Category: Film Photography

A Cycle Around the Communist Block with the Voigtländer VM 35mm f/1.5 Nokton and a Leica M2

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Travel photography often begins with a simple question: what happens when you stop chasing landmarks and start paying attention to the streets between them? During a spare day in Beijing before flying home, I decided to do exactly that. Armed with an AliPay rental bike, a Leica M2, and a Voigtländer VM Vintage 35mm f/1.5 Nokton, I set out to explore China’s capital one block at a time. Rather than following a strict itinerary, I simply wandered through the city, letting curiosity dictate the route.

The camera setup was deliberately simple. The Leica M2 remains one of the purest photographic tools ever made, while the Voigtländer 35mm f/1.5 has become my favourite lens for it. The combination strikes a fascinating balance between vintage character and modern performance. Wide open, the lens offers atmosphere and personality; stopped down, it becomes remarkably sharp and clinical. For street photography, it feels both classic and capable.

As with any fully manual camera, however, simplicity comes with challenges. Exposure is entirely your responsibility, and despite carrying a light meter, I still managed to underexpose several frames early in the day. It’s a familiar trap: your eyes adapt to shadows and convince you there’s more light available than there really is. Throw in expired development chemicals and there are plenty of opportunities for mistakes. Fortunately, not every frame suffered the same fate.

Exploring the Hutongs

The first roll was Fuji 400, though by the time I’d manually exposed, developed, scanned, and edited the negatives, it’s difficult to say how much of the final look belonged to Fuji and how much belonged to me. Eventually I swapped to Kodak ColorPlus 200, whose warm palette felt perfectly suited to Beijing’s red walls, golden accents, and bustling streets.

One of the highlights of the ride was exploring Beijing’s famous hutongs. These traditional residential compounds offer a glimpse into an older version of the city. Historically, families lived closely together around shared courtyards and communal facilities. Privacy wasn’t always part of the design, but community certainly was.

Today, much of old Beijing has disappeared beneath modern development. Like many Chinese cities, traditional neighbourhoods have given way to apartment towers and expanding urban infrastructure. Yet pockets of the old city remain, preserved as cultural districts, restaurants, galleries, and occasionally still as homes. Wandering through these lanes reveals a side of Beijing that feels worlds away from the modern skyline.

The hutongs also provided some of the day’s most rewarding photographic opportunities. Laundry hung from windows, elderly residents chatted in doorways, and everyday life unfolded at a pace that felt noticeably slower than the surrounding city. These weren’t the postcard views that attract tourists, but they offered something arguably more interesting: a sense of how people actually live.

Tiananmen Square and the Politics of Place

Eventually the ride led toward one of the most recognisable public spaces in the world: Tiananmen Square. The square itself is immense, surrounded by some of China’s most significant political and cultural landmarks, including the Monument to the People’s Heroes, the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong, the Great Hall of the People, and the National Museum of China.

Access to the square is tightly controlled, and entry tickets often need to be booked in advance. Rather than entering directly, I circled the area by bicycle, navigating passport checks, security barriers, and occasional questions from curious officials wondering why a foreigner was stopping to photograph ordinary scenes.

What struck me most was the contrast between the monumental and the domestic. Just beyond one of the largest public squares on Earth are narrow residential streets, hanging laundry, and small moments of everyday life. The juxtaposition felt uniquely Beijing: grand political symbolism existing alongside the ordinary rhythms of daily living.

Why a Leica M2 and 35mm Lens Were Perfect for Beijing

The Leica and Voigtländer combination excelled in this environment because it encouraged a particular way of seeing. A fixed 35mm lens forces the photographer to engage with the scene rather than relying on zoom. There is no ultra-wide perspective to exaggerate scale and no telephoto reach to isolate distant subjects. Instead, you move closer, pay attention, and become part of the environment you’re photographing.

That limitation becomes a strength. The 35mm focal length captures enough context to establish a sense of place while still allowing intimacy with a subject. It is no accident that generations of street photographers have gravitated toward this field of view. It feels remarkably close to how we naturally experience the world.

The Voigtländer lens complemented that approach perfectly. Despite its “Vintage” branding, its rendering is more modern than nostalgic. While some vignetting appears at wider apertures, it adds character rather than detracting from the image. Wide open, the lens offers atmosphere and personality; stopped down, it delivers impressive sharpness across the frame. In many ways, it feels like two lenses in one.

