Category: black and white

First experiences with the Pentax 17: Half Frame, Half Baked and Half Good?

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If you have even a passing interest in film, you’ve probably heard of the Pentax 17 by now. Released last year in response to the growing nostalgia for analogue photography, it’s one of the few new film cameras to come out in the last decade—and probably the only one from a major manufacturer that isn’t Leica. Pentax took a risk, targeting Gen Z’s fascination with a world they never actually lived in by creating a half-frame camera that sits somewhere between fully manual and fully automatic.

But who is it for?

Rather than catering to professionals, serious enthusiasts, or wealthy collectors looking for flashy trinkets, this camera is clearly aimed at hipsters. You can tell just by the fact that its designer, Takeo Suzuki—who goes by TKO—sports a waistcoat and flat cap. But is this camera a technical knockout? Well, I had my doubts, but I bought one as a Christmas present to myself. Why? Because I deserve it. Okay, also because my wife saw it, immediately wanted one, and who am I to argue?

Credit where it’s due—Pentax took a bold step releasing this niche product, especially at around 800 Australian dollars. I wasn’t planning on buying it until my wife convinced me that it would make me happier, healthier, and an all-around better human being. Has it changed my life? Not really. Let’s be honest—I don’t need another camera. But I do love half-frame cameras, and my old Canon Demi is getting unreliable. The Pentax 17, on the other hand, is brand new, fully functional, and—unlike my usual vintage finds—doesn’t smell like leather, tobacco, and urine. Don’t worry, I’ll add that patina over time.

This camera is supposed to be fun. Half-frame means I don’t have to worry as much about film costs, and the resolution is decent for most uses. Unlike Pentax’s 90s-era fully automatic point-and-shoots, this one puts some control back in my hands. Some, but not all. You have to focus manually using an icon-based system (flowers, people, mountains, and—of course—your dinner, because Instagram). You also have to wind the film on manually, which was about the hardest work I did all summer.

An odd choice to include manual focus

Early frames

Of course, it’s not all fun and games. I took my Pentax 17 and some Ilford HP5 and set out to capture some of the urban decay of tired shopping malls. The results? Nothing spectacular, but it did at least provide a monochromatic record of decline. But I know that’s not what you’re here for—you want your decrepitude in full color. So, I loaded up some Fuji 400 and headed to my home away from home, Leeman, for post-Christmas dog walks on the beach.

Speaking of which, my groodle puppy, Juni, has had plenty of exposure on film this summer. If you’ve been following along, yes, it’s the same dog—just three times bigger. We’re considering renaming her Ginger Monster. Capturing a fast-moving ball of auburn fur with a half-frame camera? Tricky, but fun.

Camera quirks

Now, about those exposure modes. They’re confusing. The dial is color-coded: white for non-flash modes, yellow for flash-based ones, and—just to mess with you—a blue auto mode that isn’t actually fully automatic. It basically turns your expensive camera into a $20 disposable. What focus distance? What aperture? What shutter speed? Who knows? I don’t use it. Instead, I stick to P mode, though I still don’t really know what it does. The biggest issue? The dial is way too easy to knock out of place, which led to some overexposed outdoor shots and underexposed indoor ones before I realized I’d accidentally switched to Bulb mode while winding on.

After some trial and error, I learned a few things. One: get your finger out of the way when shooting macro. Two: framing in a viewfinder camera is always a challenge, but the Pentax 17’s clear viewfinder and close-up frame lines help. Three: for general shooting, the 3m focus setting is usually good enough, though I did cheat and use an iPhone app to double-check distances.

I still haven’t touched auto mode—it gives me anxiety. With half-frame, I like to have two exposed rolls ready before developing to save time and chemicals. So, to make things more difficult for myself, I loaded up a roll of OneShot film next. Why? Because it was cheap. The results? Let’s just say OneShot probably isn’t ideal for a bright Perth summer—or for this camera. The muted colors and heavy grain didn’t do me any favors. The Fuji 400 shots fared better, and while nothing groundbreaking, I did get a few fun summer snapshots.

So, what’s the verdict? This isn’t a spectacular camera. It has its quirks—no self-timer, confusing exposure modes, and some incredibly bright blinking LEDs that don’t provide focus confirmation (because it’s manual focus). Plus, the electronic focus system introduces a slight shutter lag, which is odd for a manual-focus camera. The design is an eclectic mash-up of different Pentax and Ricoh cameras, with an Olympus Pen-style viewfinder and a winding lever that feels straight out of a Pentax 110. It’s a Frankenstein creation, and the real question is: does that make it charming or just dumb?

