Bloggers are know-it-alls. I know this because I am a blogger, and thus know it all. Fortunately, most of us limit our didactic soliloquies to a single subject — thus freeing ourselves from the burden of having to explain everything to everyone.
For the ULTRAsomething blog, I’ve chosen to expatiate on photography. Regrettably, I long ago opted to avoid the lucrative sub-genre of “better photography through trendy gear acquisition,” and instead chose to spray my verbiage in the general direction of “better photography through existentialism, nihilism, philosophy and psychology.”
Naturally, being a know-it-all, I was fully conscious of this avenue’s inevitable unpopularity — but I also knew that introspection is far more likely to improve one’s photography than replacing last month’s gear with this month’s.
The upside of such unfashionable pontification is that I basically have the niche all to myself. This means I can invent whatever theories I want, and thanks to the worldwide reach of the internet, they soon become uncontested fact.
Usually I present my hypotheses within tidy little essays that both formulate and justify whatever crap is currently rattling around in my head. But my latest bout of psychological pondering has me stumped. Even though I make it all up as I go, I still want my theories to possess a modicum of plausibility. But, try as I might, I can find no cogent answer to the following question:
“Why, when I see the following stack of objects atop my desk, am I filled with excitement, anticipation and hope…
… while the similarly-themed stack of objects, shown below, stimulates absolutely zero emotional impact?”
Both photos depict a means to the same end. Both are empty vessels, ready to be loaded into a camera and filled with photographs that have yet to be shot. Shouldn’t they have an identical effect on my psyche?
With the film stash shown here, I’ll be able to shoot roughly 2000 photographs (depending on which cameras I use). The trio of SD cards should hold twice that many photographs (again, depending on which cameras I use). But wait — not only do I own more SD cards than what’s shown here (enough for at least 10,000 raw-format photos), but SD cards can be used time-and-time again, yielding a nearly infinite number of “potential images.”
Based on these statistics, shouldn’t the SD cards stir my photographic passions more than the film? If a big stack of film ignites my expectations for all those yet-unrealized photos, why does a stack of SD cards fill me with no more hope than when I look at a pair of my shoes? I don’t gaze upon my shoes and imagine all the places they’ll take me. And frankly, it would be a little odd if I did. So why do I do this with film?
Some might think it’s because I prefer film to digital. But that’s not the case. I prefer both. Each has its merits and its demerits. Each is indispensable in ways the other is not. I would be no more capable of choosing which to eliminate from my life than would a mother choosing between her children.
I’ve considered tactility as a potential factor. That is, film produces a tactile, physical result — an actual image on a strip of acetate or polyester. The SD card stores data — the opposite of tactility. But in reality, all my film gets digitized and fed into the same Lightroom catalog, where its data becomes indistinguishable from data recorded on an SD card. So that can’t be it.
Perhaps it’s more a matter of longevity? After all, film is “permanent,” while data is fleeting. Once you’ve erased an SD card, your photos are at the mercy of your media backup strategy. But negatives have their own Achilles heel — fire and theft. And unlike digital files, negatives can’t be cloned ad infinitum. Destroy a negative and poof — it’s gone forever. Destroy a digital file and I’ve still got three backups scattered around the world. Since all my film gets digitized, it also gets subjected to the same backup strategy as anything shot with a digital camera. So the only difference is that film gives me one additional “backup” copy — the negative. But having one additional backup is hardly a reason for such a visceral emotional difference.
A decade ago, I thought film was more “future proof” than digital. But do I still? I was always quite aware that anything shot on film could one day be re-scanned and re-processed — using technological improvements in both equipment and software to yield a better print. Yet for some curious reason, I thought this wouldn’t be true with digital. I believed that “all the data in a digital file is already being fed into the computer, so it can never look any better than it looks today.” But this is simply not true. I have digital files taken a decade ago that looked so horrible, I assumed they were destined for obscurity. But when re-interpreted with modern raw converters and re-processed with modern software, photos made from old raw files can also look better now than when I took them. So I no longer believe in the “future proof” theory. Film or digital — squeeze ’em both hard enough and you’ll always get a little extra juice.
Next, I considered the possibility that film provides more variety. Although both the film and digital worlds feature a nearly inexhaustible assortment of cameras and lenses, there seems to be very little variety in digital sensors. Look at any one slice of time, and you’ll see that most of the cameras produced within that slice have nearly identical sensors. Marketing departments might try to convince you otherwise, but the digital camera market basically acts as a single, homogenous entity. So if I go down to the local camera shop and purchase six current-generation cameras, I’ll basically be getting the same sensor tech in six different bodies. But if I purchase six different types of film, I’ll get six very different “looks.”
