a break now - bet that feels better already doesn't it!
Take care, God Bless and thanks for reading.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Bless Me Barnack (Les)

Morning shipmates - well yer Captain was a tad surprised and disgusted this week with the footage from the Mars Curiosity voyage. 
A mighty and dangerous undertaking across the seas of darkrness, and a solemn and important voyage, yet it was patently obvious those coves at NASA weren't into the music they had to play, but had to show willing. I wonder how many dubloons crossed palms for that . . .
Did ye see the Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young fan, trying to stomp his feet in time to some modern homogenised-rap? 

Why they say the sky is the limit
When I’ve seen the footprints on the moon
Why do they say the sky is the limit
When I’ve seen the footprints on the moon
And I know the sky might be high
But baby it ain’t really that high
And I know that Mars might be far
But baby it ain’t really that far

Let’s reach for the stars
Reach for the stars
Let’s reach for the stars
Reach for the stars
Let’s reach for the stars
Reach for the stars
Let’s reach for the stars

(let me see your hands up)
(let me see your hands up)


Can’t nobody hold us back
They can’t hold us down
They can’t keep us trapped
Tie us to the ground
Told your people that we don’t mess around
When we turn it up
Please don’t turn us down
We will turn it up
Louder than we was before
Like the lion out the jungle, you can hear us roar
When I lie in here, it’s like a sonic blaster
Flying just like nasa, out of space master


Hands up, reach for the sky
Hands up, get ‘em up high
Hands up, if you really feel alive
Live it up, live it up


Why they say the sky is the limit
When I’ve seen the footprints on the moon
Why do they say the sky is the limit
When I’ve seen the footprints on the moon
And I know the sky might be high
But baby it ain’t really that high
And I know that Mars might be far
But baby it ain’t really that far


Let’s reach for the stars (reprise)


Oh yus m'dearios, it fairly makes you want to jump into your spacesuit and head off doesn't it. 
I wonder how Cap'n Scott would have felt with an equivalent cranking away on his gramaphone?

And I know that the Pole might be far
But baby it ain’t really that far . . . .


Anyway, even Mog looked up from his plate o'shrimp and flicked his tail in disgust. **
We particularly liked the look on the face of the guy with the mowhawk who looked like he'd been asked to eat a plate of mealy-infested biscuits.
Why would they do that?
That is all I shall say.
Personally I feel a good shanty would have been more appropriate . . something like 'The Sailor Likes His Bottle-O'.
It's got a good beat and ye can tap your toes or haul rigging to it.

The Mate was drunk, and he went below,
To take a swig of his bottle-o
A bottle of rum, and a bottle of gin,
And a bottle of Irish whiskey-o

Chorus:
His bottle, oh, his bottle-o
The sailor likes his bottle-o


Tobaccio, tobacci-o,
The sailor loves tobacci-o,
A cut of the plug, and a cut of the Swiss,
And a cut of hard tobacci-o,

Chorus:

The maidens, oh, the lasses-o
The sailor loves the Judys-o
A gal from Liverpool and a gal from the Tyne
And a lassie so fine and dandy-o

Chorus:

A bloody rough house, a bloody rough house,
The sailor loves a roughhouse-o
A kick in the arse and an all-hands-in,
A bloody good rough-and-tumble-o

Chorus:

So early in the morning
The Sailor likes his bottle-o
A bottle o'rum and a bottle o'gin
and a bottle  o' Irish whiskey-o
So early in the moring
The Sailor likes his bottle-o


So early in the morning
The sailor likes his baccy-o
A packet o' shag and a packet o' twist
and a packet o' Yankee Doodle-o
So early in the morning
The sailor likes his baccy-o


So early in the morning
The sailor likes the lasses-o
The lasses o' Blyth and the lasses o' Shields
and the lasses across the water-o
So early in the morning
The sailor likes the lasses-o


There's a stoke o'sea-farers would agree with me.
Getting the feelings from the Capn's who'd put in that day, we all felt the NASA debacle was a disservice to the memory of the late Mr.Armstrong.
Anyway, in a curved-ball of strangeness, this week Mr.Sheephouse has gone plain off his trumpet, and has written a mighty ode to the legendary Les Dawson.

