Musings of an “Old Man”

re-posted with permission, and written by Ken Galama

I keep thinking about a DSLR.

I keep getting confused with all the different sensors and pixels.

I miss the days before digital cameras.

Back then the debate that raged was about which medium format camera was best. (yes it was square and no it wasn’t Bronica)

When it came to 35mm it was Canon or Nikon (sorry Pentax and Minolta). There really was no significant difference. You either liked the feel of one or the other and that was it.

Film was the real variable to understand. It was organic, with its moods. It demanded to be treated like the proverbial Goldie Locks. Not too hot, not too cold.

The lab that processed the colour film was like a maternity ward with anxious photographers waiting the delivery of their precious images. Ripping open packages, flipping through prints, negatives being examined. Each image scrutinized, some cherished others aborted.

But every photographer had religion when it came to black and white. I never met a photographer that didn’t process and print their own black and white film.

Ansel Adams was the founder of that religion yet every photographer had their own private ceremony.

After the film was dry and an image chosen for printing the photographer conjured his image from a beam of light. Dodging and burning creating a unique hand made image.

That final print was a direct link to the photons that bounced of the subject. A continuum that was created by the photographer, frozen in time.

I’ve turned into the old man that sits on his porch reminiscing about those days back then, when film was a thing that mattered.

 

(Ken was classmate of Colleen’s from her Algonquin College Photography days, you can follow him – or his dog Buddy on Twitter @Chelsea_Buddy)

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