Category: lens review

The Voigtlander 15mm Super Wide-Heliar f/4.5 for M39 in Vienna: A Great Lens, just not for Digital

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There are lenses you use every day, and then there are lenses that completely change the way you see the world. The Voigtländer 15mm Super Wide-Heliar f/4.5 LTM definitely falls into the second category.

I recently packed it for a trip to Vienna, partly because the city’s grand architecture seemed like the perfect playground for an ultra-wide lens, and partly because I wanted to see whether this quirky little optic still deserved its reputation. After spending time with it on both my Leica M2 and Nikon Z6, I came away impressed—but also reminded that a 15mm lens demands far more from the photographer than most people realise.

This isn’t the sort of lens you casually leave on your camera. It’s more like a special occasion lens that rewards patience, careful composition and a willingness to embrace the strange.

Learning to See at 15mm

Fifteen millimetres is unbelievably wide. Point it at a scene and it doesn’t simply capture what’s in front of you—it seems to swallow everything around it as well.

The first thing you notice is how dramatically it changes perspective. Objects close to the camera become enormous, while anything further away quickly shrinks into the distance. Straightforward compositions suddenly become much more complicated because every corner of the frame starts demanding your attention. If there isn’t something interesting happening throughout the image, you’ll often end up with a photograph that contains an awful lot of… well… not very much.

That’s why using this lens feels like learning photography all over again. You can’t rely on the habits you’ve built shooting 35mm or 50mm lenses. Instead, you have to train yourself to notice foreground subjects, converging lines and the relationships between objects across the entire frame.

Vienna turned out to be the ideal place to practise. The city is packed with grand Baroque and Neoclassical buildings, wide boulevards and impressive public spaces that suit this kind of exaggerated perspective beautifully. Even ordinary streets can suddenly feel dramatic when viewed through such an expansive field of view.

Not every outing went entirely to plan, though. During one photo walk I accidentally wandered into what appeared to be the filming of a historical production and quickly realised I wasn’t quite as welcome as I thought. I made a fairly discreet exit, although not before managing to expose a few frames that will probably confuse future historians if anyone ever discovers the negatives.

Small Lens, Serious Engineering

One of the most surprising things about the Voigtländer is just how tiny it is. Despite its compact dimensions, it feels reassuringly solid rather than toy-like. At around 190 grams it’s light enough to carry all day without thinking about it, yet substantial enough to inspire confidence.

Mine is the original Leica Thread Mount version, first released in 1999 alongside Voigtländer’s Bessa cameras. It’s actually relatively modern by Leica screw mount standards, although prices have climbed dramatically since I bought mine back in 2017.

The design is remarkably clever. The aperture ring sits at the front of the lens, which initially feels unusual, but makes perfect sense given how compact everything is. With such a wide focal length, depth of field is enormous anyway, so you’re rarely making huge focus adjustments.

There are a few compromises. The fixed lens hood means you can’t easily use filters, and it requires a slip-on lens cap that looks lovely but costs a frightening amount to replace if it disappears somewhere on your travels.

What continues to impress me, though, is how well the optics behave. Considering just how absurdly wide this lens is, it does an excellent job of keeping straight lines straight. That’s a genuine engineering achievement and makes it much more useful for architectural photography than many people might expect.

Film Still Has the Advantage

Using the lens on my Leica M2 produced exactly the sort of images I’d hoped for. The negatives showed plenty of character, dramatic perspective and surprisingly clean rendering across the frame. Things became a little more complicated once I mounted it on my Nikon Z6.

This isn’t really the lens’s fault. Older ultra-wide lenses were designed for film, not modern digital sensors, and the way light reaches a sensor is quite different. On digital cameras you can end up with colour casts, heavier vignetting and smeared corners, particularly towards the edges of the frame.

Some of my digital images definitely showed those characteristics. In certain photographs the cooler colour shifts actually added atmosphere, especially during Vienna’s blue hour, but after a while they became distracting enough that I enabled lens corrections in Lightroom. That’s something I rarely do because I generally prefer working with a lens’s quirks rather than correcting them away, but in this case the adjustments helped produce more natural-looking files while still preserving plenty of the lens’s personality.

Interestingly, those same issues simply weren’t present on film. Looking at the Leica negatives afterwards reinforced my feeling that this first-generation version of the 15mm still feels most at home on analogue cameras.

