Pocketable plastic fun and the Nikon D200 ~ a day on the coast with two cameras

The Nikon D200 and the Kodak Charmera – two very different cameras on the surface. The D200 is built like a magnesium-alloy tank and the Kodak Charmera is a tiny plastic toy. There’s no comparison when talking about image quality, of course, yet I continue to return to the fact that we can freeze time through the use of these devices, whatever their technical limitations.

The act of making a photo has become so culturally habitual – so intertwined with commerce and self-promotion – that the initial magic has long since been lost. We’re a long way from the very first photo made ~ “View from the window at Le Gras”.

California Surf – Kodak Charmera

It’s strange to think the toy Kodak’s 1.6 megapixels features vastly more resolution than the very first photo made using a camera obscura over an 8 hour exposure time. Marked in technological milestones, human lives seem small. Our lives seem smaller still when we pick up to examine even the dullest stone that lies at the foot of a worn hill that was once a mountain.

Fern in high-key – Kodak Charmera

In colour, the photo above is washed out and the highlights burned beyond editing. In black and white, the photo becomes a small study in shape, direction, pattern, and shadow, with a high-key aesthetic. It was a single moment seized as we ordered food.

Exploring the wreckage – Kodak Charmera

We chanced upon a burned out ruin. I walked around fallen red brick and charred wall cladding, immersing myself in light and shadow.

Ghosts in broken rooms – Kodak Charmera
Angry scrawls – Kodak Charmera
Nails and holes in the wall – Kodak Charmera

I couldn’t forget the Nikon D200 in my camera bag. It pulled on my left shoulder as it reminded me that it’s services were available – every bit the prosumer DSLR of 2005 and seemingly so distant from that first photograph in the early 19th century.

One might wonder if there exists a linear technological line between cave art on rough walls and the recording of the world to modern digital storage media? It’s hard to imagine a world without the technology to record ourselves and the world, yet we’ve always sought a type of crude immortality through the things we leave behind – whether recorded on cave walls 60 thousand years ago or posted online. We try to leave a mark before we leave.

Blue walls and red brick – Nikon D200

Rarely do I have the opportunity to get so close to a ruin like this. Walking over the rubble, the soles of my sneakers adjusting to the sharp edges and angles of detritus, I reflected on the passage of time.

Ghosts in slivers of light – Nikon D200

Calm and chaos ~ a short walk

The end of year holidays have provided rare opportunities to explore city, country, and local suburbs. It’s nice to throw the Kodak Charmera into a pocket and walk around an unfamiliar neighbourhood, keeping an open mind and allowing the small things to catch my attention and focus. The unobtrustive nature of the little Kodak also means that I can largely remain unnoticed on suburban streets.

Brown beams and blue sky – Kodak Chamera

The fantastic Community Hub and Library in this suburb stands as a testament to the vision and efforts of locals and politicians to ensure that the area, known to have many endemic social, economic, and health problems, provides community, resources, recreation, and safe places to gather. Walking through tall glass doors, the immediate quiet and calm stands in stark contrast to daily incidents of drug-affected raging at the air and the sad turmoil of embattled relationships that seem to define the street corners.

Crossing and counter-balance

Standing before the prize-winning photographic prints adorning the gallery space in the library, I think of the steep expense of the listed camera gear used by the photographers versus the social conditions and poverty outside.

A small photo of a nine year old girl, brandishing a Nikon Z9 and a giant lens, thicker than her arm, stares back at me from an artist card placed under the runner-up picture she entered into the competition – a photo of a dead shark on a tropical beach. Her hands curl around a camera body that cost thousands and a lens that cost even more. And here I am with my $50 Kodak Charmera, looking out of the library window at the old cemetery that was here before the shopping centre, pondering the absurdity of it all.

Save lives – Kodak Charmera

Before and after edits from the Kodak Charmera ~ in colour this time

It’s almost crazy that I would take a drive to a nearby country town around sunset with both my Nikon Z5 and the tiny toy Kodak Charmera and only use the toy camera. But that’s exactly what I did. It’s as though it was altogether too much effort for me to open up the bag, switch on the Nikon, and make a few photos. Pulling the Charmera from my pocket as hundreds of fast-moving black ants toiled about my sneakers seemed easier and lessened the risk of them getting a foothold in my socks. The bites are known to be painful!