For me, it’s both. Plenty of YouTubers have reviewed this camera and been left scratching their heads, but that’s because it wasn’t made for high-end photographers. Honestly, it wasn’t even made for me—and I have no standards. But I love it. It’s quirky, fun, and surprisingly decent for what it is. Most of all, it’s brave and weird—just like Juni. Maybe I’m just brave and weird enough to appreciate it.

Road Testing the Nikon F50: Is this Nikon’s Ugliest Camera?

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Get ready for a first-hand look at my latest thrift find, the Nikon F50. As I awkwardly wrestle with the packaging, I can’t help but wonder if this will be a Hitchcock-level suspenseful experience, especially as I attempt to tackle that pesky bubble wrap without injuring myself.

And there it is, the Nikon F50, not exactly the epitome of elegance or charm. As a devoted Nikon SLR film camera enthusiast, I’ve got a long list of favorites, and this one definitely hasn’t made the cut. Every time I see it online, I can’t help but cringe at its less-than-appealing appearance.

But hey, when I stumbled upon it for just $19, I thought, why not take a chance? After all, it’s cheaper than a gallon of methylated spirits, and while I can’t drink it, at least I can take pictures with it, right? So, despite my reservations, I took the plunge and made it mine.

Now, let’s talk about its quirks and limitations. This camera is definitely not for the faint of heart. It’s designed for older Nikon lenses, lacks focus assist for manual lenses, and don’t even get me started on its menu system. It’s like solving a puzzle just to change a setting.

But it’s not all doom and gloom. After a quick test, I can confirm that it does indeed work, which means I’m stuck with it now. On the bright side, it’s time to load it up with some film and see what it can really do. So, despite its flaws, let’s keep an open mind and give it a fair shot. Who knows, it might just surprise us in the end.

An Imperfect Camera

Using this camera isn’t exactly a walk in the park, but here’s the kicker: it takes surprisingly good pictures! In the end, isn’t a camera just a tool? As I experimented with it, I managed to capture some impressive shots on just one roll of film. Sure, it wasn’t the most enjoyable experience, but the results spoke for themselves.

A big part of its success was probably thanks to the lens I used, a humble Tamron 28-200mm. Despite its quirks, like significant distortion, it produced sharp images with fine focus. Sure, the autofocus could be a bit shaky, but with careful adjustment, I got the shots I wanted.

This got me thinking: am I being too harsh on this camera? Am I judging it solely based on its looks? After all, beauty is subjective, right? Maybe this chunky, unassuming camera has its own unique charm that I’ve overlooked.

Sure, it’s not the most ergonomic or user-friendly camera out there. Its menu system can be frustrating, and it lacks some advanced features. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe its simplicity is its strength. If you’re not too hung up on aesthetics and just want a camera that gets the job done without fuss, then this might be the one for you.

So, here’s the bottom line: if you’re a budget-conscious film photographer who values function over form, this camera might just surprise you. Give it a chance, and who knows? You might end up with some Hasselblad-worthy shots after all.

First Impressions of the Diana F Plus

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Today, I found myself facing a philosophical dilemma: is the Diana F+ truly a legitimate photography tool masquerading as a toy, or am I merely a tool for using a toy camera? As I embarked on this journey with the Diana, I couldn’t help but be drawn in by its quirky charm and historical associations with the goddess of the moon.

Inauspicious Origins

Despite my initial skepticism towards toy cameras, I remained open to the creative possibilities they offered. After all, some of the greatest art has been created using the most primitive of tools. Plus, snagging the Diana from a thrift store for a fraction of its original cost seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Delving into the lore of Lomography, I learned that the Diana had humble beginnings as a novelty item produced by the Great Wall Plastic Co. Yet, over time, it was embraced by a new generation of photographers seeking an alternative to the clinical perfection of digital imaging.

However, I couldn’t ignore the criticism that toy cameras often produce subpar photos due to their inherent flaws. Despite my doubts, I decided to put the Diana to the test by taking it out to a local wetland armed with Kentmere 400 medium format film.

As I loaded the film into the camera, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was about to embark on a futile endeavor. Would I be able to overcome the constraints of the Diana and capture meaningful images, or would I end up disappointed by the results?

Only time would tell as I ventured forth with the Diana in hand, ready to explore its creative potential and perhaps uncover some hidden gems amidst its quirks and imperfections.

It’s … Ok, I Guess

So, I’m here to give you my unfiltered take on this piece of plastic, based solely on my experience of shooting one roll of film with it. In short, it’s… meh.

Sure, it wasn’t a complete disaster. I managed to guess the focus and exposure fairly accurately, and the negatives turned out clean with decent density and no blown highlights. Despite encountering some light leaks and strange artifacts on the film, I can’t say I was entirely disappointed.

However, when it comes to usability, the Diana F+ falls short. It’s uncomfortable to hold, and the build quality leaves much to be desired. The viewfinder is virtually useless for framing, and the shutter sounds less than inspiring.

