A friend gave me the idea for this entry with a comment made on a social networking page. I had posted one of my photographs to a common web page of a camera manufacturer. In response to his comment about my photograph I jokingly chided him about his appearance on the web page since the page was sponsored by a brand he did not use. His response was as follows. " I am a picture taker. It's the eye that sees the picture, The camera that takes it."
To some degree, I agree with the sentiments expressed in that statement. In my too long career working in camera shops, I had many occasions to express a similar sentiment to various customers. I had too many customers that wanted " a camera that takes good pictures". I even went so far to ask one customer if he would go to a hardware store and ask for a hammer that hammers nails straight. Personally, I'm in the market for a guitar that plays beautiful music. Obviously the camera is only as good as the person behind it.
However, in my renascent interest in photography, I have seen that opinion expressed ad nauseum on so many websites and blogs that it has become more than a little trite. Therefore, in this entry, I will play the devil's advocate and present an opposing viewpoint.
On the most basic level, it is true that one does not need the very best of equipment and supplies to achieve creative satisfaction or even artistic excellence. I can remember sitting on the patio of a local pub with a dear friend who was lamenting that she wanted to do some artistic work but could not afford art supplies. An idea popped into my head and I went to the bar and came back with a couple of books of matches. ( Smoking was still allowed in the bars in those days.) " There you go. Art supplies." I lit a match and let it burn briefly before blowing it out. " Charcoal." I flipped open the matchbook to reveal the clean white cardboard inside. " Your canvas." To my delight and amazement she proceeded to make a miniature charcoal sketch right there at the table.
To that extent, I can readily agree that the camera is merely the means by which a photograph is taken just as art supplies are merely the means by which a work of art is created and presented.
However there is much to be said for the employment of high quality equipment and supplies. If nothing else they can go a long way to promoting the enjoyment of any artistic endeavour. Despite the novelty of the moment, my friend did not go on to pursue an artistic career based on matchbook sketches.
In my teen years, I expressed an interest in playing the guitar and was presented one Christmas with an inexpensive instrument to get me started. Within a year the cheap neck on the guitar had bowed so badly that, unless one had hands like Schwarzenegger, it was virtually unplayable. It wasn't until years later that I purchased an instrument of decent quality that I could actually play long enough to make some musical progress.
This overall philosophy of quality first can be carried to many facets of life. I make my living as an industrial mechanic. I could do the job with cheap tools but find it is easier and far more enjoyable to work with well made precision ones. Furthermore, tools that are well made and precisely machined are less prone to breakage providing me an extra margin of safety in a field where accidents can be deadly. I enjoy playing music and find that it is far more enjoyable with quality instruments that stay in tune and produce a more pleasing tone. I'm interested in photography and I enjoy having cameras with the potential to accomodate my creative aspirations. Why is it that our society encourages us to preserve our inner child, but makes enjoyment of our toys socially unacceptable?
At its most rudimentary, photographic expression can be achieved by exposing a glass plate of photosensitive chemistry to rays of light focused by a pinhole in a shoebox that has been made light tight and immobile. The glass plate is then processed in a series of chemicals to develop, stop and fix the latent image.before it undergoes a thorough water wash to remove all residual traces of chemistry.The processing of said plate is done in complete darkness and thus a negative image is produced. The plate is then sandwhiched and exposed to photosensitive paper to make a contact print or is projected on to the photo paper with the use of light focused through a lens to make an enlargement. The photosensitive paper is then processed through a similar series of chemical baths under a red or "safe" light until a positive image is achieved. Once again a running water bath is employed to remove all traces of residual chemistry before the photograph is hung to dry or dried through electro mechanical means. I learned all this through practice and experience. Although I probably appear too smug here, I not only know how to take a picture, I know how to make a photograph. Big deal. It's a lost art. That and $1.25 will get you a cup of coffee.
The reason for the above diatribe is to make the point that with modern digital technology, the microprocessor and digital pathways inside the camera do indeed go a long way toward the creation of the image. The alternative is to follow the above procedure in greater or lesser degrees.