This time, I used the standard colour filter of the charming little Kodak. Dynamic range is woeful and the colours are washed out, including ugly colour shifts, but that’s all part of the allure of the lo-fi look. I pushed the saturation, added a touch of warmth with the white balance slider, reduced clarity to blur the photo a little, and added regular fine film grain in Exposure X7:

Blue graffiti on the old bridge (edited) – Kodak Charmera

Here’s the original version:

Blue graffiti on the old bridge (unedited)

Yet another nice piece of graffiti below. You can see the purple colour shift at the top of the frame. This is the edited version – same edits in Exposure X7 as the previous photo:

Light blue graffiti on the old bridge (edited) – Kodak Charmera

Here’s the original unedited version:

Light blue graffiti on the old bridge (unedited)

In both cases, I think the edits reduce some of the harshness and add subtle visual interest via the film grain.

Graffiti and toy trucks late in the day ~ Nikon F80 loaded with Fuji Superia 200 colour 35mm film

I need a distraction from thoughts more serious and sobering, so here I am on Christmas Eve scanning the latest batch of film prints from my Nikon F80. One of the most endearing (or potentially annoying, depending on when you were born) things about using film is the journey of getting through a roll so it can be developed. There’s a prevailing attitude that each frame of film is to be savoured – each shutter press is an adventure in the slow, deliberate, and mindful approach to making photos. But sometimes, you just want to blow through the last few exposures to get the canister into the local lab.

Tiny toy trucks in the sun – Nikon F80 and Fuji Superia 35mm colour film, overexposed by 1 stop

I think I fared a little better with this roll than my last. I was quite frugal and deliberate this time around with the old Nikon, resulting in several more keepers. The expired Fuji Superia film features a lovely fine grain and exposure latitude. As much as Kodak Ultramax 400 is the everyperson of the modern consumer film world, Fuji have made some superb emulsions over the years.

Graffiti on The Tanks, near Whyalla South Australia

I’ll admit that using the Nikon F80 in recent weeks seems to have revived my interest in rehabilitating my film cameras. Sadly, I have found so far that some of them are simply not working any longer. Some are victims of my forgetfulness ~ a lesson in never leaving cheap batteries inside cameras to leak rivers of toxic sludge and potassium carbonate. Others have succumbed to the dusty decades and have slow shutters, wonky gears, faded rangefinder markings, and internals that have simply kicked the bucket. Happily, I seem to have successfully revived my Yashica Electro 35. I’ll have to put a roll through it to really test it out.

Moody tree near the old train-line, late in the afternoon

Exploring Iron Knob with a Nikon F80 and Kodak Ultramax film

Perhaps not quite a decade has passed since I last had a roll of film developed. Such is the easy lure of digital imaging, I suppose. Still, it didn’t take me long to get used to not looking at the back of the camera for an image review. It’s as though I was quietly slipping back to the old film camera habits and movements of my childhood. The slowness of photographic practice demanded by the Nikon F80 on this day – taking in the scene and the light – matched the eerie end of the earth silence of the town of Iron Knob.

I said to a friend that the Nikon F80, made in the year 2000 at the end of the mainstream film era as digital was fast taking hold, feels every bit Nikonian. What I mean is that for someone used to handling and holding modern Nikon cameras, the F80 feels ever so familiar – the button placements make sense, the hand grip is deep and comfortable, and the working philosophy is the result of decades of Nikon engineering and knowledge. The sleek, black Nikon Z5 digital camera was nestled next to it in my bag, looking like it had come from a different century, but the two share the same DNA.

No fuel left in town – Nikon F80, Kodak Ultramax 400, and Nikkor 50mm 1.8D lens

The Kodak Ultramax film I’d loaded had expired some years ago, so I used the ISO function of the camera to fool the exposure system and set it to treat the loaded film as 200 speed ~ slower than the box rating of 400. Doing this slows the shutter speed down and allows more light to hit expired film that’s less sensitive due to age related degradation.

Abandoned long ago – Nikon F80

Iron Knob was established in 1915 and was the birthplace of the Australian steel industry ~ something I didn’t know and a fact that certainly surprised me. I’d seen the town on maps over many years and had developed a curiosity, but hadn’t had the chance to visit until recently. As it happens, I was also testing the F80 for use at our daughter’s upcoming 21st, and it seemed a good idea to load some batteries and run film through it.