On the upside, it’s incredibly lightweight, making it a viable option for a day trip camera. But its lack of precision and flexibility means you’re limited in your creative control. You’re essentially along for the ride, with the camera dictating the final outcome.

While some may argue that these quirks are part of the Diana’s charm, they can also be seen as limitations. The softness of the lens, inconsistency across the focal plane, and tendency for highlights to glow are all baked into the final image, for better or worse.

As for recommending this camera, I’m torn. While it may have its niche uses, particularly for street photography where spontaneity is valued over precision, I can’t help but think there are better options out there. Personally, I’d lean towards something like the Agfa Isola, which may not be much better but at least offers a sense of authenticity with its glass lens.

In the end, my experience with the Diana F+ wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly inspiring either. It’s unlikely to become my go-to camera, but it has piqued my curiosity enough to give it another chance in the future. After all, sometimes it’s worth exploring the unconventional, even if the results are a bit… unconventional themselves.

Road Testing a Beaten up Nikon F75 Film SLR

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Well, what can I say? Like myself, this camera has seen better days. All of that millennial photographic optimism, crushed by the insurgency of digital and hindered by its flimsy build quality.

I harbor a peculiar fondness for Nikon’s less prestigious SLRs. Or maybe that’s just Stockholm Syndrome—a strange psychological bond forged between crappy old cameras and a crappy old photographer, both steeped in nostalgia. But let’s not dive into self-flagellation just yet; instead, let’s direct our attention toward the Nikon F75.

Now, I can’t be certain whether the last owner treated this camera as toilet paper or handed it to their three-year-old as a plaything before relegating it to the second-hand shelf alongside fallen aspirations—exercise bicycles and DVD copies of “Daddy Day Camp.” Suffice it to say, this camera wears its battle scars.

In its prime, I imagine the F75 stood tall—a photographic titan. But it followed the Mickey Rourke path of self-improvement. Let’s address the worst of its woes: the batteries drain suspiciously quickly, and the zoom ring turns as smoothly as a skier on asphalt.

Amidst the wreckage, though, there was promise. I’ve encountered several similar Nikons—the hideously ugly F50 and the perilously flimsy F55. Both have graced my channel, and while they’re crippled clones of what we’d associate with a “real” Nikon camera, the F50 at least had reassuring heft, and the F55 prided itself on being the smallest and lightest 35mm SLR in my collection.

Enter the F65, sandwiched between the F55 and our battered F75. Supposedly a notch up, the F75 boasts more segments for matrix exposure metering and spot metering—nothing groundbreaking. Unfortunately, the F55 refuses to play nice with newer lenses sporting built-in focus motors, and none of these cameras truly embrace manual lenses.

The F75 is just an incremental improvement on the F55 and F65. It sidesteps the plastic lens mount of the F55, supports TTL for external flashes, and claims the title of the first cheap consumer camera to support stabilization in VR lenses. Yet, it remains plagued by a low flash sync of 1/90 second and the inability to adjust ISO manually—limitations that hinder its outdoor flash photography prowess and bulk loading potential.

To unlock professional features, one must ascend the greasy pole of photographic power, reaching for cameras like the F80 and F100. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; for now, let’s consider the F75 on its own merits.

First things first—it works. Quality-wise, I didn’t push the camera to its limits. I set it to program mode, peered through the viewfinder, ensured focus, and checked the shutter speed. Random shots ensued, and it was liberating not to overthink every click.

As for the lens—it’s acceptably sharp. The corners may smear a tad, but in the open areas, I didn’t need to wide open the aperture. It behaves much like the G version of the lens that accompanied the Nikon F55, albeit with an aperture ring—a touch more versatility for compatible cameras.

Venture beyond the focal zone, and things unravel. The bokeh—well, it possesses ‘character.’ Imagine Cartman from South Park—either mildly amusing or downright offensive, depending on your subjective taste. Personally, I don’t mind; the subject is so mundane that the background’s busyness bludgeons you into submission. Photography shouldn’t be a game of “spot the subject,” but here we are.

So, dear F75, you’re a relic, a survivor. And perhaps, in your pixelated embrace, I find solace—a connection across time and technology. Or maybe I’m just another crappy old photographer, capturing moments with a camera that’s seen better days.

How Good Really is the Nikon 5cm f/1.4 LTM?

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Introduction to a Legendary Lens

Back in its heyday, Nikon’s 5cm f/1.4 LTM lens was the rock star of the photography world, propelling Nikon into the big leagues and giving Leica aficionados a run for their money. Rumor has it, this lens even had war photographer David Douglas-Duncan swapping out his Leica lenses faster than you can say “cheese.” Yep, Duncan found these Japanese gems to be snappier and more contrasty, perfect for capturing the gritty drama of black and white news photography. Legend has it that even the editors at Life magazine mistook his shots for large format masterpieces.