A Lens Worth Owning… Just Not Every Day

The biggest challenge with the Voigtländer isn’t sharpness or build quality. It’s simply the focal length. Fifteen millimetres can produce wonderfully dramatic photographs, but only when you have a composition that deserves it. Without a strong foreground subject or carefully arranged scene, everything risks becoming small and insignificant. It’s surprisingly easy to fill a frame with lots of space and very little interest.

There’s also the occasional occupational hazard of photographing your own fingers. When the lens is this wide, it’s alarmingly easy to discover afterwards that part of your hand has made an unexpected guest appearance in the corner of the frame.

Even so, I can’t help liking this peculiar little lens. It encourages experimentation, rewards careful observation and produces photographs that don’t look quite like those from anything else in my collection.

Would I recommend it? Absolutely, but only if you understand what you’re getting into. This isn’t an everyday walk-around lens, and it isn’t designed to make photography easier. What it does offer is a genuinely different way of seeing the world, and sometimes that’s exactly the creative challenge you need.

If you’re prepared to work with its quirks rather than against them, the Voigtländer 15mm Super Wide-Heliar remains one of the most entertaining ultra-wide lenses you can mount on a film camera.

Introducing the Canon 28mm f/2.8 LTM to Shenzhen and Vienna

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I’ve complained before that 28mm is probably the most boring focal length in photography. It’s the optical equivalent of plain toast: perfectly serviceable but rarely exciting. It sits somewhere between the intimacy of a 35mm and the drama of something genuinely wide, making it feel suspiciously similar to the field of view on your phone. If nothing else, it’s useful for photographing your lunch.

Despite my lack of enthusiasm, there was one obvious gap in my rangefinder kit. Finding a good 28mm lens for the Leica Thread Mount isn’t exactly easy because wide-angle lens design in the 1950s involved plenty of optical compromises. The obvious budget option is the Soviet Orion-15, but its relatively slow f/5.6 aperture and steadily rising second-hand prices meant it wasn’t quite what I was looking for. At the other end of the spectrum sat Leica’s own Elmarit, but buying one of those would probably have required selling one of my children, and they’re now old enough to understand employment law.

Instead, while wandering around Shinjuku in search of something completely different, I stumbled across the Canon 28mm f/2.8. It struck a happy compromise between affordability and quality, and although it lacks the red dot that causes photographers to lose all sense of financial responsibility, it still feels wonderfully substantial. Built from brass and glass, it’s compact, beautifully made and just heavy enough to remind you that cameras used to be engineered rather than assembled.

Its pedigree isn’t exactly shabby either. This was one of the lenses favoured by Garry Winogrand as he documented post-war America, producing one of the most influential bodies of street photography ever assembled. Winogrand died at just fifty-six, leaving behind thousands of undeveloped rolls of film. I’ve somehow managed to outlive him already, although my own contribution to photographic history currently consists of a steadily growing archive of YouTube videos that algorithmically disappear into the digital abyss.

Still, one or two people are watching, so I thought it was finally time to give this little Canon the outing it deserved.

A Vintage Lens in Shenzhen and Vienna

Like many of my photography trips, this one began with work rather than art. An overnight business trip to Shenzhen left just enough time for an hour wandering through Happy Valley, which, despite its cheerful name, possessed the slightly unsettling atmosphere of an abandoned theme park. It felt strangely appropriate to photograph it on black-and-white Kentmere 100 using my Leica M2, allowing the stark architecture and empty spaces to become the real subject rather than the colours themselves.

The Canon immediately makes a good first impression. It’s tiny enough to disappear onto the front of the Leica, yet the focus ring remains easy to grip. It features Canon’s familiar infinity lock, which has a reputation for annoying photographers but quickly becomes second nature once you’ve spent some time with it. Likewise, the front-mounted aperture ring works surprisingly well because the clicks are lighter than the focus action, allowing exposure adjustments without accidentally throwing focus out.

Internally, though, this is unmistakably a product of the 1950s. The six-element design lacks the sophisticated corrections of modern optics, and nobody is going to mistake it for a clinically perfect contemporary lens. Instead, it embraces the sort of imperfections that vintage lens enthusiasts spend their lives romanticising. This lens wasn’t designed to chase laboratory sharpness charts; it was designed to make photographs.

Its age also makes it feel perfectly at home on film. Introduced in 1957, it predates many of the modern photographic conventions we now take for granted, and pairing it with a mechanical Leica feels entirely natural. Ironically, my first experiences with it weren’t on the Leica at all but on my Canon P, until that camera developed a dragging shutter caused by loose stitching on the shutter curtain. The repair proved rather more delicate than these sausage fingers were prepared to attempt, and the whole episode ultimately nudged me towards buying the Leica M2 instead.

