A Close Call

There's a long time running debate among photographers about the use of protection filters, nearly clear screw in filters like a UV or skylight kept permanently affixed to the front of a lens to bear the brunt of scratches and frontal impacts, sparing the lens itself. There are pros and cons to using them, and though back in the old camera store days I saw a reasonable number of lenses spared from disaster by them I remained ambivalent about their use.

Yesterday I had one of those experiences that tend to make people question position in matters like this. I set my tripod mounted RB67 down, removed the lens cap RB67 from my prized 50mm Sekor-C lens that was mounted to it and, turning my back to dig something out of the camera bag, just caught the whole assemblage toppling out of the corner of my eye, the camera nose diving into the ground. It seems the tripod legs weren't spread out as much as I thought. Now I have one UV filter that will fit any of the four lenses I own for the RB system, but though I value the 50mm above all others this isn't the lens I use it on. This is to avoid the possibility of vignetting in the corners of its wide-angle field (equivalent to a 25mm lens on a 35mm camera) if I stack another filter or two on top.

As the title suggests however this isn't a eulogy for my favorite lens. Good fortune intervened on my behalf because, while there was no protection filter on this lens, it so happened that I had left a red contrast filter in place after the previous shot I had taken.

A fallen red-coat who gave its life to save its unit, a sacrifice that will not go unforgotten.

After carefully removing the filter all appeared well with the lens and indeed I went on to use is and the camera for the rest of the day without incident. Better still, this is (was) just a cheapo no-name filter that cost me maybe $6-7 shipping included.

While I'm more than happy this filter was there to play the part of a protection filter that obviously wasn't what I had it for. I got this, along with a yellow and a 10 stop ND filter, more as temporary fill ins until I had the budget to replace them with something that didn't involve such an optical compromise. And it's this that brings us back to the reasons I'm not as religious as some about always having some sort of filter in place for protection.

"It's cheap insurance" is the phrase I've heard countless times from advocates of this practice. In a sense it's usually true, but cheap is part of the problem. A good lens may incorporate from six to fifteen or more precision made multicoated elements. A protection filter that could rightly be called cheap is unlikely to be either precision made or multicoated, but once in place it's just as much a part of the optical system as all the rest. Better filters are available of course but then we are getting out of the realm of what could rightly be considered cheap, and no matter how much money you sink into one you'll never achieve better than not using one at all and taking your chances. It also goes without saying that having a filter in place is only protection from certain kinds of mishaps. As you can see from the photo above the ground this fell on was mostly sand. Had it fallen on something harder or more jagged the filters sacrifice would have been in vain.

Still, the fact it can't protect you from all possible injury is a poor reason not to wear a helmet and the arguably the logic is the same here. It's also possible I'm being a bit unrealistic about how much a moderately priced protection filter will impact the overall optical quality of my lenses. Though I hope to add better quality contrast filters to my kit I don't sweat the fact the ones I have are bargain class when the shot calls for for one.

Has this experience been enough to change my mind then? For now all I can say is I ordered the replacement for the red filter today and, thought I gave it a moments thought to adding a few protection filters to the lot in the end I gave it a pass.

Medium Format To Go

In past episodes I've made casual mention of "The Iskra" once or twice as though everyone knows what I'm talking about, a bit of a foolish assumption given that a year ago it would have meant nothing to me either. It occurs to me therefore that a few words of explanation might be in order.

The story begins early last spring with two things I was wishing I had. One was a proper take-everywhere camera, something I could just tuck away in the backpack I take most everywhere so that I'd never be without a decent camera should the unexpected opportunity arise. Having resisted modern notions that ranks portable telecommunications devices right next to shoes in terms of indispensability I don't even have a camera phone to fall back on in a pinch.  The second thing I was after was a medium format camera that would allow me to be a bit more free-wheeling than what I had. The RB67 is a wonderful tool and will remain my tool of choice, but it's not something you take along unless using it is the sole object of the trip, It's no surprise then that a lot of medium format SLR users have something like a twin-lens reflex for those times they need to go lightweight. In place of a camera bag of the kind that keeps chiropractors in business one can simply sling a lighter camera over the shoulder instead while sacrificing little more than lens interchangeability.

An Iskra photo demonstrating the virtue of procrastination. Can you imagine
 how dull this shot would be if I'd ever bothered to paint that door?