Half a ghost town

The Iron Monarch mine looms over the town, forming a red and dusty backdrop. When the Hematite poured from the earth, the town thrived and was no doubt filled with macho banter, drinking, and the dirt-filled sweat of hot days. You can still see those halcyon days in the closed roads where Keep Out signs warn travellers – wider than would seem appropriate for the minimal traffic in town today – barely recognisable bitumen strips that are crumbling and lead nowhere, flanked by corrugated iron homes that may or may not be inhabited. The only food takeaway shop in town is closed – old faded stickers in the window advertise Chiko Rolls ~ that most Australian of junk food icons. The sign on the door says that the shop is temporarily closed, but it seems to have been there a long time.

Iron, steel, and wood make a home – Nikon F80

Exploring four mountain landscapes ~ thoughts on aesthetic choices and gear limits

In my previous post, I touched on the idea that gear limitations can have an impact on subject matter and aesthetic choices. Rather than work against the glass, it’s personally more rewarding to adapt to limits and consider other ways to make interesting photos. In this context, limits drive creative growth and learning.

As there was an abundance of wondrous mountains draped in heavy clouds, I made a decision to focus on the scale, shape, colour, and tonality of the landscape rather than the sharpest details. Knowing the optical limits of my telephoto lens changed my perspective.

Mountain landcape – Nikon D3400 and Nikkor 200mm DX VR lens

Distant landscapes are often hazy, and the details are difficult to record. Conditions were also overcast and regularly dull, further encouraging me to adapt and make deliberate  aesthetic choices.

My objective in this mountain series was to simply focus on framing form, shape, scale, and tone. Having a rough final image in mind, I made photographs that provided me the raw material for editing post-holiday.

Mountain landcape – Nikon D3400 and Nikkor 200mm DX VR lens

I set the White Balance to Fluorescent in Lightroom to make everything cold and slightly mysterious, emphasising the cloudy conditions. The 16:9 ratio crop choice also amplifies the scale of the mountains and encourages the viewer’s eye to travel their length, taking in tone, layering, and form.

During initial composition for the above photo, I deliberately framed it so the three visible mountain layers travelled to the right edge of the frame and terminated together. This provides visual interest, harmonises with the bulky layering at the leftmost edge of the frame, and serves as both entry and exit point for the viewer’s eye.

Mountain landcape – Nikon D3400 and Nikkor 200mm DX VR lens

In the photo above, you can just make out tiny white buildings at the bottom right of the frame, They sit at the foot of the mountains and look small, thus providing a sense of scale. I also like the dapples of sunlight near them, made muddy and indistinct by the Fluorescent White Balance choice.

Mountain landcape – Nikon D3400 and Nikkor 200mm DX VR lens

Blue mountains, orange clouds ~ two photo themes informed by limitations

When deciding what camera gear to pack for a long holiday on the road, it’s true that I’ve never quite packed right. One can’t be prepared for all occasions and there’s always the thought in my mind that I need to pack light, lest I strain a muscle or two. As it turns out, I could have packed the optically superior 70-300mm Nikkor ED VR lens over the Nikkor 200mm DX VR. I should know by now that when deciding between packing light or packing heavier, but optically better, lenses, I should prioritise the better glass, even if it means a sore shoulder at the end of the day.

It’s not that the Nikkor 200mm is a terrible lens, it’s just old and performs better on older Nikon bodies that don’t demand so much resolving power from lenses. Even though the Nikon D3400 is a lightweight consumer-grade camera, Nikon still managed to squeeze in a top class crop sensor.

So, what to do when I need the extra reach that an optically questionable telephoto lens gives me, but it’s going to produce soft photos with lower contrast? This is where the available gear informs thought, idea, behaviour, and photographic practice. Optically inferior lenses are useful in their way ~ the shape and tonality of distant mountains shrouded in haze and evening mist – the colour of enormous clouds at sunrise. Even old glass is capable of good photos when limits are understood. If sharp detail isn’t possible, colour, tone, and shape may present as important themes, as in this case.