The Real Story Was in the Everyday Details

As the day progressed, colour film eventually gave way to black and white. A roll of Kentmere 100 transformed the city into a study of shape, texture, contrast, and light. Without colour competing for attention, small moments became even more important.

Looking back through the photographs, the images that resonate most aren’t necessarily the obvious landmarks. The iconic view of Tiananmen Square certainly has its place, but the quieter photographs linger longer in memory. Reflections in windows, curious dogs, hanging laundry, market scenes, and people simply going about their day reveal something more interesting than monuments ever could.

Three rolls of film, one camera, and one lens were enough to document a day in Beijing. The limitations of the equipment shaped the experience, encouraging consistency, patience, and a more deliberate way of seeing. No tanks were faced down and no grand acts of protest occurred. There were only conversations, misunderstandings, photographs, and a bicycle ride through one of the world’s most fascinating cities.

Sometimes that’s more than enough.

Nikon AF Nikkor 50mm f/1.8D: The Best Budget Lens Nikon Ever Made?

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The Nikon AF Nikkor 50mm f/1.8D is about as unassuming as a camera lens can be. It’s small, lightweight, mostly plastic, and possesses all the visual excitement of a household appliance. Pick it up and you might wonder how something that feels so ordinary has earned such a loyal following among photographers. Yet despite its humble appearance, this little lens has developed a reputation as one of Nikon’s greatest bargains—and after years of using it, I’m inclined to agree.

In a previous review, I described the Nikon 135mm f/2.8 AI-S as perhaps Nikon’s best-value budget lens. The only reason I hesitated was because of this lens. The 50mm f/1.8D has been sitting quietly in the back of my mind, constantly reminding me that true photographic value isn’t always found in rare vintage glass or expensive modern optics.

Like most camera manufacturers, Nikon has produced numerous 50mm lenses over the decades. The AF-D version, introduced in 2002, is essentially an evolution of Nikon’s earlier autofocus designs. Even today, long after the heyday of film photography, it remains available and continues to serve photographers who appreciate its simplicity.

Simplicity is Best

There’s no built-in autofocus motor. Instead, autofocus is driven by the camera body via Nikon’s traditional screw-drive system. This means compatibility is limited on some Nikon cameras, but the lens does include a manual aperture ring and remains easy to use manually. It feels almost refreshingly straightforward in an era of increasingly complex lens designs.

Despite its budget construction, there are some pleasant surprises. The lens uses a metal mount rather than plastic, and its uncomplicated design contributes to its durability. I’ve owned two copies over the years. One was purchased new, while the other arrived attached to a second-hand camera body. Neither has ever given me trouble, and one even survived an accidental drop onto concrete with nothing more than a cosmetic scar.

But durability alone doesn’t make a lens special. The real question is how it performs. To find out, I took the lens on a night-time walk through Hong Kong’s Temple Street Markets, mounted on a Nikon N80 loaded with Ilford HP5 Plus pushed to ISO 1600. It proved to be an excellent travel companion. Small and light enough to disappear into a camera bag, it complements a zoom lens perfectly when light levels drop and a wider aperture becomes useful.

The 50mm focal length itself remains one of photography’s classics. Offering a natural perspective that closely resembles human vision, it allows photographers to isolate subjects without introducing the compressed, voyeuristic feel often associated with longer telephoto lenses. It’s easy to see why masters such as Henri Cartier-Bresson favoured this focal length for so much of their work.

It’s Sharp

Even without conducting laboratory tests, images consistently appear crisp and detailed. Scanned film photographs reveal excellent central sharpness, with textures and fine details rendered more clearly than the lens’s modest price would suggest. There’s a certain incisiveness to the images that repeatedly catches me by surprise.

That sharpness continued to impress back home in Perth, this time using slower, finer-grained film under bright Australian sunshine. Stopped down, the lens produces remarkably detailed images. Even wide open at f/1.8, performance remains highly respectable. While it may not compete with the latest premium optics in objective testing, real-world results are consistently satisfying.