One pleasant surprise is how well the M2 accommodates the lens despite lacking dedicated 28mm framelines. By simply using almost the entire viewfinder, the framing becomes remarkably accurate, even if it occasionally requires removing my glasses and pressing my face uncomfortably close to the camera.

Of course, adapting the lens to a modern mirrorless body removes all of those compromises. Mounted on my Nikon Z6 with a simple adapter during a walk through Vienna’s Museum Quarter and Naschmarkt, the Canon suddenly had focus peaking, magnification and a high-resolution sensor revealing every one of its strengths and weaknesses in glorious detail.

Character Over Perfection

If you’re looking for objective perfection, this isn’t the lens for you. In fact, judged purely by modern standards, it’s difficult to argue that it’s particularly good at all.

Let’s begin with the flare. Despite the deeply recessed front element, point this lens anywhere near the sun and it erupts into a psychedelic display of hexagonal ghosts, coloured blobs, veiling flare and collapsing contrast. Some photographers deliberately seek out that behaviour, but I generally prefer keeping the sun somewhere over my shoulder, so most of my examples avoid the full disco light show.

More problematic is the vignetting. Wide open at f/2.8, the corners darken dramatically, as though the world is being viewed through a cardboard tube while driving through an alpine tunnel. Even stopping down doesn’t entirely eliminate it, and if you’re allergic to heavy corner shading, this lens probably isn’t going to become your new favourite.

Sharpness is equally complicated. At maximum aperture, the centre remains respectable, but detail falls away rapidly towards the edges where the image becomes noticeably smeared. Yet somehow, those flaws work together to produce something unexpectedly appealing. The rendering has a painterly quality that modern lenses often sacrifice in pursuit of perfection, and photographs seem to possess a depth and atmosphere that’s difficult to quantify on a test chart.

Stopping the lens down transforms its behaviour. By f/16 the dreamy softness gives way to surprisingly rich detail, while still retaining the gentle microcontrast and subtle rendering that make older optics so enjoyable to use. Tree bark gains texture, colours become vibrant and every corner of the frame rewards closer inspection, even if absolute edge sharpness never quite catches up with contemporary designs.

Looking back through photographs from both Shenzhen and Vienna, the Canon feels remarkably consistent despite the very different subjects. The quiet, almost surreal emptiness of Happy Valley contrasts beautifully with the bustle of Vienna’s flea markets, yet the lens gives both places a cohesive visual identity. Digital files from the Nikon certainly reveal more of the lens’s colour shifts and optical fall-off than film ever does, but they also confirm that the central sharpness is more than adequate while the imperfections remain part of its charm rather than distractions.

Ultimately, that’s what makes the Canon 28mm f/2.8 such an enjoyable lens. It doesn’t pretend to be perfect, nor does it try to compete with modern optics on technical grounds. Instead, it delivers photographs with personality, accepting softness, flare and vignetting as part of the creative process rather than problems to eliminate. Wide open it behaves like an unruly opera singer, full of excess and theatrical flourish. Stop it down and it settles into something far more disciplined, pairing beautifully with the Leica M2 to produce images that feel timeless rather than merely old.

Sometimes character really is worth more than perfection, and this little Canon has plenty of both flaws and personality to keep earning a place in my camera bag.

Nikon AF-S NIKKOR 28-300mm f/3.5-5.6G ED VR: A Visit to Kenya and Yet Another Superzoom Review

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Superzoom lenses have always promised photographic freedom. One lens, an enormous focal range, and no frantic lens swapping while the perfect shot disappears into the distance. The Nikon AF-S Nikkor 28-300mm f/3.5-5.6G ED VR is one of Nikon’s most ambitious attempts at delivering that promise, offering everything from wide-angle landscapes to substantial telephoto reach in a single package.

But as every photographer knows, versatility usually comes with compromises. The question is whether those compromises matter when you’re actually out using the lens.

Released in 2010 and remaining in Nikon’s lineup for over a decade, the 28-300mm sits somewhere between consumer convenience and professional aspirations. It feels solidly built, with a reassuring mix of metal, glass, and polycarbonate. While it lacks the refinement of Nikon’s professional zooms, it certainly doesn’t feel cheap. The extending zoom barrel is perhaps the biggest reminder that this isn’t a premium workhorse, stretching outward dramatically as you zoom in.