I like the idea of having a TLR at my disposal, but a TLR and a take everywhere camera are two different things for most people. In fact the terms medium format and take everywhere camera don't sound like they belong in the same sentence. There is in fact an option that, given a fairly generous space for totin allow both of these desires to be met with one camera - the medium format folder.

Medium format folders were a popular camera style in the decade or so following WWII, but seemed to lose appeal to consumers faster than other styles of medium format camera in the face of the increasing popularity of 35mm during the 60's. It makes sense I suppose as the appeal of folders is their compactness, and consumers who were looking for that would have been the first to switch to the smaller format. I have to say though that on a strict compactness vs. quality basis I think those who went for 35mm got a raw deal. (Of course there's probably more to it, like 3 times as many exposures on a roll.) Personally, I find it far easier to carry a medium format folder than a 35mm SLR, but I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.

As this style of camera had its day well enough before my time a bit of research was in order. There was a whole world of features, reputations for mechanical and optical quality, and of course prices to acquaint myself with. In term of features the only must-have was a rangefinder. Many cameras of this ilk require the user to guess at the subject distance then dial it in to focus, relying on depth of field to cover for any errors. That may be good enough for grampa's vacation snaps, but there's a difference between in focus and covered by DOF, and I need in focus. Also, my strong preference in terms of format is for 6x6 as this is what I end up cropping to most of the time with 6x7 negs anyway.

Features are features, but it gets trickier when it comes to optics and mechanical reliability. Being vintage cameras much of what one can learn about the various models comes in the form of their reputation, and it's been my experience at any rate that it can be difficult to separate what portion of a reputation is earned and what is brand mystique (or in some cases whatever you'd call its opposite.)

There is some objective information to be had in terms of optical and mechanical design. Laying aside things like quality control, mechanically some choice of materials, ways of putting things together, arrangement of parts that make things happen and so on are better than others. Further, leaving out considerations like how well or consistently lenses are assembled, their optical design itself is just a matter of what glass elements are involved, how their arranged and the types of glass used. In this regard cameras of this design and vintage nearly always have either a 3 element Cooke triplet or a 4 element design that is normally a Tessar variant. No surprise here, other things being equal the four element designs will have the more sought after characteristics. There's also the matter of whether or not the lenses are coated.

Finally there was price. I didn't want to spend too much either in absolute terms or in terms of value per dollar spent. If I just wanted the best there are dealers with unsullied reputations who sell the most sought after models, fully refurbished and warrantied  at a fully worth the price premium if you have it in your budget and just want something that will work with no questions. I could have done that but then I would never have been able to afford the 50mm lens for the RB that I don't know how I lived without and would probably just now be getting 'round to being able to buy film again. Also, where's the fun in that?

Instead I followed my usual instinct to find something that was a bit of a sleeper, a camera that performs well enough to be on the most sought after list but due to whatever oversight isn't. My search ultimately lead me to, well I guess you already know, the Iskra. So what's an Iskra?

The Iskra as it looked shortly after it arrived. I've since made a few cosmetic changes,
reskinning it in blue vinyl and restoring the logo to its original fire-engine red.

I'm sure you've already guessed that it's a medium format folder. It has my favoured square format, coated Tessar design lens and fully coupled rangefinder. Not only does the lens have a reputation as a solid performer, the focus mechanism has a superior helicoid design that moves all the lens elements together rather than just moving the front element with relation to the others. Adding to its sophistication is an advanced (for the time) film detection mechanism that obviates the need to line up start arrows or watch through a little red window as you wind. Best of all the Iskra usually goes for a fraction of what similar models on the sought after list do.

So what gives? Well, let's start with the logo on the camera, which if you can't quite make out the script in the photo above reads "Искра". These are Soviet cameras made from 1960-63 at the KMZ factory in Kiev. As such they come with the default reputation attached to all "Russian" cameras as cheaply constructed, mechanically unsophisticated and subject to spotty quality controls. Whether this reputation in general is deserved or the product of leftover cold-war biases and the "knock-off" stigma based on the fact that, unburdened by international trademark or patent agreements, many of these cameras either heavily borrowed from or outright copied from Western designs. A few things there doesn't seem to be much dispute about include the fact that light leaks in the bellows aren't uncommon, thought this would be true of any camera of this vintage that had bellows, and the fact that frame spacing is typically uneven, though I don't know if this is true of the Agfa model this camera is based on that has the same mechanism.