A Few Imperfections

Of course, the lens isn’t perfect. Corner performance lags behind the centre, particularly when shot wide open. Some mild vignetting is present, and modern photographers accustomed to flawless edge-to-edge sharpness may notice these shortcomings. Yet these imperfections rarely detract from photographs and can sometimes enhance them by naturally drawing attention toward the subject.

The bokeh is perhaps the lens’s most divisive characteristic. If you’re searching for creamy, dreamlike backgrounds that melt effortlessly into abstraction, this isn’t the lens for you. Out-of-focus highlights can appear somewhat harsh and nervous, particularly in high-contrast situations. Background blur remains perfectly usable, but it lacks the smooth rendering that has become fashionable in modern lens design.

Interestingly, these flaws contribute to the lens’s character. Many contemporary lenses are engineered to eliminate optical imperfections entirely. The result is often technically stunning but emotionally sterile. Corner-to-corner sharpness, perfect correction, and flawless rendering can sometimes come at the expense of personality.

The 50mm f/1.8D feels different. Its images retain a sense of individuality. They’re sharp but not clinical. Imperfect but engaging. The lens seems more interested in helping you create photographs than impressing you with engineering specifications. Its coatings also deserve praise. Contrast remains strong, and flare resistance is surprisingly good. Thanks in part to the deeply recessed front element, I struggled to provoke any serious flare issues during testing.

Ultimately, the Nikon AF Nikkor 50mm f/1.8D isn’t a miracle lens. It won’t leave photographers gasping in amazement, and it certainly won’t challenge the legendary status of Leica’s most celebrated optics. What it does offer is something arguably more valuable: honesty.

It’s a modest lens that quietly gets on with the job. It has flaws, limitations, and quirks, but it also possesses charm, reliability, and surprisingly strong optical performance. In an industry increasingly obsessed with perfection, there’s something refreshing about a lens that embraces being merely very good.

Perhaps that’s why it remains one of Nikon’s finest bargains. Not because it’s perfect, but because it delivers so much photographic enjoyment for so little money.

Whether it’s Nikon’s best-value budget lens or merely the second-best is still open for debate. But one thing is certain: the Nikon AF Nikkor 50mm f/1.8D has earned its place among the great affordable lenses of the film era; and it’s still capable of creating beautiful photographs today.

Trying out the Nikon 135mm f/2.8 Ai-S Manual Focus Lens on Digital and Film

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Let’s talk about 135mm lenses.

Not the legendary, collector-grade optics that command eye-watering prices on the second-hand market. I’m talking about the humble, often-overlooked 135mm lenses gathering dust in the lower reaches of eBay listings, sitting somewhere between “well used” and “please check photos carefully.”

For reasons I don’t entirely understand, old 135mm lenses seem to have fallen out of fashion. Perhaps they’re caught in an awkward middle ground. They’re a little too long for everyday portrait work, a little too short for serious wildlife photography, and in an era dominated by versatile zooms, they can seem somewhat impractical.

After all, modern zoom lenses offer tremendous convenience. When you can’t physically move closer or further away—or simply don’t want to—being able to adjust your framing with a twist of the zoom ring is undeniably useful. For sports or action photography, a zoom lens is usually the obvious choice.

But there’s still something appealing about a dedicated telephoto prime.

The Nikon 135mm f/2.8 AI-S, introduced in 1981, represents the culmination of Nikon’s long-running line of manual-focus 135mm lenses. While it shares its optical formula with the earlier AI version, Nikon improved the lens coatings, giving it excellent contrast and resistance to flare. The fact that it remained in production for over two decades speaks volumes about its popularity and capability.

Back in the 1980s, serious photographers often preferred primes over zooms because zoom technology simply hadn’t reached the quality levels we take for granted today. Prime lenses were typically faster, lighter, and optically superior.

Even now, those advantages remain relevant. At 425 grams, the 135mm f/2.8 AI-S is compact enough to carry comfortably while still feeling reassuringly solid. It embodies the best of Nikon’s manual-focus era: metal construction, smooth mechanical operation, and a tactile quality that’s increasingly rare in modern lenses.

One particularly thoughtful feature is the built-in retractable lens hood. As someone who regularly forgets to pack lens hoods, having one permanently attached is a welcome convenience.