At around 800 grams, it’s not exactly lightweight either. This isn’t the lens you casually slip into a jacket pocket. Instead, it’s designed for photographers who want one lens capable of handling almost any situation they encounter while travelling.

Putting the Lens to the Test in Kenya

The perfect opportunity to test that versatility arrived during a work trip to Kenya. With time split between Nairobi and the coastal region of Diani near Mombasa, the lens would need to handle everything from wildlife photography to beach landscapes.

Mounted on a Nikon Z6 via the FTZ adapter, the 28-300mm accompanied an early morning visit to Nairobi National Park. The appeal of a superzoom becomes immediately obvious in situations like this. Wildlife doesn’t wait while you change lenses, and having focal lengths ranging from moderately wide to substantial telephoto coverage allows you to react quickly to whatever appears in front of you.

The lens performed exactly as intended. While it couldn’t match the image quality of specialised prime lenses, many of the photographs simply wouldn’t have been possible with a fixed focal length. The ability to zoom from environmental shots to tighter wildlife compositions without changing equipment proved invaluable.

Autofocus performance, however, revealed some of the lens’s age. It’s not painfully slow, but it isn’t particularly quick either, especially at the 300mm end of the zoom range. When focusing from close subjects to distant ones, the lens can take its time finding focus. For relaxed wildlife subjects this wasn’t a major issue, but fast-moving birds or unpredictable animals might expose its limitations.

Video shooters may also find themselves frustrated. Autofocus noise is considerably louder than on modern Nikon Z lenses, and continuous autofocus can occasionally hunt or pulse in a distracting manner. Focus breathing is also quite noticeable, causing the field of view to change significantly as focus shifts.

A Lens That Does Almost Everything

If the Nikon 28-300mm has a defining characteristic, it’s practicality. This is a lens that can tackle almost any photographic situation reasonably well.

One particularly useful feature is its relatively close focusing ability. While it isn’t a true macro lens, the 1:3 reproduction ratio allows for surprisingly detailed close-up shots. Flowers, textures, food, and small objects are all well within its capabilities, adding another layer of versatility to an already flexible design.

Image stabilisation is another major strength. Nikon’s VR system works remarkably well, especially when paired with the excellent high-ISO performance of cameras like the Z6. Handholding at surprisingly slow shutter speeds becomes possible, reducing the need to carry a tripod and reinforcing the lens’s travel-friendly philosophy.

Sharpness is also better than some critics might expect. No, it won’t rival Nikon’s best prime lenses, and pixel peepers using high-resolution cameras will certainly spot differences. Yet for travel photography, social media, prints, and general use, the lens delivers consistently respectable results throughout much of its zoom range.

Perhaps most importantly, it encourages photographers to capture more images simply because the right focal length is always available.

The Trade-Offs Behind the Convenience

Of course, no superzoom escapes the laws of optical compromise.

The Nikon 28-300mm produces images that are competent but often lack a distinctive character. The photographs are accurate and faithful, yet they rarely possess the subject separation, creamy bokeh, or three-dimensional rendering that photographers often associate with premium primes or specialised zooms.

Optical flaws are also present. Vignetting can be quite pronounced, especially at wider apertures and at either end of the zoom range. Distortion is another reality, with barrel distortion at the wide end transitioning into pincushion distortion through much of the telephoto range. Modern software corrections make these issues easy to fix, but they’re impossible to ignore when evaluating the lens on its own merits.

The 28mm wide end can also feel slightly restrictive by modern standards. Many photographers have become accustomed to 24mm as a standard starting point for travel zooms, making 28mm seem just a little too narrow for dramatic landscapes and architecture.

Then there’s the weight. While significantly smaller than carrying multiple lenses, it remains a noticeable burden around the neck during long days of shooting.

Final Thoughts

The Nikon AF-S Nikkor 28-300mm f/3.5-5.6G ED VR is a lens defined by practicality rather than perfection. It isn’t particularly glamorous, and it won’t produce the most beautiful images in your collection. What it does offer is the freedom to capture an enormous range of subjects without constantly swapping lenses.

In Kenya, that flexibility translated into more successful photographs and fewer missed opportunities. While a collection of specialised lenses might have produced technically superior results, they probably wouldn’t have produced as many keepers.

That’s ultimately the appeal of the 28-300mm. It’s not the sharpest lens, the fastest lens, or the most characterful lens. It’s simply the lens that’s already on your camera when the moment happens. For many travel photographers, that may be the most important quality of all.