In this last regard the Iskra is no exception as one look at the functionally and cosmetically nearly identical Agfa Super Isolette of the late 50's should convince you. (The Agfa also sold in the U.S. as the Ansco Super Speedex.) Does this make the Iskra an inferior instrument to the Western model that inspired it, enough to account for the fact that it was selling for about 1/3-1/4 the price of an Agfa or Ansco in comparable condition? Opinions I was able to find online seemed remarkably polarized ranging from the notion if any Iskra out there still manages to function at all it's only been kept going with duct tape and rubber bands to those who contend that they're mechanically equal to and optically a bit superior to their Western counterparts. What to make of this?

I had an hour to kill and was parked right beside an old cemetery - perfect time
to remember I happen to have a medium format camera in the backpack with me.

A bit more digging though was enough to bring some sense to these wildly differing opinions. It came from a piece written by a collector of Soviet cameras (sorry, I couldn't find it again to give you the link) who shed a bit of light on the very different journey an Iskra may have taken to get through the past five decades to arrive in 2014 compared to a camera made in the West around the same time like an Agfa. Unlike, say an Agfa that got used regularly for a few years but otherwise spent most of that time on a shelf or in a box, Iskras were made for Soviet citizens who weren't running out to replace them the moment there was something newer and better on the market, and many of them were still in every-day use long after the Soviet Union dissolved and that Agfa had become a curiosity the original owner's grandson found while rummaging through the attic. How much use a particular Iskra may have seen over the decades could vary, but in the USSR a camera like this could represent a professional photographer's bread and butter. Until not that long ago they many of these cameras were used day in and day out and to be kept going at almost any cost. Not every Iskra out there has this kind of history but there are enough beaten up and barely functional to leave anyone who has seen a few that their condition is the result of poor initial construction rather than the fact they're doing the equivalent of comparing two cars of the same model year without considering the odometer on one reads twenty times higher than the other.

It didn't take too much effort to find a well priced Iskra on eBay from an experienced and highly rated seller who included enough good photos to convince me this one hadn't been run into the ground. The package travelled from the Ukraine to Canada and arrived faster than most things I order from the U.S. and for no higher higher shipping cost. Now here it is more than half a year and a good few rolls of film on and time enough to look back and and ask how well it has fared compared to my expectations. I don't have and have never used one the Agfa or Ansco cameras that would allow me to make that sort of comparison, but let's have a look at my actual experiences.

While loading the first roll into the camera I couldn't help but notice the spiked wheel that allows the camera to detect when film, and not just backing paper, is moving from the camera. It looks like a miniaturized version of a medieval instrument of persuasion. The same mechanism with the same spiky wheel is used on the Agfa Super Isolette. As I found it actually does perforate the backing paper and leaves its impression on the margin of the film. It look bad but I haven't seen any evidence that any light at all gets through to the film at any point.

My real concern when I unloaded that first roll was that it seemed alarmingly loose on the takeup spool, and indeed when developed it was obvious that light had leaked in along the edges, though for the most part it had not intruded into the image area. For the next few rolls I kept the film in camera when the last exposure had been taken, waiting until it could be unloaded and wound right onto the developing reel in one go under complete darkness. After a few rolls it was evident though that my first experience had been an isolated incident and I haven't had problems with film I changed in the field since, though there's always the concern it could happen again.

In the absence of issues like that the camera is the kind of capable performer that I'd hoped. I have no quibbles with the quality of the optics and the focus is accurate. Not quite as accurate is the viewfinder which experience has shown requires me to compensate by aiming up and a little to the right regardless of the subject distance. I've had some otherwise good shots ruined because of this. As for the frame spacing, yes it can vary from frame to frame, but only once have I found two frames actually touch and even here there was no overlap so I can't say I consider this a real practical concern.

Though aside from that one loosely wound roll I had no issues with light leaks for the first several rolls, a problem suddenly appeared a few months on. It traced back to a leak in the bellows which is more or less to be expected in cameras of this vintage. I found it easily enough by shining a light from inside the camera and did a spot repair with a dab of plasti-dip, the goop that's used to put a nice rubbery grip on the bare metal handle of tools. It's likely that once one hole appears others may begin to appear so every roll or two I'll have to remember to do a quick check on the bellows.

