In Which We Hope They Leave Their Cameras To Us

My $5 Addiction

by JAMIE BECK

Once you start collecting vintage cameras it becomes an obsession. I was at a flea market in Texas and I'll never forget the moment when I saw the first of many vintage cameras which would come into my possession (insert evil laugh). It was a Polaroid ColorPack II Land Camera and was like the women of California: plastic, mysterious, big nobs, and cheap. The first Polaroid I pulled out of it took me to a magic land; it was instant gratification on an acid trip.

I was hooked and bought three more of the same cameras as backups. That was my first buying experience. I loved the thrill of learning what film it took, if they still made the film, where to buy it, how to load it and what it will look like in the end. The picture is the ultimate prize and with so many factors, some controllable and some not, and with the old cameras you're never exactly sure how it will turn out. I imagine this was the feeling of discovery the fathers of photography experienced. You know the basic idea of how it will work, but there is something about the way a camera sees that your eyes can't. The glimpse in to that world is what keeps us coming back. Then you're standing there holding an image that feels unique, that exists beyond a computer screen. It belongs to you: there is only one and you created it.

The first camera I ever held was my mom's old Honeywell Pentax Spotmatic with 50mm lens. She purchased it some time in the late 70's and passed it on to me. There was no Auto or Program function on the camera, so I had to learn how to use it the way servicemen learn to disassemble and reassemble rifles. I guess you could say I was armed and dangerous, locked and loaded.

Once I became addicted to old cameras I learned a thing or two about how a camera works. Always check the shutter. Does it open and close without getting stuck? Is it fast at 1/500th and slow at 1/4th? Does the aperture open and close as you turn the dial? Do they still make the batteries? The film? How is the rainbow on the lens? Are there light leaks in the bellows? Is there a light meter and does it work? How does it focus and do I really feel like carrying a measuring tape with me? Is this camera high maintenance like I am?

Then you research if you can problem solve. For example, I've used black electrical tape to seal holes and rolled my own 120 film onto vintage 620 reels to fit into a Kodak Duaflex, but the biggest undertaking was turning a Polaroid Land Camera 800 (a beast of a beauty) into a 120 film camera.

When I purchased the 190X Reflex Zoom 8mm Movie Camera I had to buy the film in New York City, have it processed in California, and transferred to video tape in Oklahoma.

After you buy one camera there will be another, then another, and then a backup for your backup. You will see one in a flea market or on ebay you think, "This is it, the last of the great cameras, it must be mine!" Onset dizzy spells and an empty wallet later you own a piece of history, each light catching box different from the next.

How will this one photograph? Could this be the Pandora's box I've been searching for? Then you feel the anger of disappointment when you discover they quit making the film in 1960, you look at your new camera and it lets out a whimper.

You'll cheer on things such as The Impossible Project, visit museums and wonder what camera or film took the image hanging before you, and you'll keep the New York Times Polaroid gallery tab open as inspiration.

Like old cars, vintage cameras they are built to to last and fill with memories. You become that girl (or guy) with "that thing" in your family or on the street. But the good news is that people stop to talk with you. Family members find forgotten cameras in the attic to pass down to you. You learn how to capture the perfect image you see in your mind so the moment is always yours and you become impressed with yourself for learning how to use an EV scale or applying the sunny 16 rule successfully you swore in high school photography class was useless. After enough practice you can even transcend time: my hope is that some day my hypothetical kids will go though old photographs of mine and wonder how it was possible I was alive in 1940 (some 40+ years before my actual birth date).

My friends and I talk about vintage cameras in whispers like we are trading stock market secrets in the back of speakeasys. As with any good addiction, I even have my "supplier", kept top secret so I always have first pick. However, now that you know my lips are sealed I will give you some advice: flea Markets and antique stores outside of major cities have the cheapest cameras and in the best condition. I wouldn't go near a New York City flea market but major cities do have used departments in photography stores with some serious vintage equipment such as Hasselblad and Leica. My college mentor gave me a Hasselblad 500C and it's magic: like seeing what's on the other side of Dorothy's rainbow. For everything else, we hope when the others die they leave their cameras to us.