Nikon’s Nikkor Z 24-200mm f/4-6.3 VR and Comparing the Compromises of Superzooms

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When you’re standing in a place as spectacular as Phillip Island or Wilsons Promontory in Victoria, Australia, you want a camera setup that can capture everything. Vast coastal landscapes, wildlife on distant horizons, dramatic rock formations, and fleeting travel moments all demand flexibility. At the same time, nobody wants to haul a backpack full of lenses while exploring. That’s where the superzoom comes in.

For decades, superzoom lenses have been marketed as the ultimate travel companion: one lens that can do everything from wide-angle landscapes to long telephoto shots. Traditionally, however, that convenience came with a reputation for soft images, slow apertures, and compromised image quality. Modern mirrorless systems promised to change that. When Nikon released the 24-200mm f/4-6.3 for the Z mount system, it seemed like the ideal travel lens. Compact, lightweight, and covering an enormous focal range, it quickly became my most-used lens. Over the past few years it has travelled with me through South Korea, Singapore, Mauritius, and China. For a photographer who values convenience, it appeared to be the perfect solution.

At first glance, the lens performs well. Images are contrasty, flare resistance is respectable, and distortion is largely controlled. Combined with the excellent sensor in the Nikon Z6 and effective image stabilization, it produces photographs that look great when viewed normally. The problem only appeared when I started looking closer.

Cracks in the Superzoom Dream

During a trip through Victoria’s southeast coast, using the Nikon Z6 paired with the 24-200mm, I began noticing something strange. Images taken at the longer end of the zoom range, particularly around 200mm and focused at distant subjects, seemed softer than expected. Viewed on a phone or social media feed, the photos looked perfectly acceptable. Zooming in, however, revealed a lack of crisp detail. Rocks, distant landscapes, and fine textures often appeared mushy, even after additional sharpening in post-processing.

At first I questioned my own technique. Was I introducing camera shake? Was image stabilization failing? Was autofocus missing the mark? Travel photography often involves shooting handheld, and user error is always a possibility. To investigate, I decided to conduct a simple comparison.

Rather than relying on subjective impressions from travel photos, I compared the Nikon Z 24-200mm against a lens I already trusted: the Nikon AF Nikkor 180mm f/2.8D. Despite being an older DSLR-era prime lens, the 180mm has a strong reputation for sharpness. Mounted on the Nikon Z6 via an adapter, it provided a useful benchmark. The test was straightforward. I photographed distant subjects, trees, buildings, chimneys, rooftops, and antennas, comparing equivalent focal lengths while examining the resulting RAW files at high magnification.

A Prime Lens Delivers an Uncomfortable Truth

The results were difficult to ignore. Across multiple images, the older 180mm prime consistently delivered sharper detail and better edge definition. Bark textures, brickwork, foliage, and architectural details all appeared noticeably crisper. The superzoom often showed softness, ghosting, and a lack of fine detail that became increasingly obvious at 300% magnification. Autofocus did occasionally appear slightly inconsistent, but that alone couldn’t explain the difference. Even when focus seemed accurate, the 24-200mm simply wasn’t resolving detail at the same level as the prime.

The real surprise came when I introduced a third lens into the comparison. The Nikon 35-200mm f/3.5-5.6 AI-S dates back to 1985—a period when superzoom lenses were notorious for optical compromises. Today it can often be found on the second-hand market for very little money. Logic suggested that a modern mirrorless zoom should easily outperform a decades-old manual-focus superzoom. Instead, the results were unexpectedly close.

Check out the video above for the examples.

At certain apertures, particularly around f/8, the vintage lens appeared sharper than the modern Nikon Z 24-200mm. Fine details such as tree branches and antennas often showed better definition. Wide open, the differences became smaller and the older lens revealed more chromatic aberration and vignetting, but it remained surprisingly competitive. That raised an uncomfortable question: if a modern mirrorless superzoom can be outperformed by both an older telephoto prime and, in some situations, a forty-year-old superzoom, what exactly are you paying for?

The Real Value of the Nikon 24-200mm

The answer is convenience. The Nikon Z 24-200mm is dramatically smaller and lighter than either of the older lenses. It autofocuses quickly and silently, includes image stabilization, and covers an enormous focal range in a package small enough to carry all day. For travel photography, those advantages matter. When wandering beaches, coastal lookouts, or city streets, there’s enormous value in having a single lens that can capture almost anything without changing gear. The ability to move from a sweeping landscape to a distant wildlife shot in seconds is liberating. The lens may not deliver the ultimate image quality, but it delivers versatility.