Finally, in further refutation of the opening statement, It is not the eye that sees the picture, it is the mind. Ansel Adams called it previsualization. It is the ability to see the finished work in the mind before the actual act of creation. In my opinion, it applies to almost all successful human endeavour, artistic or otherwise. To that end, the eye is just another link in the process chain. I remember a television program where Ansel Adams was being interviewed. The host of the program asked him how many shots he took before he got the image he wanted. Adams looked at the interviewer as if he were from outer space before replying in a perplexed tone, "One." When Ansel Adams made a photograph, he already knew what he wanted and what he was going to get before he released the shutter.
I suppose that the final upshot of all of this is that photographers have always had good natured rivalries about the equipment and techniques they use. Ultimately, what counts are the photographs that are made as well as the fun, learning and sense of wonder that goes into making them. However, I can honestly state from experience that a digital Canon T3i is infinitely preferable to a shoebox with a pinhole.
...more later
The Case For The Camera ( a bad visual pun)
Thursday, 17 May 2012
Saturday, 24 March 2012
Another Birthday
I celebrated a birthday a few days ago and a birthday greeting from a friend on Facebook got me to thinking about birthdays and the passage of time. For the record and perhaps to provide some context, I am 52 years old as of March 21.
For the most part, I am enjoying this stage in my life. There is a comfort that can be derived from a knowledge base that is the result of over five decades of experience. I became a father late in life and I often find myself thinking about this well of experience when showing my son simple things like how to boil an egg or an easier way to go from an "A" to an "E" chord when playing guitar. I suffer from no delusions of myself as a great musician or a world class chef, but there is something to be said for for the mass of little tricks that I've learned along the way. Conversely, I find that it only requires a little humility on my part to be open to learning from my 10 year old son. He has shown me more than a few helpful tricks in navigating my way through the world of cyberspace and computer technology.
That being said, I have no problem with playing the age card when neccessary. For a living, I do mechanical work in the maintenance department of a local manufacturer. At one point our company had hired a young worker who had recently passed the examination qualifying him as an apprentice millwright. Though he had passed the exam, his practical working knowledge was minimal although his arrogance was at full capacity. At one point he made a comment when had to borrow a wrench from my toolbox to perform a certain task. It was something to the effect of " It's strange for a licensed tradesman to have to borrow tools from a layman." I replied " Not strange at all considering that I was working on machines when you were still pooping in a diaper." It was fun watching his face turn red. Fortunately, he was fired a few weeks later for various safety violations. Arrogance and a know it all attitude can be deadly when working around industrial machinery. Wherever he ended up, I hope that he still has all of his body parts.
So, as I enter my 53rd year on this planet, I feel that I can take a degree of comfort in the lessons that I have learned along the way. However, I try hard to avoid complacency. If there's one thing that experience has taught me, it's that you can never have too much experience.
...more later
For the most part, I am enjoying this stage in my life. There is a comfort that can be derived from a knowledge base that is the result of over five decades of experience. I became a father late in life and I often find myself thinking about this well of experience when showing my son simple things like how to boil an egg or an easier way to go from an "A" to an "E" chord when playing guitar. I suffer from no delusions of myself as a great musician or a world class chef, but there is something to be said for for the mass of little tricks that I've learned along the way. Conversely, I find that it only requires a little humility on my part to be open to learning from my 10 year old son. He has shown me more than a few helpful tricks in navigating my way through the world of cyberspace and computer technology.
That being said, I have no problem with playing the age card when neccessary. For a living, I do mechanical work in the maintenance department of a local manufacturer. At one point our company had hired a young worker who had recently passed the examination qualifying him as an apprentice millwright. Though he had passed the exam, his practical working knowledge was minimal although his arrogance was at full capacity. At one point he made a comment when had to borrow a wrench from my toolbox to perform a certain task. It was something to the effect of " It's strange for a licensed tradesman to have to borrow tools from a layman." I replied " Not strange at all considering that I was working on machines when you were still pooping in a diaper." It was fun watching his face turn red. Fortunately, he was fired a few weeks later for various safety violations. Arrogance and a know it all attitude can be deadly when working around industrial machinery. Wherever he ended up, I hope that he still has all of his body parts.