Taking a 135mm to Tokyo

When I picked up my copy in Japan, I wasn’t entirely sure what role it would play in my photography. I had purchased it from a used camera store in Tokyo for around 17,000 yen—a reasonable price for a lens that, despite its “B” grade condition, turned out to be mechanically excellent and optically clean.

Naturally, I decided to test it in one of the busiest places imaginable: Shibuya.

Using a 135mm lens on crowded city streets presents challenges. There were certainly moments when I wished I had a 35mm lens attached instead. Yet the longer focal length offered a completely different way of seeing the city.

Rather than photographing the whole scene, I found myself isolating details, extracting individual moments from the chaos, and capturing candid portraits from a comfortable distance. The lens allowed me to pick out visual fragments that might otherwise have been lost amid the noise and activity.

Its relatively fast f/2.8 aperture also proved valuable after dark. Tokyo’s neon-lit streets became a playground for selective focus, with subjects emerging from backgrounds rendered into soft, creamy blur.

Of course, that shallow depth of field can be both a blessing and a curse. At 135mm, maintaining critical focus becomes more demanding, especially when photographing moving subjects. There were plenty of occasions where I had to accept that only part of a scene would be perfectly sharp. But when everything came together, the results had a distinctive look that justified the effort.

Digital and Film Performance

While most of my initial testing took place on a Nikon Z6 via an adapter, I wanted to see how the lens performed in its natural habitat: on film. Back in Perth, I loaded a roll of Kentmere 100 into my Nikon FE and spent a sunny summer day photographing Hillarys Boat Harbour.

The results confirmed my impressions from Tokyo. The lens is sharp—more than sharp enough for real-world photography. I’m not interested in pixel-peeping competitions or laboratory measurements, but the images displayed excellent detail and clarity. The bright Australian sunlight allowed me to work at comfortable shutter speeds, while the improved coatings and built-in hood kept flare well under control.

Optically, the lens performs admirably across the board. Vignetting is visible at wider apertures but largely disappears by around f/5.6. Distortion is virtually nonexistent, chromatic aberration is minimal, and highlight blooming is remarkably well controlled for a lens of this vintage.

Most importantly, the out-of-focus rendering is beautiful. The combination of focal length and aperture produces smooth, pleasing background blur that helps subjects stand apart from their surroundings.

The Value Proposition

When discussions turn to Nikon’s classic medium telephoto lenses, the 105mm f/2.5 usually receives the lion’s share of attention. It has earned a near-mythical reputation among photographers, and deservedly so. But the 135mm f/2.8 offers something compelling: exceptional value.

It’s often available for significantly less money than the famous 105mm while delivering excellent image quality, slightly greater subject compression, and equally attractive bokeh. The longer focal length creates a distinct look that many photographers may actually prefer. In fact, here’s the secret that doesn’t get mentioned often enough: most manual-focus 135mm lenses from major manufacturers are excellent.

Whether you’re looking at Nikon, Canon, Pentax, Minolta, or Olympus, these moderate telephoto lenses benefited from relatively straightforward optical designs that manufacturers had refined for decades. As a result, even affordable examples tend to perform surprisingly well.

Final Thoughts

The Nikon 135mm f/2.8 AI-S has quickly become one of my favourite lenses. Part of that comes down to image quality. Part of it comes down to the beautifully engineered manual-focus experience. But perhaps the biggest factor is simply the value it offers.

It’s a lens that reminds me why vintage photography gear remains so appealing. For a relatively modest investment, you get a beautifully made optic capable of producing images with character, sharpness, and personality.

In a world obsessed with the latest and greatest equipment, the humble 135mm remains one of photography’s best-kept secrets. And for that reason alone, it’s worth another look.

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.

The Trials and Tribulations of Shooting Expired Film

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So, I decided to embark on a little experiment to truly grasp the essence of expired film. My approach? A head-to-head comparison, using the same lens but different cameras. First up was my modern Nikon Z 6, followed by the classic Nikon F100, a relic from the film era. Loaded with a roll of Konica VX200 Super with an expiration date of 2007, I ventured out from Perth, hoping for some magical results beyond the capabilities of my trusty 24-megapixel Z 6.