Final Thoughts

After all the testing, I still haven’t completely answered my own question. The evidence suggests that my Nikon Z 24-200mm is not especially sharp at longer focal lengths and distances. Whether that’s a characteristic of the design, sample variation, autofocus inconsistencies, or a combination of all three remains unclear. What is clear is that newer technology doesn’t automatically guarantee better optical performance. Older lenses, particularly quality primes, can still outperform modern zooms when absolute sharpness is the goal.

Yet despite its flaws, I’m not getting rid of the 24-200mm. The reality is that most viewers will never notice these issues when images are viewed on social media, phones, or standard screens. For travel photography, the convenience of carrying one lightweight lens often outweighs the pursuit of pixel-perfect sharpness. The Nikon Z 24-200mm may not be the miracle travel lens I once believed it was, but it’s still the lens I reach for most often. And perhaps that’s the ultimate compliment. Even when it falls short of perfection, it’s still the lens that gets taken on the journey.

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.

My Shin Okubo Dori Story with the Olympus 75mm f1 8 for Micro Four Thirds

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The Olympus 75mm f/1.8 has long enjoyed a near-mythical reputation among Micro Four Thirds photographers. Released back in 2012, it quickly became known as one of the sharpest lenses available for the system and remains highly regarded more than a decade later. Having owned mine since 2013, it has been one of the lenses most responsible for convincing me that Micro Four Thirds could deliver truly exceptional image quality in a compact package.

That loyalty was tested recently when the lens developed an autofocus issue. During a trip to Malaysia, I discovered it struggled to focus on distant subjects, rendering it effectively useless for many of the situations where I normally rely on it. While it could still produce attractive close and mid-distance images, a telephoto lens that cannot focus at infinity is severely compromised. After an expensive repair, however, the lens returned to full health, providing the perfect excuse to take it on a fresh adventure and rediscover what makes it so special.

Small Lens, Big Performance

One of the strongest arguments for the Olympus 75mm f/1.8 is that it perfectly demonstrates the strengths of the Micro Four Thirds system. Critics often argue that smaller sensors cannot compete with full-frame cameras when it comes to subject separation and shallow depth of field. This lens challenges that assumption.

With a field of view equivalent to a 150mm lens on full frame and a bright f/1.8 aperture, it produces beautifully blurred backgrounds while remaining remarkably compact. Compared to something like a modern full-frame 135mm f/1.8 lens, the Olympus is dramatically smaller, lighter and less expensive. It offers much of the same creative potential without requiring photographers to carry a heavy camera bag.

Physically, the lens is refreshingly simple. There are no programmable buttons, aperture rings or manual-focus clutches. Instead, Olympus focused on delivering excellent optics in a premium metal body. The lens feels solid and well made, while the focus ring offers a smooth, refined operation. Although it lacks weather sealing, it still feels every bit like a professional-grade product.

Its optical design is surprisingly sophisticated, incorporating specialised glass elements designed to minimise distortion, chromatic aberration and other optical flaws. The result is a lens that combines portability with impressive technical performance.

Why the Image Quality Still Impresses

The Olympus 75mm f/1.8 built much of its reputation on sharpness, and even today it remains one of the sharpest lenses I have ever used. Wide open at f/1.8, images are already impressively detailed, with only slight softness near the edges. By f/2.8, the entire frame becomes razor sharp.

Yet sharpness alone does not explain the appeal of this lens. Many modern lenses are technically excellent, but relatively few possess that elusive quality photographers often describe as character. The Olympus 75mm consistently produces images that feel special, even when it is difficult to identify exactly why.

Colours are rich without appearing exaggerated, and there is a pleasing sense of separation between tones. Skin tones in particular look natural and lifelike, making the lens an excellent choice for portraiture. Distortion is effectively invisible in real-world shooting, allowing it to handle architecture and urban scenes with ease.

Perhaps most importantly, the lens renders out-of-focus areas beautifully. Background blur appears soft, smooth and natural, helping subjects stand out while still preserving a sense of place. Unlike some lenses that create nervous or distracting bokeh, the Olympus delivers transitions that feel elegant and refined.

A Night in Tokyo with an Unusual Street Lens

To put the repaired lens through its paces, I paired it with the OM System OM-3 during a trip to Tokyo. My destination was Shin-Okubo, the city’s vibrant Korea Town, where I spent an evening exploring the streets with a focal length that most photographers would consider unconventional for street photography.

A 150mm equivalent lens is certainly not the obvious choice for documenting urban life. It limits your field of view and makes it difficult to capture broad scenes or environmental context. However, it also offers advantages that wider lenses cannot match.

