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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
This is the Nikon Coolpix 4500 and when I look at it, I see more than just a camera – it’s a testament to the optimistic spirit of the turn of the millennium. Back then, the world was buzzing with hope: the Cold War was over, globalization was on the rise, and technological advancements, like the internet, were shaping a promising future. Social progress was evident too, with strides in equity and diversity.
But as we know, that optimism was short-lived. Yet, amidst all this uncertainty, Nikon managed to craft a sleek, onyx brick of a camera that defied convention and exuded minimalist style and futuristic vibes.
And guess what? It swivels! Sure, it may seem like a small feature, but for someone like me with a short attention span, it’s a game-changer. Plus, it’s not just about looks – this camera is built like a tank, weighing in at 374 grams yet still fitting snugly in your pocket.
I couldn’t resist snagging one when I spotted a second-hand deal. And while mine lacks the trademark red Nikon stripe, that just adds to its mystique. Sure, this camera’s 4mpx sensor and sluggish performance may seem outdated, but can it still produce art?
A Dense and Fully Featured Brick of a Camera
This Nikon Coolpix 4500 is quite the powerhouse when it comes to specs. Its list of features goes on longer than a tapeworm and that is reflected in its original price tag. Back in 2002, this bad boy would set you back a hefty $700, which in today’s money would be… well, let’s just say it wasn’t cheap. But with a price like that, you can expect a plethora of options to play with, all neatly tucked away in its menu system.
From the standard PSAM and auto modes to a variety of scene options like sunhat, confetti ejaculation, and court appearances (don’t ask me about the logic there), this camera offers a range of choices. ISO goes up to 800, though you’ll likely encounter some noisy images at that level. And don’t even think about adjusting settings on the fly; they’re buried deep in the menu.
Flash performance is decent, exposure is smooth, and skin tones look good. Just don’t get too close with the flash, or you’ll end up with some unflattering results. But here’s the kicker: it supports external flash via a PC sync cable, making it surprisingly versatile.
Now, let’s talk image quality. Despite its modest 4-megapixel resolution and subpar high ISO performance, this camera can still deliver some impressive results. Colors pop, JPEG processing is top-notch, and while dynamic range leaves something to be desired, chromatic aberration is well-controlled.
Can You Make Art with It?
But enough about specs; let’s get to the real question: can you create art with this camera? And the answer is a resounding yes. Just like Jackson Pollock wielded a paint bucket to create masterpieces, I can use this Nikon Coolpix 4500 to capture the beauty of everyday life and provoke thought with my photographs.
And while I may jest about the mundane objects I encounter, there’s a deeper commentary on the state of our world hidden within these images. From the encroachment of suburbia to the struggle between nature and human progress, there’s a story waiting to be told.
Is It Worth It Now?
This still feels like a substantial piece of kit, even now. Of course, no camera is without its quirks, and this one is no exception. From its tendency to drain batteries like nobody’s business to its slow performance, it’s definitely showing its age. But hey, we can overlook these minor inconveniences when we consider its impressive image quality and macro capabilities.
And let’s not forget about the features. Sure, some are a bit gimmicky, but others, like continuous autofocus and exposure bracketing, prove to be invaluable tools in our artistic arsenal. And did I mention it swivels? That alone adds a touch of fun to the photography experience.
What inspired me to create this video was the recent purchase of a new car. Well, when I say “new,” it’s all relative. Considering New College Oxford dates back to the 14th century and the New Seekers peaked in the 1970s, “new” takes on a different meaning. But fear not, this isn’t merely a video about cars. That’s not really my usual content. Nor is it about the New Seekers, although that might cement my status as the go-to YouTuber for the retirement community.
The truth is, I’ve never felt much of a bond with my cars beyond hoping they’ll get me to my destination without any breakdowns. Given my history of acquiring or inheriting beat-up cars, that’s never been a given. Plus, I’ve had a couple of mishaps along life’s journey that remind me cars can be dangerous—yes, I even blinked when I sneezed.
However, from the moment I test drove this car, actually, from the moment I laid eyes on it, there was an undeniable allure emanating from it, beckoning me to have some fun.And I think it’s because it’s a Mini. The Mini, as a car, epitomizes fun. It’s even ranked number 5 on Top Gear’s list of fun and economical cars, and even Chat GPT agrees with me on thi
That got me pondering about my most enjoyable camera. It’s a tough call. I’ve owned many cameras that I’d describe as ‘fun’, from the quirky Carl Zeiss Werra to the comically oversized Fuji medium format rangefinder. But ultimately, I settled on my Olympus Pen F Digital. Just as the Mini serves as my everyday ride, this camera is my everyday companion. While any dependable car can get me from A to Z, this camera provides the versatility I require to capture the photos I desire.