So is that the answer? Is it that film offers more variety? I think not, and here’s the reason: while digital cameras may all be similar to one another at any one time, they continue to change throughout time. Sure, there might be precious little variety if I purchase a bunch of new digital cameras at the same time — but if I purchase different digital cameras at different times and from different eras, I’ll get plenty of variety. Just look at the visible differences produced between, say, a CMOS sensor and a CCD. They’re world’s apart. But they’re both digital. And though they’re the exception, there are a few oddball sensors out there that will also give you a different “look” — Leica’s Monochrom; Sigma’s Foveon; Sony’s upcoming curved sensor; Fuji’s X-Trans (though that one’s more similar to the ubiquitous Bayer pattern sensor than it is different). So the variety is there with digital — you just need to own enough cameras to see it.
Ahh! Maybe that’s it? By shooting film, I can achieve a wide variety of looks within a single camera body. But to achieve a similar diversity with digital requires ownership of multiple bodies. This was likely the same bong from which Ricoh toked back in 2009, when they released their GXR camera. For those who don’t remember, the Ricoh GXR was a camera that featured interchangeable sensors. I thought it was the greatest idea in the world, and I still own and love this camera. Unfortunately for Ricoh, not a lot of other people agreed. Consequently, I can no longer buy new sensors for my GXR, making it the digital equivalent of Kodak’s equally irrelevant APS film format.
So is that it? Is frugality the answer? It’s certainly cheaper to buy multiple types of film than multiple types of digital cameras. And if I owned only one film camera, then I might have just solved this case. But I don’t. I actually own far more film cameras than digital cameras. So the notion that film lets me achieve multiple looks with one camera, while digital requires multiple cameras completely disintegrates between the theory stage and reality.
So what is it? Why do I perform an excited little dance whenever a fresh batch of new film hits ULTRAsomething headquarters? Yet a new SD card thrills me slightly less than a new tube of toothpaste?
I haven’t a clue. But I’m determined to figure it out. It is, after all, why they call it PSYCHO-logy.
©2014 grEGORy simpson
ABOUT THESE PHOTOS:
The photos contained within this article shine no additional light on the conundrum. Rather, they disprove yet another possible theory — that my approach to photography might somehow be different depending on whether I shoot film or digital. But it turns out this isn’t the case — I respond to the same subjects and the same stimuli, whether I’m depositing that image onto film or onto an SD Card. Case in point: the two “If a Tree Falls in the Forest” photos. Both illustrate the same situation — an embarrassingly small turnout to what, obviously, was expected to be a much more significant event. The first photo (which, paradoxically, is “version 2” of the “If a Tree Falls in the Forest” theme) was shot on a Ricoh GR digital camera using its 21mm (equivalent) lens adapter attachment. The second photo (which is “version 1” of the “If a Tree Falls in the Forest” theme) was shot with a Hasselblad Xpan using its 45mm lens, and developed in Caffenol-C-M. (See Note 1)
“A Failure to Communicate 3” is a continuation of a theme that began in my previous article, The Blacksmith’s Lot. That article contains two different photos illustrating a communications breakdown — both of which were shot on film. But the photo contained within this article was shot on a digital Ricoh GR, this time with its unmodified 28mm (equivalent) lens. Just as with the “tree falls” series, it illustrates that film and digital seem to have no bearing on the sort of photos I take, eliminating this as another potential answer to the question posed within the article.
Note 1: For those wondering why this photo was taken with an Xpan, yet isn’t panoramic, the answer is simple: The Xpan lets you choose between panoramic (65 x 24) format or standard (36 x 24) format. What’s particularly cool about this is that you can make these changes mid-roll. I learned rather early on that I can always squeeze one extra frame out of a panoramic roll of shots if, at some point in the roll, I switch the camera over and take one standard frame image. It’s the sort of thing you do to maximize your film dollar, and is also the sort of thing that’s completely unnecessary when shooting on SD cards — thus making yet another effective argument that my emotional delight at having plenty of unexposed film in stock is, perhaps, a bit psychotic.
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Hi Gregor, nice post
My personal answer to your question, since I have the same reaction to a film can vs. a memory card?
We are physical beings first of all and we have been conditioned culturally that artistic artifacts are physical items. We value handling objects even if we succumb to the convenience of handling bits. We savor far more intensely a letter in our letterbox than an email in our inbox. We instinctively attribute permanency to objects and transiency to immaterial artifacts. We collect mementos even when memories should suffice (and digital memory is neither. A film cartridge will contain unique images while a memory card will contain one today and be erased tomorrow. Erasing= destroying = not attributing value.
It will take some time before we grow out of these associations, as much as we shall be mmore and more digital in between.