The focal length allows photographers to isolate distant subjects and create compositions free from distractions. Rather than immersing viewers in a scene, the lens encourages a more selective and observational style of photography. It becomes a spotting lens, helping you identify moments unfolding across the street and frame them with precision.

This approach works particularly well for candid photography. The extra distance allows subjects to remain natural and unselfconscious while still filling the frame with detail and character. Although it may not suit every photographer’s style, it can produce compelling results for those who enjoy a more detached perspective.

More Than Just Technical Excellence

What keeps drawing me back to the Olympus 75mm f/1.8 is not simply its image quality. Plenty of lenses are sharp. Plenty of lenses have attractive bokeh. What makes this lens special is the way it encourages creativity.

Using it requires a different way of seeing. You quickly learn to look for details, gestures and moments that might be overlooked with wider lenses. The limitations become part of the creative process, forcing you to think differently about composition and storytelling.

Looking back at the photographs from Tokyo, I remember not only the images themselves but also the enjoyment of making them. Even when I knew I was missing wider contextual shots, I found myself embracing the unique perspective this lens provided. Every frame felt deliberate and carefully observed.

There is also that difficult-to-define quality that photographers often refer to as “3D pop.” Whether it comes from the focal length, the aperture or some combination of optical characteristics, the images possess a sense of depth and presence that feels unusually engaging.

That is why, despite the repair cost approaching the value of a good used copy, I never seriously considered replacing it. The Olympus 75mm f/1.8 remains one of the finest lenses available for the Micro Four Thirds system and a perfect example of what the format can achieve. More than a decade after buying it, it continues to earn a place in my camera bag on every trip, and it remains one of the few modern lenses that genuinely excites me every time I use it.

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

Posted on Posted in black and white, Digital Photography, Film Photography, lens review, Street Photography, TravelTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

Is the Nikkor Z 28mm f/2.8 Nikon’s most Boring Lens?

Posted on Posted in Digital Photography, lens review, Photography, Photography Review, Street Photography, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Whenever I visit a new country, I like to check out the second-hand camera scene for potential bargains as souvenirs. On a trip to Shanghai, I went to Xingguang Photographic Equipment City, a sprawling, multi-story mall full of small camera shops selling used gear. Armed with 1000 Renminbi in my WeChat wallet, I hoped to find a unique lens within my budget. I was drawn to the idea of a 135mm, but it was too expensive, so I set my sights on something more modest.

I eventually found Nikon’s 28mm Z f/2.8 SE lens, a lens with a retro design that fits Nikon’s ZF digital camera. It’s affordable but not particularly exciting in quality, as it has a plastic mount and feels more like a cheap throwback than anything premium. However, it was within my budget and looked decent enough. The shopkeepers were friendly and humored my attempts at speaking Chinese, making the experience enjoyable.

Reflecting on the 28mm focal length, I find it somewhat mundane. Back in the film era, 28mm was considered wide, but these days, it’s essentially the default view on smartphone cameras. The world is now saturated with 28mm photos—thanks to the trillions of smartphone shots shared online—creating a visual monotony that’s almost tiresome.

To test the lens, I decided to take it to Zhujiajiao, a historic water town near Shanghai, to see if I could capture something interesting with this “boring uncle” of a focal length.

Serviceable, yes but… Exciting?

When I downloaded the photos from my 28mm lens, I felt a bit disappointed. They felt overfamiliar, like the endless shots of water taxis or gondolas in Venice that we’ve all seen. I started questioning if it was the lens itself or simply my inability to break away from typical tourist shots. Maybe the 28mm field of view kept me stuck in that mode.

The 28mm lens is easy to use, with smooth and quiet focusing, and it focuses closer than my zoom lens at 28mm, which is a nice feature. When focusing close, it handles out-of-focus areas beautifully with soft, creamy bokeh. While it won’t completely blur the background like other lenses, it subtly draws attention to the subject without being overpowering.

That said, the Nikon 28mm Z f/2.8 isn’t perfect—28mm does feel a bit dull. At least, to me. I got some decent shots, but reviewing them feels like scrolling through my phone gallery. My 24-200mm offers more versatility, letting me capture close-ups and control framing better by using its longer focal length to keep distractions out of the frame. With the 28mm, I have to be more mindful of composition, especially on the streets, compared to a 35 or 50mm lens.

After sorting through, I picked a few shots that captured the feel of the place without looking too postcard-like. The dim light drained some color from the scene, and a few images actually worked better in black and white.