Sure, any modern camera can produce quality images, much like how any reliable car can get you where you need to go. But what sets apart the ‘fun’ factor in both cases compared to other similar tools? That’s the question I find myself exploring.
What is Fun? The Five Ss
It sounds like a simple question, but the answer can be complicated. Often we think of fun as something that has no purpose or meaning but cars and cameras are both tools. There has to be something more to it than that and I’ve come tho think about it as the Five Ss
Firstly, fun is a sensuous, not to be confused with sensuAL. It’s about the tactile quality of things, the immediate satisfaction they provide. Whether it’s driving a fast car or handling a camera, the user interface and tangible experience play a significant role in the enjoyment.
Take this car, for instance. Despite its modest engine size, the turbocharger gives it a surprising speed, accompanied by a distinct sound that adds to the sensory experience. Similarly, my Olympus Pen F camera feels fast in hand, capable of shooting at high speeds and providing a seamless interface for capturing images.
But fun isn’t just about speed; it’s also about surprises. Despite its compact size, both the car and the camera pack a punch, offering unexpected features and capabilities that enhance the overall experience.
Additionally, there’s an element of silliness to both. From quirky design choices in the car’s interior to overengineered buttons on the camera, there’s a sense of playfulness that adds to the enjoyment.
However, fun doesn’t always mean impracticality. Both the car and the camera serve practical purposes while still providing an enjoyable experience. In fact, the fun aspects can often enhance the serious outcomes, making mundane tasks more enjoyable.
Photos from the Olympus Pen F, exemplifying the Five Ss of Fun
Ultimately, whether it’s driving a fast car or capturing moments with a camera, fun can be found in the serious and the silly alike. And in the end, both the car and the camera prove to be more than just tools; they’re sources of enjoyment and satisfaction in their own right.
Here’s to Fun!
The word ‘fun comes from the old English word ‘befon’ which is to make a fool of someone. In that sense I’m very fun.
It’s just a pity that there isn’t much attention paid to the concept of fun. Flicking through the pages of the Dictionary of World Philosophy takes you directly from Frankfurt School to God without any fun in between and that’s a shame. After all, wasn’t it that great philosopher Miley Cyrus who said, ‘Life is all about having a good time’?
Look, I’m not sure I completely subscribe to the simplistic notion of fun being pleasure without purpose. Sure, no-one’s expecting you to have a riotous time bagging your broccoli in the supermarket. But that doesn’t mean shopping can’t be both fun and purposeful. Similarly It doesn’t mean every useful tool or purposeful activity is going to be fun. Some of the most optimised experiences are so seamless that they are barely register with us. Neither the mini nor the Pen F are perfect. But if they were, maybe they’d be boring. The fact that the Mini Countryman is a little bubble box on an all wheel drive X1 chassis means you get all of the benefits and compromises of a crossover vehicle including having the turning circle of a camel train. The Pen F is full of compromises too with its smaller sensor and quirky autofocus. It’s love of dials means that they had to put the on-off switch on the top left of the camera body, which means you can’t operate the camera one-handed but these aren’t just the limitations you learn to live with, they are the qualities you come to love. The minor annoyances slip into the background but we can still occasionally be surprised and beguiled by some of the unexpected whimsy that this camera offers. It’s a serious tool for a serious job but it stimulates my creativity and after all, it WAS Einstein who said ‘Creativity is Intelligence having fun.’ And while not quite the intellectual heavyweight that is Miley Cyrus, Albert does make good case – relatively speaking. And yes, that was a really bad pun. But that’s what fun is. It’s the little things. It’s this little thing and all the S words that seduce and surprise us. This small, singular, sensuous block of knurled magnesium and electronics manages to be both silly and serious at the same time. And in that sense very special to me.
Today, I found myself facing a philosophical dilemma: is the Diana F+ truly a legitimate photography tool masquerading as a toy, or am I merely a tool for using a toy camera? As I embarked on this journey with the Diana, I couldn’t help but be drawn in by its quirky charm and historical associations with the goddess of the moon.
Inauspicious Origins
Despite my initial skepticism towards toy cameras, I remained open to the creative possibilities they offered. After all, some of the greatest art has been created using the most primitive of tools. Plus, snagging the Diana from a thrift store for a fraction of its original cost seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Delving into the lore of Lomography, I learned that the Diana had humble beginnings as a novelty item produced by the Great Wall Plastic Co. Yet, over time, it was embraced by a new generation of photographers seeking an alternative to the clinical perfection of digital imaging.