So, as I enter my 53rd year on this planet, I feel that I can take a degree of comfort in the lessons that I have learned along the way. However, I try hard to avoid complacency. If there's one thing that experience has taught me, it's that you can never have too much experience.
...more later
Saturday, 25 February 2012
For The Love Of Trains
It's mid winter and, as usual, I'm feeling a bit restless. This usually leads to thoughts of trains and rail travel. One of my great passions ( and I have many) is trains. I guess that I come by this honestly. My father was a conductor/ brakeman on the Ontario Northland Railway. Many of my earliest memories involve train trips.
At one point, my family lived in a little town called Island Falls. The town was built on the Abitibi River about forty miles north of Cochrane, Ont. It was a company town built by the Abitibi Power and Paper Co. to support a hydro dam built on the river. My mother was the school teacher, teaching grades 1 through 8 in a one room school attached to the community hall. There were no roads to the town. Everything was shipped in by rail. Eaton's and Sears Christmas Catalogues really were "Wish Books" in those days. Doctor and dentist appointments involved a trip to Cochrane, the nearest town of any size. Usually a hotel stay was involved as well before we caught the train back home the next day. High adventure for a child growing up in a bush town that its residents referred to as "The Camp".
Later, we moved to a larger community, the relatively larger town of New Liskeard, Ont. This town was served by both the railway and a highway system and, although our lives were no longer dominated by the railway, it still played an important part in the history of my family. Throughout my childhood, most of my vacations started with a trip to Toronto on the train. From there, it would be another train trip to Stratford for the Shakespeare Festival, or a road trip to my aunt's cottage near Bobcageon or just some time in Toronto at the Canadian National Exhibition. There were also train trips aboard the Super Continental to Winnipeg to visit with extended family out there. During my teen years, I used the train to visit my older sister who was attending college in Toronto. When I left home and was living in Toronto myself, the railway was my connection home for Christmas and Thanksgiving celebrations. It also got me home to attend the weddings of friends and family members.
I have a powerful memory of the time my father took me railroading with him. I guess that I was about seven or eight at the time. The night before, he wasn't sure whether he would be called out on a freight or a passenger train. He had explained to me that if it was a passenger train, I could go. I remember him shaking me awake at about 4:00 in the morning. Three simple words, "You can come." Soon we were driving through the darkness of an early morning in March. We were on our way to Englehart, the division point on the O.N.R. where we were to catch our train.
The train was the Rouyn Local and my Dad was working as the baggage man on that trip. I remember riding in the baggage car with him. There was an old wooden desk in the car where he could sort out bills of lading for the various packages of express freight being carried. These, along with mail for the stations en route were sorted and put into cubby holes in a rack above the desk. This was long before the time when courier companies like U.P.S. and Purolator would come to dominate the express package business.
I remember at every stop the station agents knew him and there was always a chat and a few jokes as the luggage and parcels were being loaded and unloaded. It felt like I was travelling with the King of the Railway and I was his kid! Everyone treated us with kindness and respect.
When we got to Rouyn, the engine was uncoupled from the train and put into an engine house where it would be serviced for the return trip. We walked to the engine house and talked to the engineer. He and Dad arranged for me to ride in the engine on the trip back.
The railway maintained a bunkhouse in Rouyn at that time and, after a lunch of toast and eggs in the kitchen, we stretched out on the bunks upstairs for a nap. Before getting on the train for the return trip, we poked about in downtown Rouyn. I remember Dad buying me a Matchbox car at a little department store there. Toys received outside of Christmas and birthdays were a rarity in those days. I guess that's why I remember it so clearly. ( It was a metallic green Ferrari.)
On the trip back, I got to ride in the engine. By that time, it was getting dark again. I remember the powerful headlight lighting up the way ahead as the train wound its way through the snowy forests. At a couple of crossings, I got to blow the whistle. The engineer was surprised that I knew the crossing whistle, two longs , a short and a long. Dad had trained me well.