I do think this lens is a good lens, maybe even a great one if you consider the price and can get over the plastic mount. I can’t fault it that I find the 28mm field of view a bit dull and perhaps, actually, with more use, I might to appreciate that focal length a little more.

First Impressions of the Nikon Z 180-600mm f/5.6-6.3 VR

Posted on Posted in Digital Photography, lens review, Photographic Editing, Photography, Photography Review, Street Photography, Uncategorized, Wildlife PhotographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

So, I finally got my hands on Nikon’s latest zoom telephoto lens, the 180-600mm f/5.6-6.3 Z. The big question is: is it a wildlife warrior, slicing through the wilderness to capture distant action, or just a hefty fella trying to compensate for its lack of sporting prowess?

Let’s start with the unboxing, which was honestly a bit underwhelming. All you get is the lens, some cardboard, and the usual paperwork. The lens case is a joke, more like a napkin than anything protective. It’s not exactly travel-friendly, to say the least.

But enough about the packaging, let’s talk about the lens itself. It’s big, no doubt about it, but compared to its competitors, it’s not that intimidating. Plus, it doesn’t extend when you zoom, which is a plus. As for ergonomics, it feels solid in my hands, though it’s definitely on the heavier side. Still, it’s manageable without a tripod, thanks to its balance and design.

The zoom range is impressive, and the short throw of the zoom ring makes it easy to adjust quickly. Overall, it’s a well-designed lens that’s comfortable to use, even handheld.

But the real test is in the field, or in my case, at the zoo. Hey, I’m not about to go traipsing through the wilderness. So, off I went to capture some wildlife action, and let me tell you, this lens didn’t disappoint.

How Good is the Lens?

After surviving various landscapes from the African savannah to the frozen Antarctic tundra, I’m here to share my wildlife photography adventures with you. I did find myself surrounded by children more than animals, though. Mixed feelings about zoos aside, Perth Zoo isn’t too bad, offering enrichment for its inhabitants, even if it’s with plastic containers instead of TV sets showing David Attenborough documentaries.

But enough about zoos, let’s talk lenses. The Nikon Z 180-600mm proved to be a reliable companion during my zoo excursion. Comfortably hanging it around my shoulder for hours, I was able to shoot handheld or on a railing with ease. The images turned out sharp and vibrant, as seen in the giraffe example. While I did some editing, minimal adjustments were needed thanks to the lens’s performance.

Telephoto lenses often lack flexibility in tight situations, but the ability to zoom with this lens was invaluable. Despite its smaller aperture, ranging from f/5.6 to f/6.3, I was pleasantly surprised by the results, even at high ISOs. My favorite shot, taken at ISO 11,400, showcased the lens’s sharpness and the Z 6 sensor’s ability to handle detail even at high ISOs. While extracting detail from white fur was challenging, overall, I’m impressed with the lens’s performance.

Still a Challenge

So, let me dive into the nitty-gritty of my experience with the Nikon Z 180-600mm lens. Focusing was the biggest hurdle I faced, and it’s not entirely the lens’s fault. The Z 6 camera, despite firmware updates, showed its first-generation mirrorless roots with its unreliable autofocus. I found myself constantly switching between autofocus modes, particularly struggling with pinpointing focus on small subjects at 600mm.

Once I got focus right, though, the results were stunning. The sharpness of the lens was apparent, perhaps even too sharp for my taste. I often find modern photography produces images that feel clinically perfect but lack soul. Shooting through glass or fences impacted image quality at times, but the lens still delivered impressive detail.

However, I did encounter situations where the contrast and crispness felt a bit overpowering. I had to employ post-processing techniques like the Orton effect to soften the harshness. Despite this, the lens still managed to maintain character, producing smooth bokeh and delivering sharpness where needed, like capturing the intricate details of a penguin’s iris.

While I’m not a wildlife photographer per se, I purchased this lens for my ongoing telephoto project focusing on ships along the Perth coast. It offers a significant reach and excellent stabilization, allowing me to capture stunning seascapes handheld. At $3k Australian dollars, it’s not cheap, but considering its performance and versatility, it’s a worthy investment.

In conclusion, this lens isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty darn close. I can see it becoming my go-to companion for capturing distant ships on the horizon—a testament to its sharpness, size, and overall performance.

Road Testing a Beaten up Nikon F75 Film SLR

Posted on Posted in black and white, Camera Review, Film Photography, lens review, Photography, Photography Review, Street PhotographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

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.