My husband bought me a Canonet as a Christmas present in 2011. I wanted a small, vintage camera that I could tinker with and carry around with me when I needed an artistic nudge. At the time I was still using all of my cameras on auto (I know…bad Lina) and I had no idea how to use this thing.
It only added to the intrigue, really.
Sadly, I was only able to get about one good roll before the shutter button stopped working (on my 25th birthday…while on vacation in Chicago).
I was brokenhearted, but after calling around we realized it was going to cost more to repair the Canonet than what my husband paid for it. I sighed, placed it on the shelf with my other cameras, and figured it was over. Occasionally I would lift the camera and make a pouty face, sigh again, and return it to its place.
Goodbye Canonet….or so I thought.
I received the photography gene from my granddad, who’s spent much of his life behind a lens. A lot of what I know came from him, and I look up to him often for advice and approval.
Last week he gave me a bunch of his old gear, including the very camera he used in his studio. It’s surreal to be able to hold these artifacts, especially knowing just how knitted a camera can be with a photographer’s sense of self. It’s like holding a piece of my granddad’s soul. They are him in the past, and him today, and now they will be a part of me–and hopefully my daughter–as well.
You take a picture, and even before the post-processing it’s one of your favorites. Your knowledge in the manual settings, your skills–and maybe even a bit of luck–made this work of art. You did this. You’re a badass.
But then you share it with the world, and one of the first questions asked is: “what kind of lens did you use?”