Play: “Wishing (If I Had A Photograph Of You)” – Flock of Seagulls

As strange things go, this is me: a month ago I never would have considered myself a candidate to get into film photography. I was a digital guy for all the reasons digital cameras make sense. Film is tricky, unwieldy, expensive, slow, and requires skill I probably don’t have.

But, a few weeks ago I read up on this classic type of camera called a “rangefinder” and it sounded pretty neat. I read of some enthusiastic accounts by fans of the camera, and decided on a whim to set up a craigslist alert for one specific model – this Canon QL17 “Canonet” .. the budget rangefinder that compares to deluxe Leica cameras ten times its price. I don’t know why I did it, the idea of film still seemed ludicrous to me. The Canonet seemed to go for $40 to $140 bucks depending. At the very least, I thought, if I found a cheapo one, it would be something cool to take pictures of if not with.

“I’ve Got A Miniature Secret Camera” – Peter Murphy

But, not a week in, an ad came down the feed for a Canonet right in my neighborhood — well, the Valley anyway. The price? $50 with case and flash. So on an overcast Saturday morning, I went out to an Encino hair salon — the seller’s place of business — to check it out. As I understood it, the camera had been inherited after a recent passing in the seller’s family. It was screwed into its case and looked like it hadn’t been removed in 30 years. It was gorgeous. I was sold. I got myself an old camera.

Once, I had it, I was still unsure what the heck I was doing. I drove to a drugstore to try to find some film. It was cloudy. I looked through the viewfinder, and: Whoa! The act of focusing a rangefinder camera is an amazing enlightenment. The viewfinder presents the scene in front of you, and a ghostly superimposed version. You slide a lever back and forth and watch as the two versions of the scene merge into one. It’s a transcendent moment of satori.

“Focus On Sight“  Thievery Corporation

So over the next few days, I took pictures. I had no idea if the camera was working. I was using a rule-of-thumb method of guessing exposure called “Sunny 16” — for there is not much automatic about this camera. I went through that roll of film. A film-nut friend recommended I try the cheap Kroeger-branded film at Ralph’s, for it is actually an Italian film notorious for a antique look that some people hate and some love. I shot three rolls of that — still not even knowing if the thing worked. I was hooked. The rangefinder shows a scene in the viewfinder and lets you focus even with the cap on. of course, I kept clicking pics with the cap on. Newbie! I even had a little micro-adventure when I was out taking photos in Santa Monica. I left the cap on when I tried to take a photo of a mysterious photographer.

Then, I had to get it developed. Really? What year is this? Who even does that now? I found a lab near work. I rolled in and said, “I’m here to drop off film. I have never done this before!*” The proprietor was amused and then helpful. I had to wait a day to get the pics back. A day! I still was convinced the camera wasn’t even taking pictures. See with a rangefinder camera there is no “mirror slap” — that’s the telltale mechanical event in a common single-lens reflex (SLR) camera, the reflex! — when you trip the shutter. Very little happens to reassure you, when you use this camera. Every press of the shutter is a lottery ticket into the photographic future. I hoped I’d be lucky.

“Photograph” – The Verve Pipe

But, the next day came. I had been told they’d be ready at 2:30. I called the lab at noon hoping my photos would be early. Nope! “There are no shortcuts! Get used to it,” I told myself.

Fine, enough anecdote! The pictures came back. Some were surprisingly good, even great in my eyes. Some examples? Sure. Even some pictures I was positive that I took behind the lens cap miraculously really happened. very strange. Strange and wonderful, I guess. At least it distracted me from everything else for a few moments.

“Pictures To Prove It” – Mighty Mighty Bosstones

* In actuality I had dropped off film dozens of times when I was a kid — even when i took photography in high school with a film SLR. But that was clearly some other universe. I remember no details.

You really want to know what happened? I’ll tell you: Wednesday was slouching off into the sunset, and I got off work too late to do anything about it. Still, I grabbed my cam with an eye towards checking out the Santa Monica Pier with the ol’ fisheye. At the last minute, I grabbed the nifty fifty and clipped it to my belt. Just in case, I thought.

The Pier killed all remaining hope in me. I did get one photo I liked — mostly of emptiness — but I failed to solve any of my problems. I’m not sure who gave up first, me or the sunlight, but I floated back towards my car in a daze of anticipathos. Just before I got there though, I saw a red stoplight reflecting off the always-polished Santa Monica sidewalk. I found a perverse, masochistic cry of inspiration and swapped out to the fifty-millimeter lens. My goal, suddenly,  was to capture these forgotten shadows in this artificial light. Shadows left behind by people who didn’t need them. Shadows of strangers, my best friends.

I walked down the Promenade, not seeing what I wanted to see. I told myself, hey it’s the trying that counts, knowing that trying has always counted for nothing unless you’re worth it to begin with. Once again, back towards the car. Defeated, quixotic.

On the final street corner, last chance, I got the photograph below. No one will ever love it as I love it. It’s what I was hoping for. It’s a dream. It’s real. It’s everything that gets ignored.

I even matched it with a song that jumped into my head as soon as I saw this photo enlarged on my screen. It’s rather …well, you know. Make up your own mind.

Play: “Shadowplay” – Joy Division

To the centre of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you,
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you,
I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you,
In a room with a window in the corner I found truth.

In the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more,
As the assassins all grouped in four lines, dancing on the floor,
And with cold streel, odour on their bodies mad a move to connect,
But I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left.

I did everything, everything I wanted to,
I let them use you for their own ends,
To the centre of the city in the night, waiting for you.
To the centre of the city in the night, waiting for you.

Play while you read: “Hoodie” – Lady Sovereign

From my divine vantage overlooking the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica I see them all.

Tourists. Camera-toting tourists. And, more and more I see them with cheap SLRs with curious appendages:

Lens hoods!

I mean lens hoods are great accessories that prevent lensflare in relatively rare occasions. Yes, they also afford some protection for the front of your lens.  I, too,  used to obsess about rocking a hood one-hundred percent of the time. In my youth.  Now, I might or might not.  It just adds bulk and weight and precious seconds while I attach or flip.  More and more, I just can’t be arsed with a lens hood.  Somehow, though, I’m doubting that most of these tourists are worried about lensflare in their vacation snaps.  No, the real reason I think I’m seeing a veritable explosion in lens hoods among the monied amateur — and yes part of why I used to be so diligent in using one:

They look pretty badass!

Play this while you read: “New Shoes” – Paolo Nutini

Stars sing with their eyes open.

That’s what I’ve noticed as I’ve photographed a few singers here and there. The ones that are really big, or want to be really big keep their eyes open and engage with the audience, while soaking in everything around them. Then there is the other side, to singing in public. The ones who go inside, sing to themselves and and secretly want it to just be over.

Yes, some of the greatest singers is history have closed their eyes on occasion. I’m talking about their default state, singin’ a verse. I’m not even talking about talent. A lot of very talented people aren’t stars. To be a star you need talent, plus something more indescribable that’s completely separate from talent. There’s something about those that have “it,” and those that don’t. And, not surprisingly, it’s usually in the eyes.

I found myself pondering this as I took photos of talented and fun Scottish balladeer, Paolo Nutini, as he played a free show to a hundred people or so. The crowd was too shy to even walk up to the edge of the stage, and he was too shy to open his eyes. And, I really liked his music. I thought it was cool. Anytime, you bring the horn section to a free show scores you points with me. He’s got a lot of talent and charisma. He just doesn’t open his eyes.

SVP Content – Digital Media Job at PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, Inc.