I find it funny that consumer photography started in the 19th century with Kodak's philosophy of "You push the button, we'll do the rest" and that's right back where we are now in the digital world. Maybe it's the mystery left in these old light boxes that is never really "what you see is what you get" when it comes to the images it produces or the limiting factor of film's physical media. In any case, I like going to bed at night knowing that in my living room is a trunk full of my life and memories: old cameras, negatives, Polaroids, and prints that anyone could open up now or 100 years from now and know me, and maybe even be inspired to pick up a camera.

Jamie Beck is a contributor to This Recording. She is a photographer living in New York City. Her blog can be seen here and her twitter here.

New York City was my first project with my vintage 8mm video camera I bought for $30. Walking the streets, capturing all the people and places keeps me in love with this city:

"Save Your Love" — Sally Shapiro (mp3)

"Looking at the Stars" — Sally Shapiro (mp3) highly recommended

"Miracle" — Sally Shapiro (mp3)

In Which We Invent An Excuse Not To Draw

More Than A Year Later

by CHLOE WOJEWODA

It started as an excuse to not to draw. I was never gifted, in that regard, yet I’d always felt like an artist. Or maybe I’d always felt like I should be an artist. Whatever the case, it started as an excuse not to waste hours on line drawings and still be able to express myself. What started as a second choice alternative has turned into the thing I feel most passionate about.

Photography literally means light drawing. In a way, I decided to use what was presented to me and redraw it to fit my own vision. No more starting from scratch. Taking photos is a rebuilding process. I’m given a moment, a scene, a face. It’s my job to transform the real, the mundane, into something magical and memorable.

It’s almost like sculpture. Given a basic form, my task is to carve away the unneeded, unwanted parts and reveal what’s within. Often the choosing of elements for an image, the creative license I am given, allows me to provide a more honest representation of my subject.

It’s been just over a year since I first picked up a camera for serious purposes. Since then, I’ve transformed as an artist and a person. I’m still changing. I still have more than room to learn. The beauty of it is that the more I learn, and even the more I fail and have to pick myself back up again, the more I love what I do. I am Chloe Wojewoda and I am a teenaged photographer.

“Untitled Square.” May 7, 2009. This is my friend and most willing model, Meg. I was shooting portraits for my photography class, and after finishing my roll took a few digital shots. I love this one, because the image has so many distinct sections and layers. The overlapping panels, the sloping hill, the section of trees above the shed, Meg’s straight profile. It didn’t seem like an image I would create. It was breaking out of my comfort zone.

“Stairs.” January 10, 2009. This is my friend Emily. We were trespassing in a nearby city, it was less than 20 degrees and we only had one pair of gloves. I love the different pops of color against the otherwise bland brick wall.

“Having Arrived at Lake Champlain” July 2, 2009. Recently I’ve been exploring film photography, and have fallen in love with the distinct tones and colors that film provides. This photo, taken in Vermont, is one of my favorites to date, because of its expansive scenery, asymmetrical composition, and easily identifiable moment. Meg was looking out at the lake, trying to decide what she should take a photograph of.

"Long Walk.” July 16, 2009. Meg just got her license, and she and I went to the Dam a few miles from my home. The landscape is just so breathtaking.

Her lone, tiny, figure coupled with the vast, encompassing beauty of the scenery is something I’m happy I saw and captured.

"Jim and Daisy.” December 30, 2008. I had been trolling around flickr one day and discovered the almost subculture of Lomography. Lomography is the use of plastic toy cameras, and almost always 120 mm film. I was so intrigued that I bought myself a Diana F+. This photo is from my very first roll of 120 film. My father is leaning over the stove, cooking. His nose and forehead are next to a little framed print, “Daisy.” Daisy is my mother’s name. I love this photo, despite its obvious technical flaws. It is just so warm and reminds me of home and family. Also, I believe it’s just kooky enough to work.

“Redhead.” December 29, 2009. This is a self-portrait taken the night I dyed my hair bright red. I love the high contrast and in your face composition. Lately, I’ve been subduing colors during my editing process, but this image reminds me why I love saturation and contrast.

Chloe Wojewoda is a contributor to This Recording. She tumbls here. Her flickr is here.

"Fidelity" - Regina Spektor (mp3)

"Spectacular Views" - Rilo Kiley (mp3)

"New Romantic" - Laura Marling (mp3)