At one of the stations, Dad collected me and I rode the last leg of the trip with him in the baggage car. When we got to Englehart, Dad had a coffee at the station cafe with the rest of the road crew. I had a chocolate milk and watched as the yard crew took our train away. The engineer bought a chocolate bar and slipped it into my coat pocket before we left. I remember finding it, badly melted, later. I guess I fell asleep on it while riding home in our `63 Pontiac.
Of all the memories that I have of my Dad, that day on the Rouyn Local is the most powerful. Despite the fact that I lost him at a very young age, on that particular day, he made me feel like the most special kid on the planet.
In later years, a friend asked me if I thought of my Dad very often. In total honesty I replied, "Every time I hear a train."
...more later
The tradition contiues. My son Greg and I make a point of doing at least one train trip a year, usually during our summer holidays.
| Port Stanley Terminal Railway, Port Stanley, Ont, Sept. 2009 |
| Agawa Canyon, Algoma Central Railway, Aug. 2010 |
| South Simcoe Railway, Tottenham, Ont. Aug. 2011 |
Saturday, 14 January 2012
November
Foreword; This a piece that I had originally planned to post in the month about which it is written. Some day I really must get around to starting a support group for procrastinators.
I went out for a walk this morning with my new camera slung around my neck to make some photographs. ( Or, as I'm fond of saying, to see if there's any pictures that need taking.) I took a couple of shots on the bridge near my home. Although I liked the results, I thought that I would try the same shot in black and white. With the absolute ease which is digital photography, I switched my lovely little Canon G12 to the black and white mode and took a few shots. I then switched it back to it's normal colour mode to be ready for future frames in colour. When I swiched it back to colour, it seemed that the camera wanted to stay in black and white! It wasn't until I had frantically found a subject with some bright colour and pointed the camera at it that I realized that it had indeed switched back to colour. Such is the nature of light on an overcast day in November. It's hard to find colour of any abundance anywhere. Or so I thought.
As I continued my morning sojourn, the weatherman's promise of "partly cloudy" validated itself.( Has anyone else noticed that meteorologists almost always say partly cloudy as opposed to partly sunny? They must be a pretty pessimistic lot. Myself, I try to be a "glass half full" kind of person.) The sun broke through the clouds that were scudding about propelled by a stiff breeze. I found that good images could still be had. What was required was a change in viewpoint, both physically and mentally.
November can be the worst month of the year for outdoor photographic pursuits. The riot of blazing colour that saturated the landscape just a few weeks ago is, for the most part, gone. The sky is often overcast, casting a light that is almost as grey as the landscape it illuminates. The physical viewpoint change requires a shift from the general to the specific. Rather than create sweeping vistas ablaze with colour, now is the time to employ the principle that less is more. The sun, at this time of year, passes through the day at a much lower angle. It is almost like having the golden hours of daylight ( early morning and late afternoon ) all day long. It can emphasize the texture and colour intensity of even the most mundane subjects.
So, as the old saying goes, " If life hands you lemons, make lemonade." Wait... that really only applies if life hands you lemons, sugar and water. If life hands you nothing but lemons, you're pretty much screwed. But you get the idea.
There is a joy to making photographs with natural light. It forces me to utilize my skills and tools in direct relationship to the environment I occupy. Philosophically, it reaffirms my situation in this universe. I am a miniscule but essential part of the Great All That Is. It's up to me to make the best of it.
...more later
Wednesday, 28 December 2011
The Ghosts Of Christmas Past
Well I guess I made it through another one. Christmas has come and gone without an excess of trauma and life returns to what is generally considered normal around here.
True to form, I left everything to the last minute. For the most part however, I didn't fret too much about it. Generally, I manage to pull off some form of Christmas for myself and my son every year. Christmas Day comes whether I'm ready for it or not. I have found that making a reasonable effort is good enough. Fretting endlessly over every detail is ridiculous. I know of no one who suffered major trauma because they had to wait until Boxing Day to get a battery for their latest toy or gizmo. I know of no one who could not tolerate a turkey dinner because the cranberry sauce came from a can or was not served in the finest porcelain. For me, the reason for the holiday is to celebrate the birth of the Prince Of Peace. I don't think that His arrival was meant to cause stress and mayhem in the souls of those who would follow Him.