For the bulk of the summer the camera went largely unused. It was a surprise then that when the roll that had been sitting in it for a few months was developed it was almost completely done in with an entirely different kind of light leak. It might not be a bad idea to do a future post about diagnosing light leaks, but suffice it to say that unlike the blobby patch of leaked light that stayed within the frame area this roll had the linear stripes extending the entire width of the film that indicated light was coming in along the edges of the door in the back of the camera. The door of the Iskra isn't hinged, it comes right off and needs to be hooked over a protrusion that forms a sort of light trap to be closed. It was possible the door didn't seat quite right and it did have a few months to accumulate leaks, but though the next roll spent less than a week in camera a few leaks were visible in several frames here as well. Though the Iskra isn't really designed to employ the sort of spongy light seals found in more current cameras I decided to address the issue by taking some of the material that was left over after replacing the seals in the RB67 and try to place it strategically to prevent future problems. Results of this to be determined.

And so we've come to the part where it would be customary for me to offer some sort of conclusion. I'll take a pass on anything by way of passing judgement as this always involves some measure of foisting my own preferences and expectations to the foreground. By my count on average I've experienced some sort of operational issue with every other toll of film I've put through the camera. I know many out there wouldn't even consider taking that kind of chance with their photos while others would be overjoyed to be able to get the kind of quality this camera is capable of without paying a premium price for a device that, for its age, could be a whole lot less reliable. I'm sure the same could be said for many cameras of this ilk whether the factory they came from was located in the East or the West. I think the experience owes as much to how I bought it as what I bought. I got as good as could be expected from a reputable eBay dealer who was clear and honest about what he was selling. The camera works, the lens in clean and clear, the shutter fires, the film advances and all the rest but there's the occasional glitch. This is entirely different than purchasing from a highly regarded restorer who tests, calibrates, replaces what's not up to snuff and warranties everything. It may be triple the price, but if that's enough to get rid of the glitches I've run into I can't see where there'd be much else to quibble about with this camera.

Adventures in Home C-41

In previous episodes I had written that for Fall colour this year I was going to use colour negative film and develop it myself with a home C-41 kit, so this is a bit of a progress about how that went, or at least how it is going thus far. 

The C-41 process itself is really nothing new to me. Back in the old camera store days a significant part of my job involved operating the onsite Kodak/Noritsu mini-lab including replacing exhausted chemistry and other process maintenance tasks. Doing it at home then should involve no more than combining that knowledge with the black and white processing skills that are routine for me and - spoiler alert - for the most part they were.

In contrast to the C-41 chemistry I knew from the past which always came in liquid form, the Tetinal/Jobo C-41 press kit I ordered was composed entirely of packets of powdered chemicals. Aside from that however the sequence chemical baths was the old familiar one, though what we had always called "bleach fix" goes by the cooler sounding name "blix" in these kits. The it's the same thing though, and once mixed it even had that same odour, the one that always gave the old lab its characteristic aroma. It's not particularly strong or unpleasant mind you, certainly less so than the vinegar smell of stop bath used in black and white processes. For me in fact the scent was pure nostalgia.

Unlike the cool room temperature 20^oC (68^oF) that is the most common standard temperature for processing black and white film, the instructions that came with my C-41 kit were all geared for a temperature of   39^oC (102^oF). This means the chemistry must be warmed up significantly before starting, and kept there throughout the process. I found getting a temperature change of just a few degrees for black and white had sometimes been a real pain, so I thought bringing it up by nearly 20 degrees would take ages. In the Flickr forums I received several assurances from others who had done this before that a simple water bath would get the job done in just a few minutes and indeed it seems I had underestimated the efficiency of this method. On my first go at developing a film I put the C-41 developer and "blix" into the sink and filled it with the water running purely from the hot tap to just below the mouth of the storage bottles then headed into the darkroom to load the tank. Figuring it would take quite a while for the chemistry to come up to temperature I really lollygagged through this process and as a result when I finally checked the temperature of the chemistry it turned out I had to wait for it to cool a bit. Lesson learned.

Having brought the chemicals up to temperature (the final stabilizer bath can be left at room temp) I emptied the sink, got the tap running at exactly 39^oC then refilled the sink to act as a temperature stabilizing bath and filled the daylight tank now loaded with film.  One difference between the old automated C-41 machine process and the home kit is that in addition to the usual chemical baths a pre-soak is recommended and a water rinse is used in between the blix and stabilizer.

