I face plenty of challenges with the big digital gorilla every time I use it, so I may be a bit out of my league to revert on occasion to film, but there is a certain humility in the way a vintage camera feels, more elegant than the latest point-and-shoot. Autofocus schmocus. There may be a light meter but you can blame the user on every photographic error. This camera doesn’t lie. And it will spank me, ignoring the whining and my tantrums like a German nanny.
The woman who sold this camera to me tells the story of a friend whose father was a photojournalist living in San Francisco during the 60s. He died, and his daughter later gave this camera away to her good friend, this woman. On Saturday she unswaddled this machine out of a rough-hewn black velvet square and presented it to me like a nurse handing me my newborn child.
I can now cross off #24 on my list.
***
The next day, in Palo Alto, I purchased # 9 on the list for a few more bucks so that I could finally have the full and dirty canvas for all the otherwise pristine, bokeh’d shots my 50mm normally disguises. This way, all the empty cans of beer and Red Bull will not go unnoticed in our house when I snap a photo at home, indoors on a Sunday morning.
None of this would really be so ‘black and white’ were it not for Andrea, who both inspired me to make a new year of 37 and consider getting this particular Pentax K1000 camera.
Ultimately, perhaps, I have that awesome Damon to thank; after all, this was a birthday gift for turning 37 in the first place. (thanks, D!)