The Unconventional Field Test

Now, strap on your combat helmet and lace up those boots, because I’m about to take you on a wild ride through Scarborough Beach and Hillarys Boat Harbour in Perth, Western Australia. Armed with my trusty Zorki 4k and loaded with Ilford HP5 ammo, I decided to put this old-timer through its paces. And let me tell you, it was a battlefield out there, with soccer mums jostling for their morning lattes and surf lifesaving helicopters buzzing overhead like something out of M*A*S*H.

A Closer Look at Performance and Character

But let’s cut the theatrics and get down to the nitty-gritty. This lens may be a vintage beauty, but how does it hold up in today’s pixel-peeping world? Well, let’s just say, it’s a bit of a mixed bag. Sure, it’s got that classic Sonnar design, giving off fuzzy vibes straight from a 70s soft-porn flick at wide apertures, but don’t let that fool you. This lens can still pack a punch, especially when you stop it down and give it some breathing room.

But hey, no lens is perfect, right? And this one’s no exception. From wonky rangefinder issues on my Zorki 4k to a scratch on the rear element, using this lens had its quirks. But even in my hands you see the magic it can create and I think that’s enough to forgive its imperfections.

So, is it worth the hype and the hefty price tag? Well, that’s for you to decide. But for me, this lens is more than just a piece of glass—it’s a ticket to a bygone era, a reminder of the glory days of photography. And hey, if it was good enough for war photographers dodging bullets, it’s good enough for me. So here’s to you, Nikon 5cm f/1.4, you may be old, but you’ve still got it where it counts.

A Manifest of Misadventure with the Yashica 635 Twin Lens Reflex

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One Yashica 635 Twin Lens Reflex Camera, One Roll of Kodak Gold 200 Film, and One Clumsy Photographer. The stage is set for a comedy of errors. Picture it: a sunny day, a camera in hand, and me, the clumsy protagonist, eager to capture the world through the lens of my trusty Yashica 635. Little did I know, a series of misadventures awaited.

Now, let me preface this tale by admitting my limited experience with this particular camera. While I’ve owned it for some time, our relationship has been more acquaintanceship than intimacy. And let me tell you, befriending a TLR (Twin Lens Reflex) camera is akin to navigating a labyrinth blindfolded. The handling is unlike anything I’ve encountered before—akin to trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle. If that sounds like an excuse, well, it probably is. But hey, let’s laugh at my foibles together, because trust me, if you haven’t wrestled with a TLR, you’re bound to stumble along the way too.

The journey begins innocently enough, the sun setting as I embark on my photographic escapade. Two shots down, and all seems well. But with the encroaching darkness, I failed to anticipate my utter ineptitude with this camera in low light conditions.

Armed with a tripod but sans tripod mount, I stumble through the dusk, it’s a scene straight out of a slapstick comedy—minus the laugh track. As I fumbled through the darkness I realised there’s a lesson to be learned amidst the chaos. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to salvage a shred of dignity from this debacle.

The Yashica 635

Now, let’s talk about the star of the show: the Yashica 635. Picture it as the middle child between the illustrious Rolleiflex and the humble Lubitel or Seagull. It may not boast the prestige of its elder siblings, but it holds its own in the quirky world of TLRs.

Dating back to 1958, this camera boasts a unique feature: the ability to shoot 35mm film with the help of an adapter—a rare gem for collectors, indeed. But beyond its novelty, the 635 operates like most TLRs, with its dual lenses and intricate mechanics.

Ah, but here’s where the fun begins—or rather, the frustration. You see, unlike modern SLRs with their handy prisms, TLRs present a topsy-turvy world. What you see through the viewfinder is but a mirror image of reality, leading to a dizzying dance of lefts and rights as I strive to frame the perfect shot.

But fear not, for science offers solace in the form of habituation. Yes, dear viewer, with time and practice, even the most topsy-turvy of worlds becomes familiar terrain. Just ask any psychology student who’s endured the “upside-down goggles” experiment—though I suspect their misadventures pale in comparison to mine.

Undeterred by my initial failures, I venture forth once more, this time bathed in the forgiving light of day. And lo and behold, progress! Though not without its hiccups, my second outing with the Yashica yields glimpses of its true character—quirks and all.

A Flawed but Beautiful Camera

Let’s not overlook its flaws. From film loading mishaps to the peril of double exposures, the 635 is not without its challenges. Yet, amidst the chaos lies beauty, because when it sings, medium format magic awaits, with its dreamy bokeh and timeless allure.

