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.
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.
Who doesn’t love unboxing videos, right? Well, in my latest video, I attempted to build up some suspense as I clumsily opened what wasn’t exactly a box. Instead, I revealed the Canon Prima 5, a forgotten point-and-shoot from 1991, known by various names like the Canon Sure Shot Max and the Autoboy Mini.
I snagged this camera second-hand for just AU$15, a real steal considering its potential. But the big question remained: does it work, and can I create art with it? Well, let’s dive into my initial impressions.
First up, some specifications, because nothing is more exciting than reading a list of bullet points about the features of an old point and shoot camera:
Lens: 38mm, f/3.5 with 3-point smart autofocus.
Auto-exposure with shutter speeds of 1/8-1/250s.
Integral flash. (Guide No: 9m at ISO 100.)
ISO range: 25 – 3200 (via DX code – 25 Non-DX)
Auto-load, wind and rewind of DX-coded film.
Dimensions: 125x68x43mm.
Weight: 245g (with battery)
Power: One 3V CR123A lithium battery.
A version with an autodate function was available.
Nothing particularly exciting, let’s face it, but it it does shoot up to ISO3200 for DX Coded film and while the f/3.5 lens is quite modest, it’s better than most zooms and unlike zooms, you know with a prime that the quality will be tuned to that 38mm focal length. To really test this camera, I need to run a roll of film through it. Colour film is like gold dust these days, and the prices are soaring. Yet, armed with Kodak Colorplus 200, I was ready to test this camera’s capabilities.
Now, onto the shots. From capturing leaves backlit by sunlight to exploring human interactions in a park, I attempted to weave narratives through my photographs. Whether it’s a solitary figure masked by foliage or a couple on a bench, each image tells a story, prompting viewers to ponder human existence and relationships.
Moving from nature to urban landscapes, I sought to celebrate human resilience and the quest for enlightenment amidst the complexities of city life. Through frames within frames and minimalist compositions, I aimed to provoke thought and reflection.
Yes, you can make art with it. Or at the very least you can reflect on your artistic intent as you intersperse random snaps with pretentious musing.
Despite its simplicity, the Canon Prima 5 impressed me with its sharpness and reliability. Sure, it has its quirks like occasional flares and a default autoflash setting, but its performance outweighs these minor drawbacks.
Now, the big question: is this camera a hidden gem or just another addition to the plastic pile? I’m leaning towards the former, but I’m eager to hear your thoughts. Do you have any recommendations for budget compact film cameras? Let me know in the comments below.
As for me, I’ll continue experimenting with this camera while keeping an eye out for other photographic relics. Who knows what hidden treasures I might uncover next?
One Yashica 635 Twin Lens Reflex Camera, One Roll of Kodak Gold 200 Film, and One Clumsy Photographer. The stage is set for a comedy of errors. Picture it: a sunny day, a camera in hand, and me, the clumsy protagonist, eager to capture the world through the lens of my trusty Yashica 635. Little did I know, a series of misadventures awaited.
Now, let me preface this tale by admitting my limited experience with this particular camera. While I’ve owned it for some time, our relationship has been more acquaintanceship than intimacy. And let me tell you, befriending a TLR (Twin Lens Reflex) camera is akin to navigating a labyrinth blindfolded. The handling is unlike anything I’ve encountered before—akin to trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle. If that sounds like an excuse, well, it probably is. But hey, let’s laugh at my foibles together, because trust me, if you haven’t wrestled with a TLR, you’re bound to stumble along the way too.
The journey begins innocently enough, the sun setting as I embark on my photographic escapade. Two shots down, and all seems well. But with the encroaching darkness, I failed to anticipate my utter ineptitude with this camera in low light conditions.
Armed with a tripod but sans tripod mount, I stumble through the dusk, it’s a scene straight out of a slapstick comedy—minus the laugh track. As I fumbled through the darkness I realised there’s a lesson to be learned amidst the chaos. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to salvage a shred of dignity from this debacle.