** yes, we do have a particularly nice and sea-worthy AV system on the Goode Shippe.


***


I have handled quite a few cameras over the years, Rolleiflex, Nikon, Olympus, Pentax, Praktika, Minolta, Kodak, Braun, Agfa, Petri, more Nikon, more Pentax, Sinar, Wista and so on, so really it quite unusual for me to be surprised by something, but I have been with a recent purchase.
It took a number of months of saving and selling, but after managing to hold myself back over all the tempting cameras there are out there, I recently purchased a 1954 Leica IIIf (Red Dial, Delayed Action) and to say I am surprised and knocked out would be an underestimate.
It is sitting just next to me as I type this, and I find myself looking at it and wondering about the life it must have had. 
It is in remarkably great condition for a camera that is 7 years older than me, so one can only assume that it was purchased and looked after by someone who wanted to care for their precious possession. It isn't in perfect condition like it has been kept in a cabinet though; no, rather it has the feeling it has been used. 
Back in their heyday and before the Japanese manufacturing machine got into its stride, the Leica was the camera everyone wanted. And it was EXPENSIVE. 
They were available in Britain right through the 1930's, until a certain Mr.Adolf decided to upset the world and then you couldn't get them for love nor money, and even when World War II ended, if you were a British photographer, unless you were professional (and could prove you needed to buy an expensive camera) it was virtually impossible to purchase a Leica. This was due to the post-war import restrictions:

Post-war foreign currency regulations and related import prohibitions made it impossible for amateur photographers in the UK to buy new cameras from other countries if the ex-factory price of the camera (that is, the price the importer or dealer paid, excluding freight charges) was more than a very low figure - from memory I think this was £5.
Only professional photographers, who could prove that they needed an expensive new camera for their work, could obtain an import licence to buy a Leica or Rolleiflex. This rule was the reason for the rise of the British camera industry during the late 1940s and early to mid-1950s, resulting in cameras like the Reid III (a virtual clone of a Leica IIIb), the Ilford Witness (which took Leica lenses), the Periflex (a reflex focusing camera that took Leica lenses) and the MPP Microcord and Microflex, respectively near clones of the Rolleicord and Rolleiflex of the time. Import restrictions were gradually relaxed in the late 1950s, so it became possible for amateurs to buy new cameras like the Retina IIc and IIIc, the Exakta Varex and the Rolleicord. They did not end until 1959/60.
After the Second World War, second-hand Leica prices were very high and few could afford them. In April 1946, RG Lewis advertised in Miniature Camera Magazine a Leica IIIa with f/2 Summar, then about ten years old, for £103 17s. This equates to about £2,650 today, which is a huge sum for a second-hand camera.
I have not been able to find a new price for a Leica IIIf for you in the time available, but to give you an idea, a new Leica M3 with f/2 Summicron was advertised by Wallace Heaton in October 1962 at just under £183. At that time, as an advertising copywriter aged 21, I was earning about £700 per year and was considered well paid, so you could approximate £183 then as being equivalent to about £5,000 today. The IIIf ten years earlier would probably have been in the same general area of price.

From a letter to Amateur Photographer by Ivor Matanle




In the rest of the post-war world there were no such restrictions, but even then, it was still a very considered purchase. For instance, in Germany, a Leica (with lens) was roughly above the higher (Doctors etc) median average average monthly wage which was approximately 300 Deutschmarks.
So, assuming say 325 DM in 1954 (roughly 166 euros) is equal to about £131 today (2112); allow for inflation from 1954 and you reach the staggering equivalent price of £2878!
This is for a light tight box, with a rangefinder, reliable film transport mechanism and a lens. 
In anyone's terms that is a hell of a lot of money.
I think you can safely assume you are looking at a precision piece of work.
I can only assume that mine was either purchased by a professional photographer, or was bought from elsewhere in the world by some enthusiastic amateur and ended up its life in a nice, pipes and slippers, cosy British pub-land where not a lot happens and you can take a few pictures every month or so.
Can you imagine purchasing such an item in the early 1960's?



Possibly the world's worst Leica picture, but it will have to do.
The box by the way is a lacquered Japanese tea box circa 1900.



