The Nikon D50 appeals to me because it sits somewhere between the small Nikon D40 and the prosumer Nikon D70/D70s. With a plastic body that’s closer in style to 1990s Nikon film SLRs like the F65, it seems a world away from Nikon’s current black, sleek, industrial-feel mirrorless cameras and Z-mount lenses. The silver-bodied D50 I have may be technologically long in the tooth, but the 6.1 megapixel sensor still packs an imaging punch when used with careful intent.

The Nikkor 50mm 1.8 AF-D is one of my favourite lenses, and I can use it on the D50 because the body includes a screw-drive motor. Not only is the lens light and small, but the glass happens to be sharp and practically distortion-free. On the D50, it’s a perfect match, squeezing everything from the 6.1 megapixel CCD sensor. Even at base 200 ISO, the D50 is very quiet when it comes to digital noise.

This is the sort of camera and lens combination that invites contemplative photography at sunset on an overly warm eve. Old buildings, weathered window frames, and glowing reflections put me in mind to simply wander and open my eyes to vast possibility. Something about the terracotta on blue, framed by red brick, drew my imagination – ordinary, understated, usually unnoticed, and quiet.

Getting close to the yellow bars and setting the aperture to F4.5 allowed me to sufficiently blur them, communicate depth and dimensionality, and still maintain excellent sharpness in the peeling paint and the smiling figure – the subject of the photo.

The Nikon D50 fills an old DSLR usage gap for me – small and light enough to pack with another camera for the day; the ability to use AF-D lenses like the aforementioned Nikkor 50mm 1.8 due to the included screw-drive focus motor; and a top-plate LCD that communicates the most common camera settings at a glance.