Unlike black and white film processing and the often wildly varying processing times you can get depending on the particular combination of film and developer you chose, colour processes like C-41 are standardized affairs. As a result I felt compelled to abandon the gentle and rather idiosyncratic agitation method I usually use for the comparatively brutal inversion cycles assumed in the processing instructions.

Shot on Kodak Portra 160, developed in the kitchen sink.

The first film processed was a roll of Portra 160 I ran through the RB67 and it looks pretty good. As is my usual practice I squeegeed the film prior to hanging. I've never been happy about having to do this as it sometimes leaves fine scratches that can be visible when scanned or printed, but this is better than dealing with the water spots that seem to be the inevitable result of failing to do this, even if the final rinse is done in distilled water. Other photographers have sworn this is not necessary and no doubt it isn't given their particular combination of water supply, humidity levels, working habits and whatnot. The C-41 process ends with the film being hung straight out of the stabilizer solution with no other rinse in between. I wondered if this might be different enough to allow me to forego the squeegee, so with the second roll I processed I decided to just give the film a shake before hanging to dry.

Apparently little more care is needed with the drying process.

Well, it was a noble experiment. The above result says it all. This is from the second test roll I put through the Minolta Hi-Matic 9. It was taken in the pouring rain and the scan is straight from the Epson V500 on default settings. There were two or three frames on the roll that weren't ruined, but this one is typical. Admittedly I used tap water to mix the stabilizer, but this may be the worst case of water spots as I've ever had and if distilled water didn't cure my problems there I can't see it being much use here. It looks like squeegee it will be.

If years gone by are any indication it won't be long before the urge to shoot colour once again drops off the radar screen. The oft spoken of peak of colour has already gone by for another year, though it's not always about getting those super punchy reds oranges and yellows. That in between period as the colours are on their way to a faded brown can have a mood all its own as well and if I'm lucky I may be able to capture some of that before it's gone.

Managing the Symptoms

Whether it was a rationally justifiable need for another camera or something else, either way it was less than $40 with shipping and at the very least it's kept me amused over the past week.

Nearly every photographer out there knows first hand the unending to add just one more camera, lens or other piece of kit to their arsenal going well beyond what any practical need would dictate. While some might argue this Gear Acquisition Syndrome as it's called can be cured through means such as aversion training with high voltage shocks, spending several months at a monastery in silent meditation and other similar interventions, the majority of us find it preferable to simply manage the symptoms.

Though simply building a couple of cameras has provided some relief for me recently it was only a matter of time before the GAS returned. It was that mother-lode of deeply expired 35mm bulk film that set things off. (Quick update, I relieved myself of the majority of this haul as the 1000' tin of Ilford Mark V has gone off in support of the Film Photography Project's efforts, but that still leaves me with 200' of bulk film and a few rolls from the factory to boot.) My Nikon FE would normally be perfect for trying out new film but it had been acting up of late and with several emulsions to try out I found myself browsing online auctions for 35mm cameras. For someone who already owns eleven cameras of various formats this is a pretty weak justification, but like a struggling dieter who manages to convince themselves that right now their overall goal could be furthered by eating cake, I wasn't going to let a little thing like reasonableness deprive me of my rationale.

Like I said, it's all about managing symptoms. After all, if finding relief to this kind of thing involved unending upgrades for up-to-the-minute technology or tracking down coveted vintage cameras in mint condition I'd be out in the streets by now. Instead I've found I can lead a nearly normal life while dealing with the affliction by taking a different tack. Outbidding the Leica aficionados on an M3 is something I might be able to do once, but knowing the itch will need to be scratched eventually no matter what I get myself into I find I can get better mileage by carefully researching and tracking down a purchase that ultimately may rival the cost of a new pair of jeans.

Over the past several months a bit of general, unfocused research had identified a few members of the Minolta Hi-Matic line as cameras that were worthier than their reputation might suggest. This is possibly due to the widely varied capabilities among cameras that have borne the Hi-Matic name. I remember Hi-Matics from the late 70s- early 80s as decent point-and-shoot cameras, most notable at the time as one of the first consumer models to offer futuristic autofocus technology. A great camera for holidays, family vacation and the like, but nothing you'd consider a rival for an SLR. This is probably the image that comes to mind for a lot of other photographers when they hear the name Hi-Matic, which may in part account for why, while Canon's very nice Canonet line has been growing in popularity on the used market of late, very similar and equally nice versions of Minolta's Hi-Matic line that are in every way the Canonet's rival remain relatively obscure.