I'm not a total slacker when it comes to this holiday and I have to admit that I do get caught up in the need to fulfil some of the expectations of those around me. But , if it all seems too much, I have no problem in stepping back and looking at the bigger picture.
I can remember the first time I stepped away from what was my tradition of the time. I was working in retail then and Christmas seemed a tiring time of stress and long hours. It was difficult to find the time to do the required shopping and, because of my job, I worked right up to Christmas Eve. Following that, I packed up my vehicle and spent three to four hours on the road to spend Christmas with my sister and her family. I would usually arrive fairly late at my sister's place on Christmas Eve and wake up the next morning with only a few hours sleep to celebrate Christmas with my two exuberant nephews. More than once, following the Christmas morning ritual, I would haul myself back to bed for some much needed sleep and only get up in time for Christmas dinner. The next day, I was on the road again because, as a retail salesperson, I had to be back for the boxing week sale. At that time in my life, Christmas was not a holiday but an endurance test.
One year, I decided that I wasn't going to do my usual thing. I bought a few small gifts for the people around me that had been close to me during the year. I called my sister to let her know that I wouldn't be coming to her house. She was a little disappointed but understanding of my situation. Call me a Grinch but I didn't buy gifts for my nephews that year. My sister and her husband provided well for the boys. Any gifts from me were, at best, unnecessary or at worst, inappropriate. I would be missed but my absence would not cause trauma.
Christmas morning dawned bright and beautiful that year. My friend Karin, came by in the morning and we exchanged a few small gifts. I made a brunch for us and then she was off to fulfill family obligations. It was unseasonably warm that year and so, that afternoon, I took my bike out for a tour of the nature trails of a nearby park. It was pleasant being out in the sunshine, exchanging Christmas greetings with passers-by on the trails. I watched a young family feed chickadees and nuthatches. The brave little winter birds would take food right from their hands.
Christmas dinner was a bit lonely but, not long afterwards, some of my musician friends came by for a visit. I was playing in a couple of blues bands in those days and it wasn't long before we gathered a few more souls from the underground blues brotherhood and had a nice accoustic jam that went til the wee hours of Boxing Day. For the first time since I was a kid, Christmas felt like an actual holiday. No stress. Just happiness, laughter and goodwill toward all. It is a feeling that I have tried to retain about Christmas ever since.
I find the dichotomy of Christmas amusing. It's interesting to watch the stress filled faces at the mall as the sound system pipes in music about peace, love and goodwill. Well, it's over for another year. Sleep in heavenly peace.
...more later
True to form, I left everything to the last minute. For the most part however, I didn't fret too much about it. Generally, I manage to pull off some form of Christmas for myself and my son every year. Christmas Day comes whether I'm ready for it or not. I have found that making a reasonable effort is good enough. Fretting endlessly over every detail is ridiculous. I know of no one who suffered major trauma because they had to wait until Boxing Day to get a battery for their latest toy or gizmo. I know of no one who could not tolerate a turkey dinner because the cranberry sauce came from a can or was not served in the finest porcelain. For me, the reason for the holiday is to celebrate the birth of the Prince Of Peace. I don't think that His arrival was meant to cause stress and mayhem in the souls of those who would follow Him.
I'm not a total slacker when it comes to this holiday and I have to admit that I do get caught up in the need to fulfil some of the expectations of those around me. But , if it all seems too much, I have no problem in stepping back and looking at the bigger picture.
I can remember the first time I stepped away from what was my tradition of the time. I was working in retail then and Christmas seemed a tiring time of stress and long hours. It was difficult to find the time to do the required shopping and, because of my job, I worked right up to Christmas Eve. Following that, I packed up my vehicle and spent three to four hours on the road to spend Christmas with my sister and her family. I would usually arrive fairly late at my sister's place on Christmas Eve and wake up the next morning with only a few hours sleep to celebrate Christmas with my two exuberant nephews. More than once, following the Christmas morning ritual, I would haul myself back to bed for some much needed sleep and only get up in time for Christmas dinner. The next day, I was on the road again because, as a retail salesperson, I had to be back for the boxing week sale. At that time in my life, Christmas was not a holiday but an endurance test.