The Yashica 635
Now, let’s talk about the star of the show: the Yashica 635. Picture it as the middle child between the illustrious Rolleiflex and the humble Lubitel or Seagull. It may not boast the prestige of its elder siblings, but it holds its own in the quirky world of TLRs.
Dating back to 1958, this camera boasts a unique feature: the ability to shoot 35mm film with the help of an adapter—a rare gem for collectors, indeed. But beyond its novelty, the 635 operates like most TLRs, with its dual lenses and intricate mechanics.
Ah, but here’s where the fun begins—or rather, the frustration. You see, unlike modern SLRs with their handy prisms, TLRs present a topsy-turvy world. What you see through the viewfinder is but a mirror image of reality, leading to a dizzying dance of lefts and rights as I strive to frame the perfect shot.
But fear not, for science offers solace in the form of habituation. Yes, dear viewer, with time and practice, even the most topsy-turvy of worlds becomes familiar terrain. Just ask any psychology student who’s endured the “upside-down goggles” experiment—though I suspect their misadventures pale in comparison to mine.
Undeterred by my initial failures, I venture forth once more, this time bathed in the forgiving light of day. And lo and behold, progress! Though not without its hiccups, my second outing with the Yashica yields glimpses of its true character—quirks and all.
A Flawed but Beautiful Camera
Let’s not overlook its flaws. From film loading mishaps to the peril of double exposures, the 635 is not without its challenges. Yet, amidst the chaos lies beauty, because when it sings, medium format magic awaits, with its dreamy bokeh and timeless allure.
And let us not forget the charm of street photography with a TLR—unobtrusive, nostalgic, and occasionally mistaken for a relic of days gone by. For in a world of sleek digital wonders, there’s a certain romance to be found in the mechanical embrace of a Yashica.
But I digress. Let us return to the heart of the matter: the joy of failure. For in our missteps lie the seeds of growth, the kernels of wisdom waiting to be harvested. So here’s to the Yashica 635 and all who dare to dance with her—a flawed beauty in a world of perfection.
As Winston Churchill once said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal, and it’s the courage to continue that counts.” So here’s to courage, to laughter, and to many more misadventures behind the lens.
Let’s embark on a journey into the heart of one of photography’s most captivating elements: light. Ah, yes, light—the ethereal essence that dances upon the canvas of our visual narratives, weaving tales of brilliance and shadow, of illumination and obscurity. But what truly defines this enigmatic force?
Allow me to shed some light on the matter—pun intended. We all know light is the radiant energy manifested in the form of electromagnetic radiation, with wavelengths spanning from 380 to 750 nanometers, perceptible to the human eye. However, let us not confine ourselves rigid constraints of scientific definition. Let’s delve into the realm of poetry, where light becomes glancing, gleaming, glimmering, and beyond – and that’s just the G words.
Light shifts and changes. While our friends in the northern hemisphere find themselves enveloped in the cloak of darkness, here in my corner of the world, we find ourselves basking in the relentless embrace of summer’s scorching sun, leaving the venerable Sunny 16 rule in faded tatters. Here it goes up to 22.
Light and the Nikon L35AD
The Nikon L35AD is a date-back edition of the esteemed Nikon L35AF. This camera deserves a full review but let us not be hasty; today, our focus lies solely on its ability to harness that most precious of commodities—light.
Don’t expect an objective and scientific treatment of the subject here, though. There’s nothing objective about film. Film imbues each frame with a unique character, a personality all its own. In the case of my chosen film, Kodak Ultramax, we have a medium contrast stock, suitable for a myriad of conditions. However, as the astute among you may have already discerned, there were… complications. Yes, complications stemming from my own hubris.
There might have been a few errors during the development process. The results were a bit underdeveloped resulting in thin negatives. But I don’t blame the Nikon L35AD here. There error was in the one factor I could control – me.