I can't remember what it was that piqued my interest in the Hi-Matic line but at some point I found myself sifting through the information available online, comparing the virtues and vices of the various models. (If you're interested the most informative site I found about the Hi-Matic lineup as a whole can be found here.) I determined that any version of the Hi-Matic 7, or preferably the Hi-Matic 9 would be suitable, possibly as an alternative to my Iskra folder as take everywhere camera with the added benefits of a built in meter, the ability to use all that old film I find myself in possession of, and as it turns out is free of the Iskra's recently discovered light leak issue that will need to be addressed.

 And so it was that right on cue a new listing appeared for a Minolta Hi-Matic 9 in pretty reasonable condition with a "Buy It Now" price of less than the going rate and it was even from a Canadian seller, sparing me the extra shipping and import fees. How could I not?

When it arrived a week or so later all seemed to be more or less in order. The lens was a bit wobbly but that's pretty common in these cameras and it's not enough to be a real issue. The shutter speed dial located on the lens can also be difficult to turn if you don't grab it just right but no big deal. A more serious issue seemed to be the rangefinder window image. It was too fuzzy to be of use focusing except in the bottom corner. A quick look at the front of the camera revealed why. If you can't spot it in the photo at the top the detail below makes it perfectly clear. The little rectangular clear spot in the frosted glass doesn't line up with the opening for the rangefinder window. If you've never used a rangefinder this window forms a secondary window in the viewfinder. You focus by turning the focus ring until this secondary image is exactly lined up with the primary image of your subject, Having just this small portion of the secondary image to work with can really make this hard, though I've put two rolls of film through it in this condition and always seem to mange. I'm going to have a go at fixing it though.

These issues aside, results so far have been everything I had hoped. The 45mm f/1.7 lens has a reputation for being as good as any normal lens you're likely to find on any 35mm rangefinder or SLR without paying for premium optics and what I've seen is perfectly in line with that. This lens is one of the chief reasons I was glad to have found a Hi-Matic 9 rather than one of the more common 7s which has a reputation for image flare in some situations, probably due to inferior coating. The only down-side I can is that the Hi-Matic 9 is fairly large for a 35mm rangefinder. There's no real savings in terms of size compared to many 35mm SLRs. Those who prefer rangefinders for the unobtrusive soft click of the shutter will be disappointed by the Hi-Matic 9s hearty pling, but this is of little concern to me. Some have also quibbled about the advance lever which needs to be turned about 2/3rds of a full circle to wind the film but I've found that after the shot I've gone and wound the film without even thinking so how hard could it be?

The one thing I haven't done is put a battery in it. All the vital functions, shutter, aperture etc. are fully mechanical and don't require battery power, but with batteries the camera has surprisingly sophisticated automatic features for something that came out in the 60's. There is of course metered manual, but shutter and aperture can both be set to automatic, either separately or both at once, effectively allowing this camera to be set to Program mode, though apparently that term didn't exist back when these little gems were still being made.

This of course requires battery power and therein lies the rub. Like many cameras of this era the Hi-Matic 9 was designed to work with 1.35V mercury cells which are no longer made for exactly the reason you're thinking. Alternatives include the equivalent sized alkaline battery, but reason mercury cells were used in the first place is their voltage is very steady right up until they die which allowing the meter to be designed with a simple circuit not at all suited to work with alkaline batteries that can drop from 1.5V to less than a volt as they are used up. Silver oxide cells are much steadier but require either modifications to the camera or an adapter costing more than I paid for the camera by half to adjust both physical size and voltage. Finally there are hearing-aid batteries that are close enough to the right voltage not to matter which only require a simple DIY adapter for size. They are cheap, easy to find and have the requisite constant voltage characteristics, their only disadvantage being once activated their lifetime is limited to a few months whether or not they are used. At a buck or two a piece I think I can live with that.

Once I get the rangefinder window straightened out the Hi-Matic will take its place as my take everywhere camera. Whether or not it becomes a permanent spot or perhaps alternates with the Iskra remains to be seen. As always I'll keep you posted.