Even in those days, the Barnack Leica's looked antique next to Leica's then new M-series and the Japanese rangefinders from Canon and Nikon.
So, whoever purchased my camera must have made a decision, and fallen in love.
And it is an easy camera to love.
I pick it up, and can feel the treasuredness of it.
It was made in a long-gone age where a large number of articles were 'hand-made' and robots were definitely not the norm; each camera was built by a human being from carefully made and sourced components. Each human was valued for their skills and abilities.
They took an average of 40 man hours to assemble, which I find extraordinary - basically a whole working week for one camera. 
They are over-engineered really - rather like the Nikon F, but that engineering was there for a simple reason - to make the cameras as robust and reliable as possible, and given the large number still around and in use (compared to their main competitor of the time, the marvellous Zeiss Ikon Contax) that engineering ethos has been proven right. 
Actually you can say the same for Nikon F's and F2's too - reliable brick outhouses is the expression I would use, and their adoption by vast numbers of professional photographers back in the 1960's and 70's (and the fact that many are still eminently usable) is testimony to that. 
So why on earth would I want to buy a camera that was manufactured before I was born? 
Well as previously detailed in FB's, I have a keen interest in mechanical things, even though I am no mechanic myself. My Father was an engineer, as was my Grandfather, and I suppose some of that genetic makeup has helped my fascination with mechanical cameras become a hobby.
Though the bar is raised very high for any newcomers into the Olde Sheephouse Home For Mechanical Marvels:
I hold the Nikon F2 as probably the best mechanical SLR ever made. 
The Rolleiflex range of Twin Lens Reflexes are the most astonishingly well-designed and built cameras. A Rollei's Synchro-Compur is always surprisingly quiet - just a snick on fast speeds and a tiny buzz on longer ones
Up till now though, the best shutter I owned was on a Minolta Autocord - it still functions perfectly (despite the camera having been made in 1958 and obviously having lived a very tough life) with a very quiet and accurate buzzing on longer speeds. 
I have a 1950's Prontor SVS leaf shutter on a Kodak Ektar lens and that too is wonderful considering its age - it buzzes like a fat Bumblebee. 
The Nikon F shutter is something else - quiet and efficient - the original F is actually quieter in action than the F2 or F3.
All of my cameras have buzzed and clicked and snicked and buzzed, and I love them all actually.
But I have to say, now that there is a new shutter in town - that of my Leica.
There are screeds of words written about Leica shutters. The whole field of candid photography was made possible by the invention of it, and the camera that encases it.
It is a relatively simple design, under-stressed and running on the two curtain principle (as do most film-based cameras) however there is just something about it that is so darn spot-on.
It opens and closes with a fluid mechanical sound, a precision burring culminating in a postive stop, rather like a door being closed firmly (but obviously, quietly).
1/1000th and 1/500th of a second have a reassuring positivity to them.
Get down to the slower speeds and the tell-tale 1/15th finishes its run with a good sound rather similar to some small ball-bearings being dropped and bouncing quietly on a hard surface - this is entirely normal for a Leica (and indeed a mechanical Nikon - early F's were essentially copies of Leica shutters apparently) and just indicates that the gear-train is returning and is working correctly.
One second opens and closes with a click-buzz-click, and T (or Timed) is delightful in the way it click-buzzes as the shutter opens, stays totally silent for the duration of your exposure, and then when you are finished and turn the low-speed dial, it does the whole thing in reverse and buzz-clicks as the shutter closes. 
In a word it is a miracle of ingenuity and precision.
It just feels right every time you release the shutter.
I like that.
And call me strange, but I feel like I have to live up to its abilities.
When I hold this svelt chunk of brass and cogs and gears and satin chrome and vulcanite and glass, I can feel the history of it seeping into my bones.
Pick it up and you can feel it.
Fanciful I know, but it is almost like you are being geed along; spurred onwards to be more daring, compose better, make better photographs, concentrate more, make better photographs!
Can inanimate objects be imbued with a soul?
Can they pick up some of the spirit of previous owners and add their own spin on it?
Well, again laugh me right out of the classroom if you like, but yes, I think so.
The 'mechanical' or 'man-made' soul is an airy concept which most people have difficulty with, but I have encountered it on a number of things:

My friend's collection of ancient weapons
A dagger made for a planned escape from a concentration camp
A Buddha made from mammoth ivory
A Victorian barometer
Ancient nails and stone tools and buttons
A Roman alabaster marble found on Dere Street
A Nikomat (early Japanese market Nikkormat)