Direction, Intensity, Quality, and Continuity: A Quest for the Perfect Light
So let’s try to break this concept down. Light has direction, intensity, quality, and continuity. Direction is probably the most obvious. As a young photographer, I was often reminded to shoot with the light at our backs, bathing our subjects in a soft, even glow. But that simplicity belies the true complexity of light’s nuances. Shoot from the side, you get more dimensionality and with the light behind your subject you get all the fun of silhouettes and halos.
Intensity, too, plays a pivotal role in shaping our photography. From the blistering radiance of the Australian sun to the gentle caress of cloud-filtered light, each variation presents its own unique challenges and opportunities. But sheer intensity isn’t everything. Whether crisp and clear or soft and diffused, the quality of light infuses our images with a palpable sense of atmosphere.
Finally, continuity. This often overlooked dimension of light isn’t so much about the light itself as the scene. Shadows dance across the landscape, reflections shimmer upon the water’s surface, and every object becomes a player in the grand symphony of illumination. How things in the scene, reflect, block and break up the light is a key component of being able to play with it.
Embrace the Light: A Call to Arms
In the end, whatever conditions you find yourself in, cast aside the shackles of convention and venture forth into the boundless realm of photographic exploration and embrace light. Let’s revel in the myriad possibilities that light presents, bending it to our will, shaping it to suit our vision. In the end, it is not the rules that define us, but our willingness to challenge them—to forge our own path in pursuit of luminous enlightenment.
So go forth, and may the light illuminate your path as you capture the world’s wonders through the lens of your camera.
Ah, the allure of the Leica M6, a camera to flaunt wealth and artistic prowess alike. But why bother with ostentation when you can blend in with the proletariat using a humble companion like the Nikon N55? Sure, you won’t garner as many admiring glances, but the stares you do receive may be tinged with curiosity or bemusement, which, let’s face it, is attention nonetheless.
Let me regale you with the tale of my photographic escapades through the bustling streets of Shanghai, armed not with a Leica but with the unassuming Nikon N55 and a curious film stock mysteriously labeled as 800T, procured from the upscale online emporium that is Ali Express. With this unassuming combination in hand, I embarked on a journey to capture the essence of the city.
As I peered through the viewfinder of the N55, a sense of anticipation mingled with uncertainty. Something seemed amiss – the exposure appeared off-kilter, suggesting a potential mismatch between the film speed and the camera’s settings. Despite this initial hiccup, I resolved to soldier on, embracing the idiosyncrasies of the N55, which stubbornly refused to recognize DX codes, leaving me with no option but to compensate for the overexposure manually.
Undeterred by technical hiccups, I ventured forth into the labyrinthine streets of Shanghai’s historic neighborhoods, where brighter conditions finally afforded me the opportunity for more favorable shooting conditions. The results, while not without their flaws, offered glimpses of everyday life in this vibrant city – from the hustle and bustle of the marketplace to the quiet serenity of a secluded alleyway.
Now, let’s delve into the enigma that was the 800T film. Despite my initial reservations about its origins and processing, it performed admirably, even when subjected to a two-stop overexposure. A cautious approach to development paid dividends, yielding clean, balanced negatives that belied the film’s budget-friendly origins.
Yet, amidst the mundane scenes captured on film, a few moments stood out like diamonds in the rough – a fleeting glimpse of Chinese line dancing in a sunlit square, the mesmerizing interplay of light and shadow on the city’s architectural facades, and the endearing charm of canine companions frolicking in a local park. These ephemeral encounters served as poignant reminders of the richness of life, transcending mere visual aesthetics.
The Nikon N55 and 28-80mm f/3.3-5.6G
But what of the N55 itself? Despite its plastic construction and finicky autofocus, it proved to be a stalwart travel companion, compact enough to slip into carry-on luggage yet robust enough to withstand the rigors of urban exploration. Its quirks and limitations only added to its charm, serving as a testament to the resilience of analog photography in an increasingly digital age.
A new roll of film, this time some Kodak Colorplus 200 and while it didn’t give me those same classic Cinestill halations or cinematic tones, it was more than able to capture the veracity of the streets with its muted palate.