Adventures in Long Exposure

The technique of long exposure photography, purposely using exposure times ranging from several seconds to several minutes or more to create time dependent effects such as giving flowing water a gossamer appearance or creating continuous light trails from the motion of stars or tail-lights, is nothing new. As you may already be aware however over the past several years the popularity of using long exposures in landscape and architectural photography, not just as a special technique reserved for particular kinds of situations, but as a sort of de facto approach that can be applied nearly any time something in the frame is moving, has been growing to become almost a style of photography unto itself. For many well known and highly talented photographers it has become somewhat of a signature look.

An exposure of several minutes I made last year. Lacking the near-opaque neutral density filter often considered requisite for long exposure photography my attempts at long exposures like this were limited to those two narrow time bands each day when the sun was just far enough below the horizon to permit extended exposure times. A bit too dark and exposure times quickly climb from minutes to several hours - far longer than I was willing to wait it out. 

While a deep appreciation for the work of many of these photographers has lead me to incorporate long exposure into my own, I have to confess I'm a little leery about it. The technique seems to be most commonly applied today in a way that is right up my ally photographically speaking, to use the motion of ripples and waves to transform the textured glassy surface of oceans, lakes, firths and so forth into something that appears far less substantial, a mist perhaps. Clouds, meanwhile, often shed all pretense of being stationary when exposures go on for more than just a few seconds. As a result fairly ordinary scenes can take on an air of mystery, a juxtaposition of the familiar and the other-worldly.  Had I ever sat down to write a photographic manifesto the previous sentence would probably feel right at home among its pages, so what's not to love?

A small part of it at least was simply cost. Photographers who regularly use long exposure techniques typically recommend a 10 stop neutral density filter, at least as a start, and maybe a few more 2-4 stop filters to stack on top of that when 10 isn't enough. Considering the advice I find tends to come from photographers for whom long exposure plays a big roll in their work, and who typically are working with larger budgets than a schmoe such as myself, some rather premium brands get mentioned. By far the most commonly cited is the Lee Big Stopper, a square drop-in filter requiring an adapter ring and holder (ideally for each lens) which would easily run me over $200 once all is said and done. Considering that's what I paid for my most prized component of my RB67 system, the 50mm Sekor C lens, it wasn't something I could see ever working its way up to the part of my priority list where things get bought. Fortunately with a bit of digging I was able to find a generic 10 stop filter for under $20. So far it's proven to be perfectly adequate and if long exposure proves to be a more satisfying creative outlet than I've been thinking I can always upgrade.

A more recent photo made through a 10x neutral density filter in order to achieve a 90 second total exposure time. Using Fuji Neopan Acros film eased exposure calculations somewhat a no reciprocity adjustments are required for exposures up to two minutes.

Somehow I'm not seeing it happening though. There are things to be lost as well as gained when this technique is used. I don't always like what it does for the look of clouds for example. There are also times when the surface of the water as it appears when exposures are short enough to freeze its motion is what works best. For an example of this have a look at the first photo in my previous post and note the texture of the water  and how it helps tell the story of churning winds and sunlight. I would be quite a different photo if the shutter were kept open long enough to allow this motion to blur into a sea of marshmallow fluff. Arguably it might still be an interesting photo, it just wouldn't say what I wanted it to in this case.

This might be why, despite my interest in experimenting with long exposures and my belief that it may be the key to getting the right look in some circumstances, I have no ambitions of making it a signature look of my own. When looking through the work of photographers who turn to the technique time and time again I can sometimes get a little numbed by a certain sameness of feel. It leaves me to wonder if for some photographers the heavy neutral density filters are being brought to bear out of habit. I have my own filter to play with now so it remains to be seen how it goes for me. As always I'll keep you posted.

The Clouds of Autumn

Growing up in a home where the dining room was regularly turned into a studio and the bathroom could on any given night be converted into a darkroom, I was aware of one constant whenever this time of year rolled around - my parents along with all the other camera people were nuts about the fall colour. Though I never understood all the fuss about taking all those pictures (my seven year old self would be shocked to learn I had become one of the camera people) I certainly didn't mind the outings to the country my sister and I would be dragged out to at this time of year. The world had a different sense to it than at other times of year, one that made even familiar places seem unexplored and the new places we sometimes went feel like visiting the settings I might imagine if I were caught up hearing a great story. What was different, who could say? If I had been introspective enough to ask myself back then I probably would have said the colours. That's what the camera people are going crazy for after all. It seems obvious enough doesn't it?

