When I peek through the viewfinder of an old camera, it makes me wonder at the wealth of experience around it: the countless places it's been, people who've held or stood in front of it, images it has created over the years. Of course, the camera may have only been used once and then tucked away (or worse, left to the elements), only to find new life in the hands of that juggernaut flea market called ebay. But still, it holds its own. Whether it was used five or five hundred times, each camera has its own potential. And like an old warbird, it's just waiting for an old mechanic or pilot with an idea of resurgence.
Should I dare begin assigning personalities to cameras? Why not? Each camera is unique. With so many different shutters and lenses manufactured over so many years, coupled with the effect of aging on metal and glass, no one lens or shutter attached to a camera body can truly be identical to another.
At this point I should stop for a while and say that I am aware of the age old wisdom that it is the seeing eye, the photographer, that makes the image, and that the camera is just a tool. I totally agree. What I am perhaps trying to explore is the effect of the tool on the seeing eye. Do you think it matters? I guess that's more of a personal experience (or not). Does it matter to Beatrix Kiddo that she's holding a Hattori Hanzo sword? Does Li Mu Bai care less about the Sword of Destiny when he can easily defend himself with a stick of bamboo?
I will say that for me, it does. Not all cameras are the same and you hold each one based on the contour of its body, position of the shutter release, and viewfinder angle. My first cameras were standard SLR bodies. It wasn't until I started collecting vintage cameras that it suddenly dawned on me that there are so many ways of "seeing the world". When I look down on the viewfinder of a Rolleiflex, I am persuaded to look at things from a lower angle (and in a square frame). The tendency was to look up, and that opened a new dimension for my seeing eye. Church towers reach further in the sky, the ground exposes so much texture, and people just simply look different when you shift from looking straight at them to staring up at them. This made me appreciate the waist-level finder I had for my Nikon F. It also hit a switch in me that's started this obsession for finding other paths down the road of capturing the image. About a month or two ago I was so excited at having acquired a right-angle finder for my FM2. It's nothing more than a periscope-like attachment for the viewfinder. But personally I found another way to look through the viewfinder, another path for the seeing eye.
When I look through the finder of an old Kodak Six-16, I'm merely looking at a box frame with no glass or parallax correction, but a lot of things are going on in my mind. I am taking a shot where the negative has a panoramic angle, a supremely larger size (than 35mm), and is at the mercy of an old Kodon shutter and Anastigmat lens.
Should I venture beyond metal and glass? Why not? I'm constantly looking for old roads...old paths...emulsion transfers, toners, autoprocessors. There are so many roads. Will they lead me anywhere? Somewhere? Someday?
Does all this stray from being in full control of your tools so that you are able to compose the image that you want to see? Perhaps. After all, this is an essay about straying to so many different paths. Do you believe in fate? If you do, then maybe you have a feeling about all this...and if you don't, then this is all bullshit for you. I'm sorry I wasted your time if you've reached this far into my entry.
I should end by saying that this was probably an exercise in finding words for intuition. I feel a little bit more than I think, and that is probably why I will always have this unknown in my process. And as I forever try to interpret it, I will continue to trust its influence.
and so i go on...
