Toppled Parmesan
Parmigiano-Reggiano as it should look:
An aging room (taken during our trip to Parma in July 2011)
Parmigiano-Reggiano after the recent Emilia earthquake:
Thousands of toppled (and likely ruined) wheels of Parmigiano-Reggiano (photo by Giuseppe Cacace/AFP/Getty Images)
Leica blues
In the middle of my 3rd roll of film, I noticed a strange aberration showing up among my exposures. Occasionally, the left third of the frame was coming back badly overexposed.
Sample overexposure aberration from roll 3
By the time I got through my 4th roll, the overexposed portion was appearing with a clearly demarcated line. What ever was going wrong seemed to be evolving—and ruining a significant number of shots.
Sample overexposure aberration from roll 4
I showed the scans to some people who professionally service Leicas, and they suggested that it was likely a result of failed lubricant affecting the curtain brake. In other words, the camera, which doesn’t even have a battery, needed a lube job. Or in Leica parlance, it needed to be CLA’d: cleaned, lubricated, and adjusted. Which means sending the camera away for a few weeks (and parting with another couple of hundred dollars). Sigh…
So don’t be alarmed if you see a few photos in full technicolor return to Justinsomnia while the Leica is in the shop. Fear not, delayed gratification photography will return!
Equine container cranes
Earlier this month, Stephanie and I took the ferry to the Alameda Antiques Faire, where I expected to take photos of all the wacky stuff for sale, but instead found myself more enamored with the container cranes we saw on the way. I should have known—last time I took the ferry to Alameda, I did exactly the same thing.
Le Housewarming, enfin!
A few weeks ago we had some friends over to help warm our new home. I didn’t expect to take any photos, but after Jonathan picked up the Leica, I ended up snapping a few shots as well, including this tranquil scene of hands and wine glasses and pissaladières—the French pizzas topped with caramelized onions, anchovies, and olives.
Hands, wine glasses, and pissaladières
Plymouth Valiant
In my past experiments with color-accenting, I started with a color digital photograph and desaturated the background. Given my recent entree into delayed gratification photography, I now have the opportunity to work in the opposite direction: selectively tinting a black and white photo with color. I realize it’s a cheesy gimmick historically reserved for red lips and roses, but it’s one I’ve found particularly compelling for cars and mailboxes.
1960s Plymouth Valiant
VW Bus/Pickup
I don’t know what it is about black and white, but it makes me want to start taking car portraits again. I’m not even that into cars, but there’s something I find irresistible about old cars and cities. They have this uncanny ability to transform an otherwise pedestrian scene into one that looks intentionally composed.
Business in the front
A hybrid commute
Two months ago, not only did we move into our new home, but Simpleform moved into its new office on 2nd Street. As we were living only three blocks from the 16th St. Mission BART station, and I was working only two blocks from the Montgomery St. Station, I became a subway commuter for the first time in my life.
16th Mission Bart Station
After a few weeks, the novelty of being whisked to and fro by mass transit wore off, and I started to miss walking to work. I’ve never been big into gyms, so in the past I’ve tried to integrate walking into my daily routine as much as possible. But now with work just over two and a half miles away, it was a little too far to hoof it twice a day. So I decided to split the difference. I’d BART to work and walk home. The walk only takes about 45 minutes (which is less than my previous walking commute of 30-35 minutes, one way), but I experience so much more of the city, and it gives me an opportunity to take some photos en route.
Do Not Enter Julia St
Delayed Gratification Photography
Back in May 2009, Mike Johnston of “The Online Photographer” wrote a controversial blog post entitled The Leica as Teacher. (The URL slug of the post, a-leica-year, suggests an earlier title that I almost prefer.) Leica evokes a lot of strong emotions among a lot of people, but for me, as an amateur photographer who came of age in the digital era, it’s never been a brand that meant much. Still there was something in Mike’s post that intrigued me—and I wasn’t alone. It spawned an unusually passionate reaction in the comments (both for and against), and then two follow-up posts, essentially clarifying and expanding on his original proposition:
[If you] would like to radically improve [your] photography quickly and efficiently, I suggest shooting with nothing but a Leica and one lens for a year. Shoot one type of black-and-white film (yes, even if you’re completely devoted to color and digital, and hate film and everything it stands for. You don’t have to commit to this forever; it’s an exercise). Pick a single-focal-length 50mm, or 35mm, or 28mm. It doesn’t have to be a “good” lens—anything that appeals to you and that fits the camera will do. Carry the camera with you all day, every day. Shoot at least two films a week. Four or six is better (or shoot more in the spring and fall and less in the dead of summer and winter).
It’s funny because much of the spirit of the exercise I was doing already (thanks to reading T.O.P.): I was carrying a camera with me everywhere, and I was shooting with a single-focal-length lens (at the time, a Ricoh 28mm-e GR-D II, later a Pentax K-7 with a 35mm (53mm-e) lens). I wasn’t looking to “radically improve” my photography, but I was curious to see if I could play the same song on a different instrument, and how that might affect my visual perspective in the long run.
Unfortunately the timing was wrong. I was about to head to my brother’s wedding, where afterwards, while driving through Grand Teton National Park, I would begin scheming with Stephanie about taking a year off to travel. I was also on the cusp of buying my first-ever digital SLR, the aforementioned Pentax K-7, which I pulled the trigger on that August. Since we weren’t planning to embark on our travels for at least a year, I wanted to make sure I had time to get comfortable with the new camera before we left. Alas, “A Leica Year” wasn’t in the cards.
