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"Originality is the fine art of remembering what you hear,
but forgetting where you heard it."
-Laurence J. Peter
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"Read not to contradict and confute,
nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider."
-Francis Bacon
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No, Iīm not psychic. Nor delusional. I hope you didnīt think that of me? The title of this column is about something else
entirely.
You see, I like photography. Nothing too arty-farty, just good photographs of landscapes, architecture and things. Ah,
there are those "things" again. Everything is a "thing", of course. And you do see things when you're into photography.
What I just mean to say, is that you look around you somewhat differently when you're a photo fanatic. You have this
imaginary viewfinder in front of your eyes, and you are, subconsciously or otherwise, constantly framing views all around
you. And if there's one you like, out comes the camera (which you try to always have with you, naturally) and you make
an attempt to preserve that view forever.
That's basically what photography is all about, I think. For me, at least. Preserving views as memories, as keepsakes, or
as a kind of personal art. I think for me it is more the memories than the art that got me into it. Even as a small boy,
I tried to preserve things. No, not nature - I wasnīt very nature-minded as a young lad. No, I mean memories again. Take
fun-fairs, for instance ("carnivals", if you insist on using the American version). Other youngsters would spend the money
their parents gave them to go to the fun-fair on rides and candy, mostly. Oh, I went on rides as well. But I always tried
to do something that would leave me with something I could keep. I would try to win a prize in the shooting gallery, for
instance. However small and insignificant the prize, anything I won would go home with me and give me a feeling that
somehow I had preserved the fun of the experience. I would long treasure it, look at it, think back, and enjoy.
When I got just a little older, in my teens, the fun-fair became less important to me. But the inclination was still there.
Anything that was fun or important, I would somehow want to preserve. The summer holidays, for instance, especially if my
parents decided to spend those abroad. I was still young when I tried an ancient folding camera my grandfather had left my
father, and he in turn left it to me. I still have it. I took some nice black and white pictures with it, although operating
it was a bit, well, a hassle, to be honest. Next up was a plastic Keystone 125 compact camera. It looked a lot like the disposable
camera's you see a lot nowadays, only bigger and less colourful. And it was so easy to use, that it helped me preserve many
fond memories - the fountains and the Bärengraben in Berne (Switzerland), the world's highest church tower in Ulm (Germany),
family gatherings, dinner parties, and lots of other things I couldnīt possibly remember now if I didnīt still have those
pictures.
But, of course, I wasnīt satisfied with that forever. When I was fourteen, I made my acquaintance with someone who owned
a single lens reflex camera (SLR) and who printed his own pictures. So I took a paper round and after some hard work and saving
every penny, I was the proud owner of a Pentor SLR and my very own dark room. I was one of those lucky teens who had his own
running water in his bedroom, so I didnīt have to occupy the bathroom for my darkroom activities. My bedroom did have a huge
window, though, and my dad and I made my very own black blinds using cheap agricultural plastic and a wooden stick. Before
long I was really snapping away, and making my own prints.
When my brother started taking a new friend of his, Fred, home a lot, Fred of course noticed what my great passion was.
And he asked why I didnīt do
anything in colour. If I wanted to, he could supply me with large quantities of colour slide film cheaply. (Actually, I seem
to remember most of them were given to me free of charge, and I still donīt understand how Fred did that. Thanks anyway, Fred!)
"If I wanted to..."! Of course I wanted to! Having just been given a much nicer camera, a Minolta SRT 101b, for passing my finals
(and getting good grades, something my parents had apparently not expected - no faith in me...),
I was anxious to try out these new possibilities.
So I entered the world of colour. And it really was a brave new world for me. It opened up whole new possibilties. I took my
Minolta everywhere. I especially liked the photo opportunities I had when I was offered a trip to the United States for free
by a generous airline, Lufthansa, which had just opened a new air route from Frankfurt and Amsterdam to Los Angeles. And,
of course, going to England and Wales for two years was a bit of luck for someone who likes to photograph landscapes
and architecture. I had never taken so many pictures of mountains and castles before! (Never make the mistake of calling
Welsh mountains "hills"! Or worse - calling Wales "England"! God forbid...)