And let us not overlook the unsung hero of this photographic odyssey – the 28-80mm kit lens. Despite its modest specifications, it delivered surprisingly sharp and contrasty images, a testament to the craftsmanship of its optics. In the hands of a skilled photographer, it transformed mundane scenes into captivating vignettes, elevating the humble N55 to new heights of artistic expression.
Great for Travel
In the end, the Nikon N55 may not have the cachet of a Leica or the technical prowess of a modern DSLR, but it more than held its own in capturing the essence of Shanghai’s bustling streets. It’s small and light so it won’t break your back on a long day of shooting. It’s cheap and even cheaper looking so no-one is going to mug you for it. Its kit lens is surprisingly sharp and it’s quick, smooth, and responsive. So, if you find yourself in need of a reliable travel companion, look no further than this unassuming gem of a camera – the Nikon N55.
Today, I’m embarking on a journey into the world of vintage cameras with the Nikon N2020, dating back to 1986. The burning question on my mind: Is it as sharp as its name suggests, or does it fall into the category of outdated relics like acid wash jeans and hypercolour t-shirts? Join me as I set out to uncover the truth about this iconic piece of photography history.
Stepping back into the vibrant decade of the 1980s, I can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over me. But beyond the retro vibes, the Nikon N2020, also known as the Nikon F-501 in some parts of the world, captures the essence of its era with its sleek design and futuristic name. It’s like a time capsule, transporting us back to a period when the future seemed dazzlingly bright, and everyone rocked sunglasses at night.
Released in 1986, the Nikon N2020 emerged amidst a musical landscape dominated by hits like Duran Duran’s “Girl’s on Film” and J Geils Band’s “Freeze Frame”. It’s a time when every song seemed to begin with the sound of a motorized film winder, evoking a sense of nostalgia for a bygone era. The camera itself continues the sleek aesthetic of its predecessors, maintaining the iconic black exterior with red highlights that epitomized the 80s. It’s a nod to an era characterized by bold fashion choices and vibrant color palettes.
Despite being crafted from polycarbonate rather than brass, the Nikon N2020 feels surprisingly solid in my hands. Weighing in at 604g, it’s a testament to the durability of 80s design. Paired with a Nikon 28-105mm lens, the camera exudes an air of sophistication, blending seamlessly with the black plastic body. But beyond its aesthetic appeal, the lens proves to be a reliable companion, delivering sharp images throughout the zoom range with minimal distortion and chromatic aberration.
As I embark on a Sunday walk at my local beach to put the Nikon N2020 to the test, I encounter a minor hiccup with the film. However, this setback is quickly resolved with a second roll, allowing me to fully immerse myself in the shooting experience. Despite occasional struggles in bright light and the absence of a shutter priority mode, the camera impresses with its fast shutter speed and versatile shooting modes.
But let’s not overlook the quirks and flaws of the Nikon N2020. Its ergonomic design leaves much to be desired, and the motor drive isn’t exactly discreet, announcing its presence with a noticeable whir. Autofocus can be hit or miss, occasionally settling just forward or backward from the selected focus point. However, the bright viewfinder and LED focusing aid help mitigate these issues, ensuring a relatively smooth shooting experience.
Despite its imperfections, the Nikon N2020 boasts some impressive features for its time. From autofocus modes to TTL metering, it offers a level of control that’s commendable for a camera of its era. And with the ability to use both manual and DX settings for ISO, it provides flexibility in various shooting conditions.
As I reflect on my experience with the Nikon N2020, I can’t help but appreciate its timeless appeal. While it may not be perfect, it captures the essence of the 1980s in all its glory. And much like the era it represents, it’s a reminder that perfection is elusive, but beauty lies in imperfection. So, while I may not be flawless myself, I can embrace the retro charm of the Nikon N2020 and moonwalk through life with confidence. After all, in a world where nothing is perfect, sometimes it’s the quirks that make us truly memorable.
Mark McMahon 