I’ve never considered myself much of a photographer. I’ve been an artist for all of my life, and I’m at Luther for art and visual communication. But I still can’t quite get the feel of snapping a good picture. There are always too many variables, and, because it feels like I should know what I’m doing, I put unnecessary pressure on myself to get it right.
Even still, this year I went scrounging for my relatives’ stash of pre-smartphone era cameras, inspired by my friend from high school who swears by her two digicams. My grandpa is a photographer, and has any number of nice, quality cameras. My dad handed me a Canon on which he captured years of family memories.
But it wasn’t until my uncle revealed he’d kept a hold of his old SONY Cyber-Shot DSC-W170 that I hit gold. It was retired in 2008. It’s full of nicks and scratches. It’s lost a lens protector. And, it emits a wheezy, complaining whir every time you turn it on. But, my uncle kept track of a battery, a 2GB SD card (only 2!), and the adapter cord, so it’s perfectly functional.
The camera went everywhere with me this J-Term. I took pictures of waterfalls, of art exhibitions, of mountains and fjords and seagulls and acquaintances who turned into friends. A lot of them were so blurry, it looked like everyone and everything was living in a fun house mirror. Or, especially at night, the colors were so washed out, I knew I would never use the picture again. At first, these problems really annoyed me. I could feel my need for perfectionism creeping back in while I critiqued the photos – especially after I’ve seen many other digicams produce really quality images.
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But I learned to adapt to these flaws, and eventually, to embrace them. There were measures I could take to combat too much blur. I started holding still as possible, taking many photos, turning on the flash for shorter exposure times. If the conditions were right and I had time, I usually ended up with a pretty decent photo.
But, in the end, I’ve realized that my grumpy, retired camera revealed a more true version of the trip than a perfect camera would. The trip was messy, annoying and human, just as much as it was scenic, invigorating and illuminating. The photos I captured with my iPhone were often more precise, but they had so much less character.
I also brought along a disposable film camera. But the disposable still felt scary – there were only 27 photos total to take, and each time, I needed to find the perfect moment to justify using only one of those precious images up. So instead, I found myself reaching, every day, for the Cyber-shot. There was a freedom in the imperfection. If the photo turned out terribly – and there were many – there was no real loss. In the end, I took three photos on the disposable and literally 100s on the Cyber-shot.
So if you have a parent, uncle, aunt or cousin who’s still got an old camera stashed away somewhere, go ask them if you can take it out of retirement. Just like me, you might just find a new passion through an old lens.