And then, one day, I dropped my camera on alighting a train. And those paving stones they used for the platform were tougher,
I am afraid to say, than my Minolta. Normally that would have been a great excuse to buy a nice new camera. But the travel
insurance company also found an excuse, and refused to pay for the damage to, or replacement of, my camera. And since I was
a young father who unfortunately had just lost his job, paying for the replacement from my own funds was out of the
question. I still had a used, vintage Zorki rangefinder which I had picked up cheaply at an auction during the time I was
living in South Wales, but I didn't have a working exposure meter for it anymore, and so I put that camera away as well.
It would be years before I continued with my hobby. Over twenty years later, I still didn't have a budget that enabled me
to really pick up my old hobby like I wanted to, but ... well, read on, and you'll see.
My wife has always been into crafts and arts. She has tried out everything under the sun: knitting (by hand and machine),
drawing, crocheting, weaving, painting, water colouring ... you name it, she's tried it (except for pottery, which she still
desperately wants to try). And one of her brothers once gave her his old camera when he bought a Nikon SLR. She used it,
but not very fanatically. And since it was a bit of a hassle to carry it around with its separate exposure meter and all
the extra bits, it first got into a forgotten corner, and later into a forgotten box. (It must still be around somewhere,
but since itīs in a forgotten box, weīve forgotten where it is exactly.) Years later, when she had her own craft company,
she concluded one day that it would be expedient to have a good camera to make pictures of the samples she made for her
business. So, although our private budget would not have allowed such a purchase, she was able to buy a really nice Canon
1000Fn SLR camera. When she started using it more and more, my desire to take my own photographs flared up. But I wanted
my own camera, for obvious reasons, and I couldnīt afford a similar purchase privately, so I pushed my longing away. And
then I got interested in eBay and the whole concept of being able to buy almost anything from almost anywhere in the world
without much trouble, and without much money.
Oh, my equipment is not spectacular. I wouldnīt mind a Canon EOS or Nikon digital single lens reflex one bit. But I am quite
happy with my second-hand Canon EOS IX with a Soligor 28-220 mm zoom lens. And I love the additional equipment I wanted when
I was a young boy, but couldnīt afford at the time - among which a now vintage mini rangefinder: a Rollei 35b,
which has quickly become one of my best-loved traveling companions.
I havenīt had these cameras for very long yet, but I have taken them everywhere I've gone, and they have given me some really
nice photos. Some good enough to show to the world, and many others simply as a nice way for me to preserve memories of
travels and people.
And since then, I have experienced again what I described above: I see things differently. I appreciate different clouds and
colours in the skies more. I love tiny little details in flowers more. I see potential pictures all around me. Itīs a different
way of seeing things. In fact, it is seeing things I hadnīt really noticed for over twenty years, and it has really re-opened
the world for me in ways I had forgotten about.
View my portfolio? Click here.
Other column subjects: Click here!
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Disclaimer
This column is only for the purpose of entertaining, educating or
giving food for thought. Any persons, characters, countries, institutions or groups
mentioned are - as a matter of principle - fictional: any resemblance to existing ones is
purely by chance. ;-)
If the content of this column offends anyone, please accept the
columnist's apologies: no offense was intended.
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column noun
1a: a vertical arrangement of items on a page
b: a vertical section of a printed page
c: an accumulation arranged vertically
d: a department or feature (as of humor, sports,
literary reviewing, or gossip) in a newspaper or periodical, under a permanent
title and generally reflecting the writer's individual tastes and point of view.
2: a supporting pillar
3: a form, structure, or formation shaped like a column
(Webster's Dictionary.)
Relevant reads:
Look-Alikes: The More You Look, the More You See!
The Basic Book of Photography
Masterclass in Photography
Creative Nature and outdoor Photography
Understanding Exposure: How to Shoot Great Photographs
How to Price Vintage Cameras
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