Category: Photography

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

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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.

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

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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.

Pet Photography in the Styles of Terry Richardson and Bruce Gilden

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You know how it is when you get a new family member and want to capture all those special moments? First day of school, first soccer goal, and so on. Well, it’s the same with puppies. Sure, their moments might be a bit different—I’m pretty sure I never licked myself as a kid, though who knows, maybe I would have if I could. Kids grow up fast, and those moments slip away quickly. And if dogs are truly our best friends, don’t they deserve more photo attention than your last Instagram post of spaghetti bolognese?

Meet the latest member of our family, Juniper the Groodle. Fresh faced and furry at 14 weeks, it was time to immortalize this little lady. I checked out some pet photography and found it uninspiring. How many photos of dogs in lavender fields do you need? Cute, cuddly, charming—these aren’t the words that inspire me. Instead, I think of artists like Terry Richardson and Bruce Gilden.

Richardson is known for his raw, uncompromising fashion and celebrity photos, stripping away the glamour for a more stark and sometimes harsh look. Gilden, on the other hand, captures New Yorkers in their most unguarded moments, creating shocking, brutal, and even ugly photos. While I don’t want to emulate their exact styles, I do appreciate their approach to challenging traditional aesthetics.

Juniper Meets Terry Richardson

For Juniper the Groodle, I aimed to channel a bit of their spirit. I set up with a flat white wall and used a Zhiyun Molus 60 with a small softbox for lighting. I even enlisted Slothy, a stunt double, to help with the setup while Juniper relaxed. After getting the settings right, I swapped in Juniper and was pleasantly surprised. She could easily outshine supermodels with her lustrous ginger hair and prehensile tongue.

Juniper Meets Bruce Gilden

For the Gilden-style shoot, I needed to recreate his gritty look digitally. Using my Nikon Z6 with a 24-50mm lens, I adjusted the aperture to f/8 to capture as much detail as possible while keeping the background dark. I added a neutral density filter to manage the ambient light and used a powerful flash to highlight Juniper against the darkness.

In the end, instead of capturing a marginalized character with my uncompromising lens, it was more like me running backward while Juniper pounced and tugged at the lead, trying to chase the camera like it was some high-tech chew toy.

Juniper isn’t exactly tall, and Gilden’s method involves crouching and shooting from below, holding the flash higher to model the subject. With Juniper’s head just a foot off the ground, the whole process taxed my back and patience, and completely embarrassed my daughter as I backed down the path like a hunched paparazzi at the beach on a Sunday morning. Needless to say, I didn’t get many great shots. In that sense, I guess it was an authentic shoot – Gilden is known for being selective in curating his own work. Usually, I show the whole roll, but in this case, it’s better to showcase only a few that worked.

More Experiments

I tried to recreate the look at home. Gilden loves an eye patch and and a munted-mouthed look. I thought including a prop and providing some peanut butter could promote the masticated gurning that could typify that Gilden Crack Whore Aesthetic. Again, with limited success. Our model, Juniper, wasn’t cooperating, and it seems all the attention has gone to her head. She scampered, jumped, rolled, and did everything except stay put. I was too tired to work with such a privileged, unprofessional model. In the end, I was left with some subpar frames, and the eye patch I’d added for effect was discarded in 15 seconds.

It occurred to me that maybe the best way to get Juniper to behave was to be in the picture myself. So, I did a quick setup early one morning, trying to capture both of us. This approach was more successful, though trying to hold a dog and operate the camera remotely was tricky. I think I managed to capture some of that gritty style I was aiming for, channeling a bit of that “Hoboken Hobo” energy.

Check out the video for how I created a Dragan-style edit that upped the grit and contrast of the image of Juni to reflect the grimy urban streets of New York.

Perhaps I could revisit this scenario when a life time of pain and deprivation has left its indelible mark on her pretty face. In any case, I think I will  keep at this because…  even if I can’t channel the genius of Richardson and Gilden, I can at the very least end up with some slightly different and somewhat distinctive photos. And who knows? Maybe there is some more photographic magic to be mined from this process.

Photography Roadtrip Part 2 – Capturing Australia’s Great Ocean Road

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Day Two of my exploration of Victoria, not the royal lady but the rugged Australian shores. Winding along the Great Ocean Road between Aireys Inlet and Port Fairy, I found myself greeted by a sky painted with rainbows and ever-changing conditions. Each stop along the way presented a chance to scan the coastline for unique features, though initially, I felt out of place in the natural world.

However, as I ventured on, I stumbled upon a lunar-like landscape of rutted rocks and alien vistas that captured my imagination. Shooting into the light yielded some of my favorite photos of the day, showcasing glistening reflections and odd shapes. Moving inland, I explored the lush greenery of Barham Paradise Scenic Reserve with my drone, capturing the undulating beauty of the Victorian countryside.

Returning to the coast, the Great Ocean Road revealed its promise and decay, with limestone cliffs battered by the southern ocean. Despite the cliché of photographing the Twelve Apostles, I aimed to bring a unique perspective to the iconic location, acknowledging its imminent erosion and the misnomer of its name.

Continuing along the coast, I sought to evoke a sense of the strange and fascinating, rather than merely document the landscape. From silhouetted birds against dreamy backdrops to timeless structures along the shore, each image told its own story.

Arriving at Port Fairy, I found a tonal counterpoint to the fierceness of the coastline, with a serene sunset casting its glow over the landscape. Even mundane scenes by the roadside took on mythical proportions, like a Trojan horse abandoned in an Australian landscape.

In conclusion, I didn’t aim to capture the landscape’s majesty in the conventional sense, but rather to invite viewers into a world of ambiguity and intrigue. The best photos were those that sparked curiosity and imagination, leaving room for interpretation and storytelling.

Photography Roadtrip Part 1 – Melbourne to Aireys Inlet

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It was finally time for me to escape the urban chaos and embrace the tranquility of rural life. Leaving behind the chilly winter of Perth, I embarked on a quest to capture the beauty of the Victorian countryside near Melbourne, Australia. The adventure began with a flight on Jetstar, the budget brand of Qantas, which was an experience in itself. Despite the discomforts, including watching Harrison Ford in the latest Indiana Jones movie, I landed safely in Melbourne.

From there, I journeyed through Regional Victoria, exploring places like the Great Ocean Road and the Grampians. Along the way, I encountered both mundane and extraordinary sights, from suburban landscapes to ancient-looking steel structures. Despite the initial drizzle and monotony, the scenery eventually opened up to rolling plains and breathtaking sunsets.

One memorable stop was at Aireys Inlet, where I managed to capture a fleeting moment of beauty during sunrise. Despite my doubts about the composition of my photos, I was content knowing that I had something to show for my efforts. The journey continued, with challenges in balancing elements within the frame and battling the unpredictable weather.

As I wrapped up the first stage of my exploration, I reflected on the difficulties of landscape photography but looked forward to the next leg of my journey along the Great Ocean Road to Port Fairy. Although I can’t promise perfection in my photos, you’re welcome to come along for the ride.

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.

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

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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 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.