However, I couldn’t ignore the criticism that toy cameras often produce subpar photos due to their inherent flaws. Despite my doubts, I decided to put the Diana to the test by taking it out to a local wetland armed with Kentmere 400 medium format film.
As I loaded the film into the camera, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was about to embark on a futile endeavor. Would I be able to overcome the constraints of the Diana and capture meaningful images, or would I end up disappointed by the results?
Only time would tell as I ventured forth with the Diana in hand, ready to explore its creative potential and perhaps uncover some hidden gems amidst its quirks and imperfections.
It’s … Ok, I Guess
So, I’m here to give you my unfiltered take on this piece of plastic, based solely on my experience of shooting one roll of film with it. In short, it’s… meh.
Sure, it wasn’t a complete disaster. I managed to guess the focus and exposure fairly accurately, and the negatives turned out clean with decent density and no blown highlights. Despite encountering some light leaks and strange artifacts on the film, I can’t say I was entirely disappointed.
However, when it comes to usability, the Diana F+ falls short. It’s uncomfortable to hold, and the build quality leaves much to be desired. The viewfinder is virtually useless for framing, and the shutter sounds less than inspiring.
On the upside, it’s incredibly lightweight, making it a viable option for a day trip camera. But its lack of precision and flexibility means you’re limited in your creative control. You’re essentially along for the ride, with the camera dictating the final outcome.
While some may argue that these quirks are part of the Diana’s charm, they can also be seen as limitations. The softness of the lens, inconsistency across the focal plane, and tendency for highlights to glow are all baked into the final image, for better or worse.
As for recommending this camera, I’m torn. While it may have its niche uses, particularly for street photography where spontaneity is valued over precision, I can’t help but think there are better options out there. Personally, I’d lean towards something like the Agfa Isola, which may not be much better but at least offers a sense of authenticity with its glass lens.
In the end, my experience with the Diana F+ wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly inspiring either. It’s unlikely to become my go-to camera, but it has piqued my curiosity enough to give it another chance in the future. After all, sometimes it’s worth exploring the unconventional, even if the results are a bit… unconventional themselves.
Landscape photography is a discipline in and of itself and not one I’m particularly familiar with. I’m normally more comfortable on the streets than in the bush. That said, I spend a lot of time watching YouTube videos about landscape photography, so maybe it’s time I came to grips with this strange but fascinating genre of photography.
You might have noticed a few quirks in my approach to the scene, maybe even some choices that seemed a bit off the beaten path.
A Superhuman Feat
Typically, landscape photography involves an early rise, a long hike, and finding that perfect spot for contemplation. But let’s face it, that’s not really my style. I’m not one for meticulous planning or waiting for the perfect conditions. And yes, the weather was lovely, but that doesn’t always make for the best photos, right?
Now, about tripods. Every serious photographer swears by them, but I’ve got my reasons for steering clear. Call it a personal vendetta – to me they are the horrific vehicles of destruction used by alien invaders in HG Wells and John Christopher novels. At the very least they add a lot of weight and awkwardness to the photographic process. And sure, my agility might not rival a mountain goat’s, but that’s just not my vibe.
So, armed with my Nikon Z6 and a polarising filter, I ventured forth. And thank goodness for YouTube, where I can share my mishaps and lessons learned. Lesson number one: relying on in-body image stabilisation for those slow shutter speeds? Yeah, not the best idea.
But amidst the struggles, I managed to salvage a shot or two. It’s all about finding that one gem, even if it feels like picking the tallest jockey on the basketball team.
From Sow’s Ear to Silk Purse
Now, onto the editing phase. As shown in the video, it’s a delicate dance of balancing contrast, toning down those pesky highlights, and adding a touch of warmth. And let’s not forget about injecting some vibrancy into those rocks and dirt – gotta make ’em pop.
And sure, I might have a heavy hand with the edits sometimes, but that’s all part of the process. After a few tweaks here and there, I step back and give it some time to marinate. Because let’s face it, perfection takes time – and maybe a few do-overs.
Let me know what you think of the results. I don’t think landscape photography is my forte. But that’s okay. I find my stride elsewhere, amidst the urban jungle. And if you’ve got your own tales of photographic misadventures, I’m all ears. Because in the end, it’s not about the gear or the accolades. It’s about the journey – the trials, the errors, and the relentless pursuit of that perfect shot.
So here’s to embracing failure, to dreaming big, and to never giving up – even if we’re stumbling along the way. After all, they say greatness lies not in success, but in the trying. And if there’s one thing I’ve been called, it’s trying.
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.
Mark McMahon 