One year, I decided that I wasn't going to do my usual thing. I bought a few small gifts for the people around me that had been close to me during the year. I called my sister to let her know that I wouldn't be coming to her house. She was a little disappointed but understanding of my situation. Call me a Grinch but I didn't buy gifts for my nephews that year. My sister and her husband provided well for the boys. Any gifts from me were, at best, unnecessary or at worst, inappropriate. I would be missed but my absence would not cause trauma.
Christmas morning dawned bright and beautiful that year. My friend Karin, came by in the morning and we exchanged a few small gifts. I made a brunch for us and then she was off to fulfill family obligations. It was unseasonably warm that year and so, that afternoon, I took my bike out for a tour of the nature trails of a nearby park. It was pleasant being out in the sunshine, exchanging Christmas greetings with passers-by on the trails. I watched a young family feed chickadees and nuthatches. The brave little winter birds would take food right from their hands.
Christmas dinner was a bit lonely but, not long afterwards, some of my musician friends came by for a visit. I was playing in a couple of blues bands in those days and it wasn't long before we gathered a few more souls from the underground blues brotherhood and had a nice accoustic jam that went til the wee hours of Boxing Day. For the first time since I was a kid, Christmas felt like an actual holiday. No stress. Just happiness, laughter and goodwill toward all. It is a feeling that I have tried to retain about Christmas ever since.
I find the dichotomy of Christmas amusing. It's interesting to watch the stress filled faces at the mall as the sound system pipes in music about peace, love and goodwill. Well, it's over for another year. Sleep in heavenly peace.
...more later
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Mid Life Mayhem
I took a roll of film into our local photolab for processing today. There was a time in my life when having a roll of film processed was not a noteworthy experience. This particular roll has about only eight or nine frames exposed on it, but it had been in the camera too long. It's been over two years since I have done any serious photography on film. I don't think this film will be my last one though. I have two rolls of 35mm and a roll of 120mm still languishing in my refrigerator. I just haven't felt nostalgic enough to use them. I'm having way to much fun with digital.
That being said, I have to admit that I have a large suitcase full of colour prints and negatives stashed in my closet upstairs. I also have several binders filled with sheets of black and white negatives and contact sheets. To top it off, I have piles of colour slides tucked away in Kodak carousels. Last Christmas, in addition to this computer, I acquired a little unit that digitizes images from 35mm negatives and slides. Apart from testing it out with a couple of 35mm frames, I haven't put this digitizing unit to much use. The idea of digitizing 43 years of image making is a task that just seems too daunting. I acquired my first camera (an Imperial Instant Load 900) when I was eight years old. However, I couldn't help but feel the bite of another Canadian winter when I was out for my stroll today. Perhaps organizing all those photographs will be a good indoor activity through the cold months ahead.
Maybe I'm just making excuses here, but I'm finding in my post March 2009 life, I don't want to spend a lot of time lost in nostalgia. In fact to a great degree, it is something I want to guard against. When talking with my ten year old son, I cringe every time I begin a story with the phrase "When I was your age..." I find myself thinking, "Oh my God! I've turned into my father!" I may be having a mid life crisis here, but I want to contribute what I can in the present with whatever knowledge and skills that I have acquired over my strangely spent life. That being said, as mid life crises go, I guess that renewing my interest in photography and pecking out a few blog posts is infinitely preferable to buying a powerful, overpriced muscle car. But damn those new Dodge Challengers look hot!... maybe in candy apple red... with a hemi engine...yeah, gotta have a hemi...and a six speed shifter....
...more later
That being said, I have to admit that I have a large suitcase full of colour prints and negatives stashed in my closet upstairs. I also have several binders filled with sheets of black and white negatives and contact sheets. To top it off, I have piles of colour slides tucked away in Kodak carousels. Last Christmas, in addition to this computer, I acquired a little unit that digitizes images from 35mm negatives and slides. Apart from testing it out with a couple of 35mm frames, I haven't put this digitizing unit to much use. The idea of digitizing 43 years of image making is a task that just seems too daunting. I acquired my first camera (an Imperial Instant Load 900) when I was eight years old. However, I couldn't help but feel the bite of another Canadian winter when I was out for my stroll today. Perhaps organizing all those photographs will be a good indoor activity through the cold months ahead.