I meticulously followed the guidelines for shooting expired film, adjusting the ISO to 80 for the 16-year-old film. As I ventured into the desolate landscape north of Perth, I aimed to capture the raw beauty of sand dunes and grass trees, focusing my creativity on the scenery before me.

Equipped with my Nikon 70-200mm f/2.8 zoom lens, renowned for its quality despite its hefty size, I set out to capture the scene with both digital and film cameras. The digital shot, while technically fine, lacked the depth and soul I wanted. However, the film photo… well, let’s just say it fell short of expectations.

Despite my initial excitement, the film results were underwhelming. Attempting to salvage them through post-processing proved futile, resembling a chaotic endeavor akin to artistic desperation. With each frame, my hope dwindled but I remained optimistic for the next outing.

As I eagerly shot frame after frame during my morning dog walk, the reality of the film’s condition became evident. The sickly green fog of the film base and the ghostly impressions on the negatives were inescapable. Nevertheless, I appreciated whatever semblance of imagery I managed to extract.

Reflecting on this experiment, perhaps more light or different approaches could yield better results with my remaining expired rolls. Yet, it’s clear that these photos won’t be gracing any magazine covers.

In the end, I’ll tuck away these disappointing outcomes as lessons learned, alongside other creative misfires in my basement archive. And who knows, maybe there’s a salvageable gem buried somewhere within the failed attempts.

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.

First Impressions of the Canon Prima 5

Posted on Posted in Film Photography, Film Point and Shoot Review, Photography, Photography Review, Street Photography, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Who doesn’t love unboxing videos, right? Well, in my latest video, I attempted to build up some suspense as I clumsily opened what wasn’t exactly a box. Instead, I revealed the Canon Prima 5, a forgotten point-and-shoot from 1991, known by various names like the Canon Sure Shot Max and the Autoboy Mini.

I snagged this camera second-hand for just AU$15, a real steal considering its potential. But the big question remained: does it work, and can I create art with it? Well, let’s dive into my initial impressions.

First up, some specifications, because nothing is more exciting than reading a list of bullet points about the features of an old point and shoot camera:

  • Lens: 38mm, f/3.5 with 3-point smart autofocus.
  • Auto-exposure with shutter speeds of 1/8-1/250s.
  • Integral flash. (Guide No: 9m at ISO 100.)
  • ISO range: 25 – 3200 (via DX code – 25 Non-DX)
  • Auto-load, wind and rewind of DX-coded film.
  • Dimensions: 125x68x43mm.
  • Weight: 245g (with battery)
  • Power: One 3V CR123A lithium battery.
  • A version with an autodate function was available.

Nothing particularly exciting, let’s face it, but it it does shoot up to ISO3200 for DX Coded film and while the f/3.5 lens is quite modest, it’s better than most zooms and unlike zooms, you know with a prime that the quality will be tuned to that 38mm focal length. To really test this camera, I need to run a roll of film through it. Colour film is like gold dust these days, and the prices are soaring. Yet, armed with Kodak Colorplus 200, I was ready to test this camera’s capabilities.

Now, onto the shots. From capturing leaves backlit by sunlight to exploring human interactions in a park, I attempted to weave narratives through my photographs. Whether it’s a solitary figure masked by foliage or a couple on a bench, each image tells a story, prompting viewers to ponder human existence and relationships.

Moving from nature to urban landscapes, I sought to celebrate human resilience and the quest for enlightenment amidst the complexities of city life. Through frames within frames and minimalist compositions, I aimed to provoke thought and reflection.

Yes, you can make art with it. Or at the very least you can reflect on your artistic intent as you intersperse random snaps with pretentious musing.

Despite its simplicity, the Canon Prima 5 impressed me with its sharpness and reliability. Sure, it has its quirks like occasional flares and a default autoflash setting, but its performance outweighs these minor drawbacks.

Now, the big question: is this camera a hidden gem or just another addition to the plastic pile? I’m leaning towards the former, but I’m eager to hear your thoughts. Do you have any recommendations for budget compact film cameras? Let me know in the comments below.

As for me, I’ll continue experimenting with this camera while keeping an eye out for other photographic relics. Who knows what hidden treasures I might uncover next?

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

Posted on Posted in black and white, Film Photography, lens review, Photography, Photography Review, Street PhotographyTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

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.