The first camera I had was a hand-me-down. It was vintage, really, a kind with a strap that went around my neck and hung to my stomach so I’d have to look down into the viewfinder. I think it was some model of Kodak Duaflex. What I’d see through the viewfinder wasn’t very clear and, as was so often the case with old cameras, I really wouldn’t know what the picture would look like until it was developed. And that meant using up the whole roll of film first then taking it to a little hut in the middle of the Kmart parking lot, then leaving it for a week or so with a guy who looked like John Fogerty, probably because he was John Fogerty.
Most of the pictures I took with it were disappointing. I remember one very specifically that I took on a very cold winter day. There was a vacant lot behind my house that I loved exploring. It had a high rocky wall at the that held all sorts of treasures such as a cache of smoky quartz crystals and brachiopod fossils, and what looked like a dinosaur tooth but was probably just an oddly-shaped rock.
There was one spot where water trickled down over a series of jutting rocks, runoff from the hill above it. I transplanted some moss to one of the rocks, and some staghorn lichen, and some British soldier lichen with its crimson caps. All of it grew really well, a strange miniature rock garden of my very own.
The day I took the picture the water trickling down had frozen into icicles. I wasn’t worried about my garden; even then I knew lichens are ridiculously tough and can even survive in space. I just thought the whole scene was beautiful: mottled grays and greens, and even traces of azure from the lichen. I probably took as many as three pictures—film was limited and expensive both to buy and process, but I still wanted to make sure I wanted to capture the scene. What came back was dull, blurry, barely recognizable to me, and I was the one who’d taken the picture.
I realize now that even with a better camera it would have been difficult to get a proper picture. There wasn’t a clear focal point, no real composition. The best I could have done was focus on one of the lichens but they were obscured by ice. The sky was overcast so the lighting was awful. With all that I actually liked the picture. It was an excellent lesson in what not to do in photography and even now, with digital cameras that can show you exactly how your picture’s going to turn out before you take it, I think about how challenging it can be to even get a halfway decent shot. So many factors, which the photographer has varying degrees of control over, have to come together. I still haven’t managed it.
The music video for Bishop Allen’s Click, Click, Click has a camera similar to the one I had. And it’s just a fun video and song.
Wow, I remember those days, having to wait so long to get the pictures back only to find that none of them turned out. Digital cameras really are amazing, although they never look as good as the old Kodak Brownies or bellows cameras, which I happen to collect 😊
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As easy as digital cameras make picture taking now I miss the drama of waiting for a photo to come back so I’d see how it turned out. It made the pictures more special and I can understand why you collect Kodak Brownies.
Picture perfect, Chris. I love to focus on your unique view of the world.