So yes, my fancy has taken flight again, for I feel it in the Leica. 
There is a definite something there.
I nearly always don't feel this way about things I have purchased though; for instance to illustrate my point, many years ago I owned a Yamaha SG3000 guitar. It was a stunning example of the Japanese luthiers art, and nowadays an extremely rare and collectable guitar.
But you know what, it had absolutely no soul whatsover. I played it and played it and played it, but could I unlock what might or might not have been inside it? Could I hell, so I traded it.
So what is it? Why am I feeling like this?
Could it be my delight in my new purchase is making me lose all sense and rave on?
Well, people would tell you that on most things I am a fairly level headed person. And especially with cameras I can read them quite quickly, from having studied them and handled them and indeed repaired them.
But something is different this time.
Quite different.
Twilight is falling as I write this, and my wee Leica is still sitting there, looking at me, almost saying that I should load some film and go and use it again.
And I will.
It was made to be used, and used well.


***

In use:

If you are from an SLR background (and most people are) you will find using a Barnack the most antiquated, difficult, thought-provoking, hard-to-use camera you have ever encountered.
I'll state that again in different terms:
Unless you are prepared to immerse yourself in the depths of user-operated everything you may well find it a frustrating learning curve, but be heartened . . . whatever doesn't kill us makes us strong . . so be persistent!
Pick one up and study it.
It looks like a camera.
It feels like a (small) camera.
It has weight and solidity.
But what's this? Two dials for shutter speeds? No wind-on lever? A shutter button in a semi-awkward place? No batteries??
Yes. You'll feel like you are holding an antique.
Even loading the film (it has to be trimmed first!) is a tricky manouevre.
Believe me, peering at the very small range finder window, checking it, getting your focus right, then composing your photograph through a separate window, re-checking the focus again and firing the shutter, is not the easiest nor quickest of actions. In fact coming from the luxury of a bright split-image viewfinder on a Nikon, it is a downright pain.
In the various Leica manuals there is an excellent illustration of the correct sequence of events of using the camera. 




One thing that tends to get skirted over is the rangefinder 'telescope' (you can see its lever at the 10 o'clock position next to the knob in Steps 6 and 7 above). Basically this is a variable focus function of the rangefinder itself.
Focus the rangefinder telescope lever at infinity and you have infinity focus and then you can get the two rangefinder images to superimpose for accurate focus. However, what isn't said, is that for anything else up to infinity, it is possible to focus the rangefinder telescope on the object you are interested in.
If you are handling one, try this:
Keep the telescope set on infinity and turn it towards something close.
What you are seeing through the rangefinder telescope  is still visible, but it becomes unclear and definitely isn't in focus.
Adjust the lever backwards towards your face and your subject matter will snap into focus. Then you can focus the lens so that the two rangefinder images coincide.
You can focus very very accurately with this, but it rather makes the whole idea of the decisive moment even more of a marvel!
Fast it is not.
You have to use anticipation at every stage of making photographs with it, and yet, a large number of the most incredible photographs ever made were made with exactly this system.
It is the sort of camera that you need to adjust to, rather than for it adjust to you.
As an experienced photographer, I can honestly say that not one single camera has made me feel more all fingers and thumbs than the Leica, and yet, 6 or 7 frames in, it felt like the most natural camera to use in the world.
This machine, if you decide to go the route of acquiring one, will inspire you and frustrate you, but above all else, it will concentrate you like nothing you've ever experienced.
It could well be the boon your photography has been looking for.
Above all else, it is a wonderful and beautifully made tool.
I would say it is pretty much the epitomy of the camera builders craft.


***

Just to flesh this out a little more, the IIIf was almost the end of a long evolution of cameras designed by Oscar Barnack and built upon by his successors. They were made by the company of Ernst Leitz in the city of Wetzlar in Germany.
Basically Leicas popularized the whole concept of miniature photography, setting the photographer free from the tripod and the plate and the focusing cloth (although to be fair other cameras had done this too, but not with the same sense of style and purpose).
I won't write much about the evolution of the camera. If you find yourself interested there is a ton of information out there, but suffice to say that though the basic design of the Oscar Barnack Leica remained relatively unchanged from the late 1920's, in the 1950's it was looking decidedly old-fashioned. Especially when sat next to its children, the Leitz M-Series. After one last gasp for the screw-mount Leica with the IIIg, the Leitz company decided to concentrate its efforts on the M's and the rest is history.