And let us not forget the charm of street photography with a TLR—unobtrusive, nostalgic, and occasionally mistaken for a relic of days gone by. For in a world of sleek digital wonders, there’s a certain romance to be found in the mechanical embrace of a Yashica.

But I digress. Let us return to the heart of the matter: the joy of failure. For in our missteps lie the seeds of growth, the kernels of wisdom waiting to be harvested. So here’s to the Yashica 635 and all who dare to dance with her—a flawed beauty in a world of perfection.

As Winston Churchill once said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal, and it’s the courage to continue that counts.” So here’s to courage, to laughter, and to many more misadventures behind the lens.

Back to the 80s with the Nikon N2020/F-501

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Today, I’m embarking on a journey into the world of vintage cameras with the Nikon N2020, dating back to 1986. The burning question on my mind: Is it as sharp as its name suggests, or does it fall into the category of outdated relics like acid wash jeans and hypercolour t-shirts? Join me as I set out to uncover the truth about this iconic piece of photography history.

Stepping back into the vibrant decade of the 1980s, I can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over me. But beyond the retro vibes, the Nikon N2020, also known as the Nikon F-501 in some parts of the world, captures the essence of its era with its sleek design and futuristic name. It’s like a time capsule, transporting us back to a period when the future seemed dazzlingly bright, and everyone rocked sunglasses at night.

Released in 1986, the Nikon N2020 emerged amidst a musical landscape dominated by hits like Duran Duran’s “Girl’s on Film” and J Geils Band’s “Freeze Frame”. It’s a time when every song seemed to begin with the sound of a motorized film winder, evoking a sense of nostalgia for a bygone era. The camera itself continues the sleek aesthetic of its predecessors, maintaining the iconic black exterior with red highlights that epitomized the 80s. It’s a nod to an era characterized by bold fashion choices and vibrant color palettes.

Despite being crafted from polycarbonate rather than brass, the Nikon N2020 feels surprisingly solid in my hands. Weighing in at 604g, it’s a testament to the durability of 80s design. Paired with a Nikon 28-105mm lens, the camera exudes an air of sophistication, blending seamlessly with the black plastic body. But beyond its aesthetic appeal, the lens proves to be a reliable companion, delivering sharp images throughout the zoom range with minimal distortion and chromatic aberration.

As I embark on a Sunday walk at my local beach to put the Nikon N2020 to the test, I encounter a minor hiccup with the film. However, this setback is quickly resolved with a second roll, allowing me to fully immerse myself in the shooting experience. Despite occasional struggles in bright light and the absence of a shutter priority mode, the camera impresses with its fast shutter speed and versatile shooting modes.

But let’s not overlook the quirks and flaws of the Nikon N2020. Its ergonomic design leaves much to be desired, and the motor drive isn’t exactly discreet, announcing its presence with a noticeable whir. Autofocus can be hit or miss, occasionally settling just forward or backward from the selected focus point. However, the bright viewfinder and LED focusing aid help mitigate these issues, ensuring a relatively smooth shooting experience.

Despite its imperfections, the Nikon N2020 boasts some impressive features for its time. From autofocus modes to TTL metering, it offers a level of control that’s commendable for a camera of its era. And with the ability to use both manual and DX settings for ISO, it provides flexibility in various shooting conditions.

As I reflect on my experience with the Nikon N2020, I can’t help but appreciate its timeless appeal. While it may not be perfect, it captures the essence of the 1980s in all its glory. And much like the era it represents, it’s a reminder that perfection is elusive, but beauty lies in imperfection. So, while I may not be flawless myself, I can embrace the retro charm of the Nikon N2020 and moonwalk through life with confidence. After all, in a world where nothing is perfect, sometimes it’s the quirks that make us truly memorable.

A Review of the Nikon 50mm f/1.2 AI-S in Shinjuku

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Meet One of Nikon’s Longest Produced Lenses

Let’s dive right in, shall we? We’re talking about a particular gem in the realm of camera lenses: the Nikon 50mm f/1.2 AI-S. Now, this isn’t just any 50mm lens; it’s a certified light bucket. Back in 1978, when it first hit the scene, it promised to suck in light like a black hole without leaving your photos in a pit of despair. But does it still hold up in today’s unforgiving photographic landscape?

As the neon lights of Tokyo’s Shinjuku district flickered to life, I found myself armed with my trusty Nikon FE paired with the venerable Nikon 50mm f/1.2 AI-S lens. Venturing into the bustling streets, I was eager for a night off from my teaching responsibilities, ready to immerse myself in the vibrant energy of the city. I found camaraderie in the unlikeliest of places, forging bonds with newfound friends who shared a passion for exploration and discourse. As the night unfolded, I couldn’t help but marvel at the serendipitous moments captured through the lens of my Nikon FE, each frame a testament to the spontaneity and vibrancy of Shinjuku’s streets.