If so then, black and white guy that I am, Autumn should mean no more to me than the progressive loss of leaves from the trees and a withering of ground cover flora. And yet it isn't that. These days I pay a lot of attention to the sky for cues on where and when to head out with my camera and come this time of year something starts to change. Maybe it's the angle of light, the way clouds form as temperatures begin to drop, or some other phenomenon beyond my meager powers to recon, but no matter the cause it is gets the cogs in the photographic centres of my brain churning. Who knows, it could even be the psychological effect of feeling that first small chill in the air and knowing it means the summer has passed for good, and I'm fine with that even - my psychology is as indispensable to my photography as film and camera.

I first noticed this change a week or two ago, around the beginning of calendar Autumn. The leaves were still barely showing a change anywhere so I know that wasn't it. I can't say exactly what it was but there seemed to be something about the clouds, a quality I swear you'd never see in July. I'm not talking about a bland overcast mind you, but the rolling varied clouds that at this time of year somehow hang there with a new immediacy, the tangibility of their forms giving question to our notions of earth and sky as realms that must remain forever separate.

I don't see clouds like that every day, and though the leaves are reaching a stage of unmistakable change, when the sky is clear and the temperature hasn't dipped too low a trace of summer still lingers, but soon there will be no mistaking it with or without my clouds. The colours will be out in force as we come to the one time of year I feel compelled to do at least be prepared to shoot a bit of colour. Last year that took the form of dragging out the D80 DSLR for what will likely prove it's last hurrah as a tool for creative work. I don't know that the results were all that horrible, but in the immediate comarison with the satisfaction I felt between shooting with it versus my RB67 it did not fare well. As I was shooting, but even more so when I brought the results up on screen and began to tinker with them in Photohop the word I think best describes what I felt is 'hollow'. I don't know that the feeling had something to do with some quality of the images I brought back. I don't imagine I'll ever be able to put my finger on exactly what it was, just like I'll never put my finger on what it is about my Autumn clouds I love so much. It doesn't matter though, I don't have to put my finger on anything. Intangibles are no less real because we haven't explained them.

This year I have a different plan for Fall colour. The pro-pack of Kodak Portra 160 arrived this afternoon in fact along with the C-41 chemistry kit. I have no idea how that'll go. As usual though I'll keep you posted.

Film Photography Needs Your Help

Even as we start to see signs that the decade of decline in film sales has bottomed out and may even be on the upswing it seems as film photographers we're still left holding our breath, waiting for the next announcement of yet another great emulsion that's being discontinued, hoping none of our favourites will be the next one to go. But the time is long gone when demand for film was driven merely by hold-outs. Everybody who planned to trade in their film equipment for digital did it years ago, and still the demand is there. So why does the dire news seem to keep coming?

Much of the problem goes back to production economics. When you have a factory built to produce billions of rolls per year in a market demanding only millions of rolls per year it often makes more sense to shut down production rather than try to run at a small fraction of capacity.  The comfort film photographers long for of knowing the film they use is here to stay comes from having a production capacity in line with the reality of today's market. Arguably black and white photographer's have that in Ilford, but as Kodak continues its heroic struggles to right-size its production and film is a mere sideline for Fuji it seems like no colour emulsion is safe. In particular, Fuji is now the only manufacturer still making slide film, and while they make a couple of great ones, E-6 shooters must live with the fact that they are just a corporate decision away from having their supplies cut off.

On to this stage comes a one-time historic opportunity for the cause of film photography. The once defunct Italian film manufacturer Ferrania has risen once more, but has only a limited amount of time to recover the portion of its mothballed production it needs to put together that right sized production capability to become a new stable supplier in the market. That machinery isn't part of Ferrania's current facilities however, it lies in government owned factory buildings which are slated for demolition only months from now.

Here's where you come in. To raise the capital needed to recover the machinery Ferrania has launched a new Kickstarter project. For more details on the project please visit their Kickstarter page. You can contribute and also register to be one of the first to receive these highly anticipated Ferrania products. The project is already more than halfway to its goal. Don't let the chance to be a part of bringing this critical asset to the future of film photography slip by.