The above was made with my Leica.
I rather like it.
What you don't see is the fact that I mucked up my concentration and caused the water's horizon to be squint! Lucky for me I can sort that out at the print stage . . .
It was made on Agfa APX 100 at EI 100 and developed in Kodak HC 110 Dilution G for 18 minutes at 21 Centigrade. Agitation was gentle. I used a water-bath to soak the film, poured that out, agitated for the first minute, and then on minute three and every third minute thereafter gave 15 seconds gentle agitation, making my last agitation cycle at 15 minutes. The grain is a bit mushy, and I feel something like dilute Rodinal would be a better developer, but the glow is there and the overall feel too.

A note about the lens:
The observant amongst you will notice that the camera is not fitted with the correct lens, which of course should be either a Leitz Elmar, or a Summicron.
Unfortunately for me, my finances cannot stretch to one of those at the moment, so I purchased a Russian-made Jupiter 8. It was made by the KMZ company in the good old USSR in the 1970's and whilst not the sharpest knife in the drawer it isn't the bluntest either. The Jupiter 8 is a grandchild of the mighty Zeiss Sonnar (my favourite lens) and indeed, it manages to impart some of that glow I associate with the lens, mostly found in the photographs of Mr.Walker Evans and a large number of pre-WII photographers. Apparently the master of the Leica, Mr. Henri Cartier-Bresson, also used Sonnars prior to his receiving a collapsible Summicron from Leitz.
The Sonnar glow can also be found in a number of the Japanese lenses also designed for the L39 mount (Leica 39mm screw mount) namely the Canon f1.8 and the Nikon f2.
The marvellous writer Dante Stella has a good run-down on the Canon line here:

http://www.dantestella.com/technical/canoleic.html

And the other notable writer Stephen Gandy at Cameraquest details lots of others here:

http://www.cameraquest.com/ltmlens.htm


***


Anyway, again, that's me - God bless and thank you for reading.
I'll leave the death of the screw-mount Barnack Leica to a comparison between the photographers from two different Leica manuals, for the IIIf and the M4.



Dig the crazy jumper Dad!
What's that you're shooting?
Snappy.
The Leica M4, because you never know when.


They're the same, yet totally different: cosy jumper for the 1950's IIIf; smart Italian suit for the 1960's M4.
I'm currently with the former, though a trifle beatnikish.


NO LES DAWSON'S WERE HURT DURING THE MAKING OF THIS PROGRAMME

Friday, June 01, 2012

Infamy, Infamy . . They've All Got It In For Me

A-har me beauties. The teapot of life is overflowing and there's fresh scones on the gridle.
This weekend's tickling of the trout of memory be such a wide-reaching article that it could well change your life, or maybe even your point of view.
Come and join us and get some folk down by the docks as the Goode Shippe FB wends its way into port! 
Hang up some bunting. 
Dress up yer babes in their Sunday best, because when this comes into town, you don't want to be seen to be wanting!
And as for your Your Majesty . . if you fancy comin' and havin' a chat with the Cap'n then feel free, though in truth, the lack of an invitation to the Goode Shippe FogBlog for the flotilla on Sunday was a bit of a let-down.
Never mind . . I've got rigging to mend anyway.


***


A few months ago, I discovered something very interesting about myself.
It was something I genuinely didn't know and it took me by surprise because the thing I discovered was quite big.
Well it seemed quite big to my mind.
Apparently, I was part of a movement.
And it wasn't just any movement like 'moaning old gits vs. society in general', no, I was part of a movement that was named with a rather important word:
Culture.
Not only that, but it was preceded by a weighty word from the 1960's and also hyphenated:
Counter -.
Not only that (as if it wasn't enough) but that world-weary and heavy word was preceded by something even weightier from a far earlier time. A word smelling of cloth and sweat and the adoption of violence for the simple reason that your livelihood was being threatened by change:
Luddite.
But just to make sure that I (and the likes of me) weren't going to smash the servers and chain ourselves to the ping-pong tables at Google, they preceded that with a hyphenated disclaimer:
Neo -.
So there you have it, I, to my surprise, was a member of a 'Neo-Luddite Counter-Culture'!