A Dance with Film and Light

Despite the film’s lack of objective reference for white balance, I embarked on a journey of post-processing exploration, extracting the raw beauty of the night through the lens of Lightroom. Amidst the chaos of the city, the Nikon 50mm f/1.2 AI-S lens stood as a stalwart companion, capturing moments with its timeless design and solid construction.

As I scanned the negatives, I marveled at the smorgasbord of colors and textures captured by the lens. From the vibrant hues of neon signs to the subtle interplay of light and shadow, each image told a story of urban life illuminated by the glow of the night. While some may dismiss the imperfections of the film as shortcomings, I embraced them as part of the charm, adding depth and character to my photographic narrative.

Nikon 50mm on Generic 800T Motion Picture Film

A Lens with Character

The Nikon 50mm f/1.2 AI-S lens boasts a rich history spanning over four decades, embodying a blend of craftsmanship and character. Despite its imperfections, this lens possesses a unique charm that transcends technical limitations. Its wide aperture renders scenes with a delicate balance of sharpness and softness, akin to an artistic brushstroke painting the canvas of the night. However, its quirks, from vignetting to chromatic aberration, add to its allure, transforming mundane scenes into ethereal compositions.

Delving deeper into the lens’s optical design, I discovered its simplicity belied its complexity. With seven optical elements arranged in six groups, the lens exhibited a traditional spherical design that harkened back to a bygone era of photography. Yet, its longevity and durability spoke to its enduring appeal, standing the test of time amidst advancements in technology. While modern lenses may boast technical superiority, the Nikon 50mm f/1.2 AI-S lens remained a timeless icon, revered by photographers for its distinctive character and versatility.

The Next Day, Shot with Ilford HP5 Pushed to 1600 ISO

Testament to a Legend

While modern optics may boast technical superiority, the Nikon 50mm f/1.2 AI-S lens stands as a testament to craftsmanship and individuality. Its imperfections become its strengths, offering photographers a tool to craft images imbued with personality and depth. From the glow of neon lights to the subtleties of the night, this lens embraces the art of photography, inviting exploration and creativity. As the world moves towards newer technologies, this lens remains a beacon of tradition and innovation, challenging photographers to see beyond perfection and embrace the beauty of imperfection.

In conclusion, Nikon’s 50mm f/1.2 AI-S lens may not be a flawless masterpiece, but it is undeniably an icon of photographic history. Its burnished brass and glass tell a story of craftsmanship and character, inviting photographers to embrace the quirks of analog photography in a digital age. So, as I reflect on my journey through the streets of Shinjuku, I can’t help but appreciate the timeless allure of this legendary lens, knowing that its legacy will continue to inspire photographers for generations to come.

Finding Nature in Singapore with a Pentax Espio 120SW Point-and-Shoot

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Welcome to he Pentax 120SW – a tiny do-everything-for-you point-and-shoot from right at the time where everyone started buying digital cameras. To test this camera out, I decided to explore the Gardens by the Bay area of Singapore to see if I could experience the wonder of nature.

The Wonder of Nature

I think you can probably guess that the byline of the above video is somewhat sarcastic. Gardens by the Bay is as natural as a terra-formed Mars colony, with microclimate pods nestled among metal trees, all in the shadow of Marina Bay Sands hotel.

Most of the nature exploration involved photographing the topography and the tourists that milled around the area – wildlife of sorts, I suppose, just not the normal fodder for a David Attenborough documentary.

Using a mix of Ilford HP5 and Kodak Colorplus 200, I nevertheless put on my virtual pith helmet, strapped on my scythe and cut a swathe through the metal and concrete forests of Gardens by the Bay.

About the Pentax Espio 120SW

Well what’s to say? It’s a point and shoot.

It has a 28-120mm F5.6-12.8 lens, 6 elements in 5 groups, autofocus with focus lock, and with a minimum focus of 0.5m. It’s shutter speeds are from 2-1/360s and it has a bulb mode that’s 1/2s-1min though if it came with a remote shutter, I don’t have one so I’m not sure how useful bulb really is.

Like many point-and-shoots, this one is small and it’s light. It weighs 190 gr. without battery.

Pentax Espio 120SW

That, and it’s sweet sexy looks ,are probably it’s main attractions. Apparently, other than the film door it has an aluminium body. I don’t know though. It tastes like plastic to me. I don’t know how much this cost either but it was definitely positioned at the ‘luxury’ end of Pentax’s plastic point and shoot lineup.

in 2001 it won the Technical Image Press Association’s compact camera of the year award. But given those times, it’s probably like winning ‘Best new DSLR’ in 2023 when the whole world has gone mirrorless. You do get a really pretty orange backlight on the LCD though.