Mountains of blue, Townsville QLD – Nikon D3400 and Nikkor 200mm DX VR lens
Long morning clouds near the Gulf of Carpentaria, QLD – Nikon D3400 and Nikkor 200mm DX lens

A waterfall, tourists, and different camera generations

Finally, I’ve started to edit some of the photos from the recent road-trip. I made so many that I’ll probably have editing fodder for the next two years! The recent laptop upgrade has taken up most of my spare time ~ copying thousands of files across, wrangling new software installs, and adapting to a non-OLED screen. The upside is that the new laptop features desktop power in a portable plastic shell, so any photo editing software runs as smooth as glass made by NASA for the latest Space Shuttle build.

The third of three waterfalls, Atherton Tableland – Nikon D3400 and Nikkor 35mm lens

On this day, we were driving through the Atherton Tableland, via Atherton and Herberton. Somewhere along the road, we happened on short walking trails for three waterfalls. Not having had an opportunity for hiking up to this point in the road-trip, we leapt at the chance to enjoy the cool forests in the area.

As serene as the waterfall looks, the mess of tourists waiting on the viewing platform to make photos was anything but quiet! Having made my way to the front, I hurriedly reached for my Nikon D3400 and made some quick photos. I’d screwed in the Circular Polariser to minimise the stray reflections on foliage and water. Using a slower shutter speed of 1/60th of a second blurred the fast-running water to give it a milky effect. Because I was using the Nikkor 35mm lens, such a slowish shutter speed was unlikely to cause a blurry image, as long as I was still enough. Even if I’d wanted to use a tripod for extra stability, finding room in the crowd was not going to be easy.

Within moments of completing those initial photos with the D3400, I pulled out the Nikon Z5 and made some more. After a minute or two of switching settings and trying different positions on the muddy viewing platform, I felt the pressure of the tourists behind me waiting for their turn.

Just as I was about to put away the camera, a guy approached me casually swinging his Sony A7III and asked me to make a photo of him and his family – “Always best to ask a person with a good looking camera, right?”, he said (I wondered what he might have thought if I’d been using a glacially slow 20 year old Finepix). After checking the settings – shutter priority and face recognition – I obliged and handed it back. Almost as soon as I’d done this, a young woman walked up to me and handed me a one-shot film camera. I made a photo of her and her young overseas tourist group and wound on the film.

From a Nikon D3400 to a Nikon Z5 to a Sony A7II and then a cheap film camera. As I was the last of our group still lingering, I quickly left the scene and made my way back to the waiting car.

The quiet walls speak of soft light and secret corners

When the body is tired and sleep is needed – when the grey clouds amass and the wind blows – when the camera feels heavy and the ideas diminish – what to do? I stared into the corners of our sky-high holiday apartment and found inspiration in the artificial light. Thus, a mini-series of photographs presented themselves: quiet walls on quiet days.

A quick trip to Brisbane and a day with the Tiffen Glimmerglass filter

Spending two weeks on the road, driving through multiple states, and racking up around 10 000 kilometres seems to have fuelled the desire to squeeze the most out of each day before the day job resumes. At 3 am on a cold Wednesday, we arose, grabbed the bags, and boarded a plane for Brisbane. This was in the week after returning from our two week 10k holiday! 

I decided to take the Nikon Z5, the 24-70 F4S lens, the Nikkor 40mm F2 lens, and a recently acquired Tiffen Glimmerglass 1/8 filter.

Sleek, tall and modern – Nikon Z5

I was curious about what the Glimmerglass could do. I kept it on the Nikkor 24-70 F4S lens during the day and was pleasantly surprised at the results. The filter lowers contrast and smears light in the brightest areas of an image. This can create flaring when strong and direct light sources are involved, but I found the filter well-behaved for the most part.

Plane-spotting around Queen’s Wharf – Nikon Z5

I really enjoyed the lines and angles around the Queen’s Wharf area of the city. It seems that others were also enjoyng the lines and angles of the bridge, as you can see in the photo above. A keen young man approached us to chat about the city and asked what kind of photography I was doing – “I really like the lines and angles around here.” I said with a smile. He was holding a Nikon D3xxx series camera and clicking away happily.

You can see how the Glimmerglass filter has lowered the overall contrast of the photo above. The light in bright areas, like the clouds and parts of the metal grab rails, is spread around. When some people suggest this filter results in a filmic look, I suspect they are referring to the halation around these bright areas. I like it. The result is not as obvious as some diffusion filters, like the Tiffen Black Pro-Mist. And at 1/8 strength, I think the Glimmerglass is regularly usable during the day and won’t announce itself strongly.