By this I am being defined as a person who eschews modern gadgetalia in favour of good old fashioned methods. And to an extent this is true, but to an extent (and just because I hate being pigeonholed) I'll beg to differ.
This hankering after a golden age of LED's, and Selenium Light Meters and Gramaphones and Valve [Tube] (and Transistor) driven technology can, as far as I can tell, be traced back to a certain musical movement, that for all its down-at-the-heel appeal and dark thoughts of a future devoid of joy (ok . . nihilism . . . to an extent) still has echoes ringing down towards us - namely: grunge.
If you've never heard of it, then fine - here's a potted history:
Checky shirts; making music for the sake of it rather than for chart powerplays; old and often cheap guitars because that was what you could afford; a feeling for melody and the power of a guitar amplifier; turning your back on the traditional music industry (a bit of anathema that one, because it became an enormous multi-billion dollar behemoth); Seattle.
There, a potted history for you.
The most famous band being Nirvana who you will probably have heard of, but prior to, and alongside them, there were a ton of bands. Here's one of the earlier ones - Mudhoney. Their 'Touch Me, I'm Sick' single predated Nirvana's first SubPop singles club release (Love Buzz) by a number of months.


(You've got to love the look. They could be anyone, and that was the beauty of grunge!)


If I remember rightly from my reading of Guitar Player magazine at the time, there was a word that started to appear like an infestation of fleas. It was quoted with regard to guitar design, and these days  has become so far reaching it is now a by-word for anything that looks or feels old (and by old I mean 1960's and nowdays that has transgressed into the 1970's too) . . careful though, it's dangerous and over-used . . . so dangerous and over-used that I am not sure I should tell you about it . . . oh go on then:
 . . . RETRO.
The savvy guitar companies of the time (ever the drivers of taste believe it or not) were so incredibly sussed that they realised quite quickly that all these kids with dollars to spend, were actively turning their backs on the generic Floyd Rose Tremolo equipped guitar with pointy bouts and spangly colours and were buying instead the likes of Naguahyde covered 1960's surf specials!
It really was something else.
A world packed to the gunnels with cheap and ugly, (sometimes) awful playing and sounding instruments had opened up, and more importantly was being actively sought. Guitars that had languished in the back of pawn shops and cupboards were suddenly dusted down because they harkened back to a golden age of finger-clicking, goatee-ridden, Chelsea-boot-wearing hipster, Way to go Daddio!
Ever wonder why the key films that slopped a massive splurge of homogenised 60's 'cool (Austen Powers) into society at large were made? I can't prove it, but I have to draw a conclusion somewhere . . . it has to be down to guitar design and the search for all things older than the 1980's.
So, thank you Mr.Cobain*, for Kurt's far-seeing use of a Fender Jaguars and Mustangs and old-ish effects pedals started the fairly large moss-covered boulder (that had been sitting at the top of a mountainside) rolling, and checky shirted youths everywhere went in search of something 'retro' to prove how cool they were.
Well-read and intelligent older guitar collectors realised that there was a pretty penny to be made from this yearning for something from rock and roll's golden ages . . . and thus a grasping, lucrative sub-section of guitar collecting was born.**
Actually, you have to admire the guitar makers, because they managed to turn around designs pretty damn quickly, and before you knew it, designers worldwide were using it - 'retro' was being applied to everything from toasters to TVs, haircuts to watches. 
Here's some de-evolution . . .



                   
                       





(To the left a Hamer Scepter from the late 1980's (actually a very well made instrument and typical of the sort of instrument yer average pre-grunge player lusted after) and to the right a collection of Vintage Silvertone guitars from the 1960's . . .David and Goliath anyone?)