One of the problems is that it’s a Pentax. This was a company that churned out compact camera models like barbecue sausages and it’s not like there was ever much cachet in owning one. I have several Pentax point-and-shoots in my cupboard. I also have a few broken ones now hidden in draws that I might sell on ebay some time labelled ‘top mint’ but with ‘please read’ asterisked and in small print.

The fact is that there were so many camera versions, some good, some bad. How do you know if you’ve got a decent one?

Well you may have already made up your mind on this one but I think to make an accurate judgement, it’s only fair that I use some of that money I’ve been saving up for my kids education and blow it on a roll of colour film. Seriously, the things I do for science. And nature … obviously. Now this was Kodak Ultramax. Still a fast film at ISO400 but still a challenge for such a small aperture zoom on a cloudy day. BUT if Livingstone could conquer Everest with nothing but a woolly bobble hat and a block of Kendal mint cake then I could take on the challenge of Marina Bay with my trusty Pentax. Actually I might have got some of that detail wrong but that’s what happens when you trust Chat GPT to write your reviews for you.

A Slow-Lensed Camera

The Pentax Espio 120SW is perhaps not the best camera out there in terms of specifications and it doesn’t have a full array of modes and features. There’s no portrait, sport mode or dedicated macro facility here. You really have very little control.

You do get 25-3200 ISO, automatic DX coding, self-timer, automatic film advance, infinity and spot AF modes.

And for what it is, it’s capable of producing great results. It can meet the resolution of film and my favourite photos show that this has a lens that can be both sharp and contrasty. I didn’t really see much flare either thanks to it’s ‘super multi coating’.

If you use it properly it delivers good results. Unfortunately I bet back in the day there are a lot of people who have used this camera and wondered why the images came out blurry. That probably comes down to the lens. It has a maximum aperture of f/5.6 at 28mm down to f/12.8 at 120mm. That makes it tighter than the proverbial cat’s anus, though I haven’t actually done that test myself and I don’t know any proverbial feline proctologists.

You only get a focus confirmation or a warning light to tell you to use flash in the viewfinder and that’s not much feedback. It’s definitely capable at 120mm as shown here but where my shots failed it was usually because I was being overly optimistic of my ability to hand hold. Even with 400ISO, a dull day in Singapore meant that telephoto and slow shutter speeds conspired to give  me soft results. Don’t bother putting 100 speed film in this unless you’re prepared to shoot with the flash turned on.

But it’s Sharp

On a sunny day like we have here in Australia I still managed to get great results. Finishing the colour roll, I was able to get really vivid photos like this.

Admittedly, I might have underdeveloped a bit, which often gives colours, contrast and grain a bit of a boost but if you look here, you can see that it produces pleasing images.

As with any example of this kind of camera, though, you have to accept a certain randomness in the results it produces. There was no way I could tell the camera where to focus in this photo and while having the ability to at least spot focus fix on infinity focus is nice, the end results can be a bit unpredictable depending on the film or quality of light. I wasn’t really able to get it to produce any bokeh but that’s hardly surprising. I could get some subject separation if I shot close up and what I did see in the out of focus areas wasn’t ugly. It just wasn’t particularly distinctive.

So what’s your experience with cameras like this? Have you owned this particular model and what do you think of it? Some point and shoots can be ridiculously overpriced these days. I’m looking at you Olympus Mju II.

If you’re prepared to slum it at the ugly end of the Pentax range, though, you might find a bargain. There are definitely hidden gems out there if you are prepared to be patient.

But let me know your thoughts. From my perspective, if not the best tool for the job, this camera isn’t the worst. And like your phone it’ll give you a photographic experience that you can put in your pocket; just with this one, it’s actual film.

My advice, though, use a FAST film so you can make the most of the sharpness of the lens stopped down and give you a bit ore leeway with hand holding. Or use flash, which on these things is… ‘a look’ and who knows? Maybe one I’ll experiment with a bit more on a future review.

1950s Voiglander Perkeo 1 meets 21st Century Singapore

Posted on Posted in black and white, Film Photography, Medium Format, Photography, Photography Review, Street Photography, TravelTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

What is the Perkeo?

The word perkeo means pygmy and while probably neither of these terms are very politically correct, those were different times and I don’t think the pygmy hippopotamus is going to sue my YouTUBE channel for being sizist.

Still, it’s small, it’s cute, it unfolds and in that sense it’s a delight. This particular camera had been gathering dust for a while before being gifted to me by someone who’d been following my photography. I’ve had this for around six years now and I have used it well.