Maybe I'm just making excuses here, but I'm finding in my post March 2009 life, I don't want to spend a lot of time lost in nostalgia. In fact to a great degree, it is something I want to guard against. When talking with my ten year old son, I cringe every time I begin a story with the phrase "When I was your age..." I find myself thinking, "Oh my God! I've turned into my father!" I may be having a mid life crisis here, but I want to contribute what I can in the present with whatever knowledge and skills that I have acquired over my strangely spent life. That being said, as mid life crises go, I guess that renewing my interest in photography and pecking out a few blog posts is infinitely preferable to buying a powerful, overpriced muscle car. But damn those new Dodge Challengers look hot!... maybe in candy apple red... with a hemi engine...yeah, gotta have a hemi...and a six speed shifter....
...more later
My first and latest cameras. I acquired the Imperial Instant Load in 1968. (Yup. I still have it) What is not in the picture are the dozens of cameras that came in between.
The two old girls. The Agfa Isola on the right was made in 1957. Both cameras still work perfectly, but 126 film for the Imperial is no longer available. I salvaged the Agfa from the garbage bin of a camera shop where I used to work. 
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Starting Windows
When I fire up my laptop it always says "Starting Windows". That is so true on many levels.Through the internet, I have managed to reconnect with many old friends and schoolmates. I think that I'm beginning to figure out why social networking sites like Facebook are so addictive. The people I connect with there are, for the most part, not people living in my immediate community, the small town I occupy now. They are, however, friends that have occupied any of a number of places where I have lived at some period of my life. It's interesting.
What this technology has provided to me is a sense of community that was somehow lost along the way. Almost all of my Facebook friends are people with whom I've shared a good chunk of my life at one time or another. Perhaps it is different for the younger generation who have lived almost their entire lives with this technology. Perhaps the reason that teenagers and twenty-somethings always seem to be texting is that this is their community. Unlike my generation, it is a community which they have never lost to the propulsions and compulsions of relationships, marriages, universities, careers, family obligations etc. They can stay connected in ways that my generation could not have even dreamed of thirty years ago. Perhaps their sense of community will always be stronger for that reason.
Alfred Lord Tennyson mused " I am a part of all that I have met." In this digital age, one could write, " I am an active part of all that I have met." Having "met" someone no longer reduces the experience to a period in one's personal history. At our choice we can continue realtionships in an ongoing manner. It is the social equivalent of having our cake and eating it too.
So where does this leave me, a middle aged troglodyte just recently emerged from the cave? Almost in a state of joyous exuberance. I feel like a little kid who, after learning a new skill, jumps up and down saying "Look what I can do!"
So far my personal technological renaissance has been interesting, at times frustrating,
sometimes heart warming, fascinating and fun. Starting Windows Indeed!
...more later
What this technology has provided to me is a sense of community that was somehow lost along the way. Almost all of my Facebook friends are people with whom I've shared a good chunk of my life at one time or another. Perhaps it is different for the younger generation who have lived almost their entire lives with this technology. Perhaps the reason that teenagers and twenty-somethings always seem to be texting is that this is their community. Unlike my generation, it is a community which they have never lost to the propulsions and compulsions of relationships, marriages, universities, careers, family obligations etc. They can stay connected in ways that my generation could not have even dreamed of thirty years ago. Perhaps their sense of community will always be stronger for that reason.
Alfred Lord Tennyson mused " I am a part of all that I have met." In this digital age, one could write, " I am an active part of all that I have met." Having "met" someone no longer reduces the experience to a period in one's personal history. At our choice we can continue realtionships in an ongoing manner. It is the social equivalent of having our cake and eating it too.
So where does this leave me, a middle aged troglodyte just recently emerged from the cave? Almost in a state of joyous exuberance. I feel like a little kid who, after learning a new skill, jumps up and down saying "Look what I can do!"
So far my personal technological renaissance has been interesting, at times frustrating,
sometimes heart warming, fascinating and fun. Starting Windows Indeed!
...more later
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