But all this is rather drawing aside from my main theme, which is me being a member of a counter-culture. Well, in the same way that the back-turning, and head shaking happened in the field of guitars, slowly, it is happening in photography.
For the general everyday photographer digital and all that that involves rules the day.
Camera manufacturers are selling incredibly high powered computers with bits of glass on the front and whilst that is fine, you only have to look at the rise of 'Lomography' as a by-word for anything made with film to realise that there is a pretty serious depth of feeling in the world for all things of a pre-digital age.
And having  poked away at old and crumby cameras for quite a while now, I kind of feel like one of a semi-elite group of elder statesmen of Neo-Luddite Counter-Culturalists.
I love that actually - it makes me feel important (which I am not in the slightest).
It makes me feel that in using film and old cameras I am somehow bracing up the old world (where people did things with the help of machines) against the new world (where machines seem to do everything for you)!
I can wear my cloth cap with pride Mother.
But tell me lad, is there Trouble at t'Mill? You betcha. Trouble down t'Pit too? Och Aye.
You see, we . . that is you and I dear reader, if you like using film, are dinosaurs.
We are perceived as eccentric.
Pursuers of art in an old-fashioned way.
Upholders of the faith.
Defenders of the realm.
And despite our obvious (ahem) charms, we are now being priced way beyond any sense of reason out of our passionate vocation. It is quickly coming to the point where every roll of film is a definite consideration, and where every frame is a financial burden.
I could happily shoot 2 rolls of 120 film of a weekend . . and that'll be £10 please (unless you hunt around) plus the processing costs. It's a lot of money. 35mm is approx a fiver a roll on average; 5x4" sheet film can vary wildly between 60p a sheet and an eye-watering £1.40-odd for Black and White film . . colour is even more expensive in sheet film. At those prices you are being driven into the arms of the digital behemoths. A point of fact of this is that in 2008 a box of 25 sheets of Ilford Delta 100 5x4" sheet film was £15-£18 on average .  . that self same product in 2012 is now roughly £30-£35 on average. 100% in 4 years is pretty shocking. Certainly my wages haven't risen 100%
Ilford started the ball rolling a couple of years back with claims about the rising price of silver (which it did do, however as everyone who studies the markets knows, commodities prices have a habit of rising and falling faster than a bride's nightie) and what with Kodak's financial troubles and now Fuji following suite, your average Neo-Luddite Counter-Cultural-ist (NLCC-ist for short) is finding the ability to keep the golden age going a real pain in the wallet.
It makes sense doesn't it really.
As a manufacturer, your users of film have dropped to a point where they don't make any money, so what do you do? You increase prices to the point where those that are still left stop using your products altogether!
So why do us NLCC-ists keep going?
It is hard to say really, but could it be (to paraphrase a quote from 'Moonstruck') because we are afraid of death and want to leave a legacy of permanence to the world?
Possibly.
Certainly a few years ago it was realised that there was no guarantee that your digital files of today would become nothing more than tomorrow's anachronism.
At least with a photograph and a negative, you have something tangible which can get chucked in a skip when you have popped your clogs.
It is hard this art stuff.
In my case, a self-financed struggle to make sure you can leave a massive pile of creativity that can get dumped in the landfill of life.
I suppose what I am trying to say is, film manufacturers, please, in the name of all that is good, think of the people who actually use your film. Don't price us out of what we love doing.








I like this photograph. It reminds me of childhood.
A very young Alec Turnips was chucking something in the Kyme Eau on a Summer's day in 2003, and I just happened to catch it at the right moment.
This was made in the days when you could get Ilford SFX for next to nothing.
These days it is nearly £7 a roll and I would never use it again even if I had the money. Sorry Ilford - your films are wonderful and I have used them for years, but they have now entered the realm of ridiculous pricing and I can afford to use them no more.
The camera was an Agfa Synchro-Box *** made between 1949 and 1958 - it has two apertures (one landscape, one portrait) and I like its simplicity. The film was developed in Rodinal.
It has all the attributes of retro which will delight the NLCC-ist:
It is a 6x9cm negative.
The really gnarly lens flare is like Sauron's Eye from the dreaded Lord Of The Rings films
The rollers have imparted heavy scratches to the emulsion.
There is a gradation of tones in the foliage which is nothing short of beautiful.
There.
You feel better for this little tootle into art and culture don't you!
If you are about to head out with an ancient piece of technology, good luck to you and make every image count  -I don't know how long they will let us continue.
I hope the light is with you.
God bless you.


* I have to add to this a that a certain columnist for Guitar Player magazine, a Mr. Tiesco Del Ray was also responsible, but of course not many people will know that, as he didn't have the looks, though he did have the skills, the knowledge and the collection.

** These days it has gone beyond any sense of normalacy as your younger guitar buyer who was but a gleam in a parent's eye when a lot of these monstrosities were created, generally doesn't realise what a bucket of dingo's kidneys they are buying at a massively inflated price when they get enthused about a '1978 Hondo Les Paul - MIJ Retro Cool!' guitar.

*** http://mattsclassiccameras.com/agfa_synchrobox.html