Most recently I found myself in Singapore for work and I had the option of either settling into another round of tiger beer with colleagues or taking the Perkeo with me for a brief walk from Bugis to Little India. I had two rolls of Ilford HP5 pushed to ISO 1600 and a fierce determination to find interesting subjects and pockets of light to illuminate them.

One of the cool things about Singapore is the different styles and cultures you can find in such a small area. It was just a short train ride from Promenade to Bugis Junction, where the stark modernity of Marina Bay gave way to a much more human and slightly chaotic street culture.

About the Camera

So what about the Voigtlander Perkeo 1? As the name suggests, this was the first version of the camera – it was superseded by the  Perkeo 2 and the Perkeo E. There were over 100,000 copies of the Perkeo 1 made and there were a few iterations. This particular version came with some tweaks to the original, such as the ability to close off the red frame advance window and a clever automatic locking mechanism to prevent double exposure.

So far that’s two rounds to Voigtlander against my human error but unfortunately it’s not a foolproof camera. It’s fiddly. Firstly, this is manual medium format camera. No surprises there. It dates back to the early 1950s when 120 film was the dominant format. So, larger roll film that can be a bit annoying to load in and out but you do end up with those gorgeous 6×6 square medium format negatives.

Capturing images on that film, though, can be a bit challenging. Most of the cool stuff sits on the lens. That’s because it has a leaf shutter built into it rather than a cloth or metal mechanism at the focal plane. The good side of that is that you have everything available right there and the flash can synchronise at every shutter speed. The bad side is that you find yourself having to make micro-adjustments with your fingernails for the shutter speed and aperture.

The shutter speed ranges from 1/250th to 1/25th of a second, or not very fast to not very slow, though it does have a bulb mode that you can use if you want to put it on a tripod. The aperture range goes from a not too small f/16 to a not very wide f/4.5.

I wouldn’t worry about the lack of wide aperture. One of the quirks of medium format is that because of the physical image size, for a given focal length you end up a with a commensurately narrower depth of field. That’s not just true of film. The sensor of your full-frame 35mm camera allows you to obtain that creamy bokeh in ways that your iPhone just can’t because of the miniscule chip inside it. Trust me, it’s all about physics. That or  phases of the moon working on the tides, which in turn are making a butterfly in China flap its wings.

In any case, f/1.8 would be impractical here. If it opened up wider than around f/3.5 then the focal plane would be perilously thin. And that’s made worse because you have no focusing aids in the camera. You have to rely on your ability to judge distance … in feet since this is basically a relic of the imperial system.

For a camera like this, f/4.5 is probably about as wide as you can go while still being able to make sure your point of focus will be sharp. So don’t worry about the lack of wide aperture.

And I do say that but of course I was shooting at night. And I soon found out that the further away from Bugis I got, the deader and darker the streets became. Fortunately I’m a brave boy and armed with another roll of Ilford HP5, I tried to squeeze a final few frames before heading home.

What about the Results?

As you can probably guess from those photos,  while I made my way to the Little India MRT, the opportunities thinned out just as the people did.

Overall I didn’t come away with lots of portfolio shots. I think the better shots were the ones that had people in them. I did hang around a couple of locations for people to walk by and in some cases, that took a long time.

And I’m not very patient. So apologies that instead of a fascinating street character, you end up with some random dude carrying a plastic shopping bag. Though I did find the poses of the people inside the building intriguing, if a little baffling.

But none of these photos are going to get me into Magnum. It was possibly a combination of the weeknight evening and my desperation to cram some creativity into a busy work schedule that’s to blame. And while shooting film at night with a nearly 70 year old camera was always going to be a challenge, I can’t really blame the technology.

Why I love the Voigtlander Perkeo.

In decent light, the Perkeo didn’t let me down at all. It’s sharp where it needs to be but still gives a nice characterful low contrast look that mitigates some of the issues of shooting ISO 1600. The fact that it’s medium format means the grain isn’t so noticeable and of course you do get that 3d pop when you shoot something fairly close wide open.

It has travelled the world with me, from Vancouver to Dubai, Estonia to Hangzhou. In fact I dropped it on the ground in Amsterdam once, leaving lovely big dent in the lens cover. Seriously, I don’t deserve good things.

It’s small but substantial, weighing in at 525g and if you’re patient enough to use an external meter and are comfortable with the square format, it takes some great shots. Even if you’re like me and too lazy to use a tripod or meter for exposure you can get good pictures from it – you just have to accept that not every photo is going to be a keeper.

So have you used one of these? If not, then it’s definitely worth seeking one out. I have a couple of other folding cameras – an Agfa Isolette and an even older Voigtlander Bessa that produces amazing 6×9 negatives, but this is probably the sweet spot in terms of size, quality and yes, even ease of use.

Perhaps not the greatest low light camera in the world but a gem nonetheless.