On the other hand, I do not share your multiple personalities-in-a-film-camera theory, or rather your no-choice-of personalities in a sensor/digital camera. With postprocessing, I feel it’s exactly the other way around, I feel I can draw multiple looks from the same digital ‘negative’ (RAW), starting from the basic color vs. BW conversion (other than in the Leica Monochrom!), which actually opens the field too much and creates a major risk of lacking shooting focus. I stick to BW conversions (or straight Leica MM files), to prevent that. But even after choosing one or the other in that bifurcation, you have a level of control in a digital file that vastly overcomes the theoretical limitation of starting from the same basic few sensors out there on the market…
Having said that, again, great post and stimulating thougts!
Best
Giovanni
It’s because film fills us with hope, expectation and, yes, even fear. It represents possibility and it is tactile, even when in the camera you can feel it slide when you advance the lever.
Digital on the other hand, we take for granted. It’s memory devices are inseparable from the other mechanical features of the camera, buttons, and the like. It carries no particular emotion. There is no fear or expectation because, quite frankly, we don’t value a digital image as we do an analogue one. “There’s always another”.
Tom, Giovanni: So if I read you both correctly, you’re suggesting that many of the answers I proposed and rejected on intellectual grounds remain valid because they work on an emotional level. Of course, emotion itself is frequently irrational, and “irrationality” is a sure sign of psychosis — a loss of contact with reality. But then who am I to worry about reality? The whole reason I photograph is to convey an emotion, and not to create some two dimensional facsimile of a person or object. The fact that my photos contain people or objects is only because I can’t photograph an emotion directly — only the suggestion of one.
So maybe this is a bear best left un-poked. If I start worrying too much about the irrationality of emotion, I’ll end up taking photos of test charts and publishing only the sharpest, most rectilinear versions. Though if I did, my site stats would increase astronomically…
Maybe the answer really is “psychosis” (aka “emotion”). It was, after all, my final conclusion (buried at the bottom of the “About These Photos” discussion). But if one is aware of one’s own psychosis, then does the psychosis really exist? Maybe the true psychosis is believing in one’s psychosis? Oh, never mind, I’ve got some pathos, irony and irritability to photograph. 😉
There’s many reasons why I am stirred by someone else’s photos, none of which are rational. Sometimes it’s the subject itself, but even then I also respond to composition, light, patterns, textures, contrast and (if in color!) color. Same applies to my own attempts, I look for the same things in my edits. It’s not that one looks for absolute emotion, or emotion in the usual sense, it’s a different kind of emotion, probably more of a response, I don’t know how to express it, really. On top of the image, then, is the additional layer of feelings that you discussed in relation to a film can vs a memory card!
At the end, we make images because we enjoy it. Enjoyment is by definition irrational, thanks god. That’s why I prefer reading your blog than DP Review, which only caters to equipment lust, a negative emotion!
Best
Giovanni
Egor:
One could argue “psychosis” is the entire motivation for photographing! Keep doing what you do.
Gregor,
Always enjoy your updates. I have been shooting for 5 years and the more I evolve, the more I relish film. I find it keeps me focused on working the scene, and enjoy the different “looks” different films produce, plus the mechanical precision of the instruments I use for the task (rangefinders mostly). Keep up the great blog.
-Mike
I’d say it is not about variety but about character; film has a kind of personality that at least memory cards don’t have. Digital cameras may have their own character, but you cannot easily switch from one to another; both because of cost and due to the fact that switching between cameras means different controls/settings/capabilities, so also more disturbing.
I think that another aspect is that film (as medium) is timeless, whereas digital is short-lived, not something you really attach to since it becomes obsolete pretty quickly. It is easier to get emotionally attached to something that has a history, and/or was used by others who you respect and admire.
Film is also tangible while digital is not. I’m not sure that scanning the negatives afterwards really changes that.
Lastly, for me film is also about “back to basics”; rather than trying to second-guess what the DSLR-computer is going to come up with based on a myriad of settings I do not always remember, with film there’s only the aperture, exposure time, and distance, no computer that gets in the way.
If within let’s say 10 years the SD cards are obsolete and interchanged for an other medium, would you have also a back to the past/basics feeling using these, by then very old SD cards? If the answer would be yes, than it is the nostalgic element that nurishes the excitement.
I rather belief that taking pictures on film, using the camera for a certain period in time, developing the film and only seeing the result quite a bit later than actual taking, adds to the excitement. You “receive a present” and you don’t know exactly how it will look like. A digital image is instant satisfaction.
This difference is key too me.
In the C21st, film is about embracing limitations. Its light gathering capacity is modest compared to digital photography, it has visible surface texture in any of the smaller formats and its price prohibits the squirt and hope philosophy of some digital photographers. Limitations were never prohibitive to great photographs (or any art save the commercial variety), which is why serious photographers can be seen embracing plastic point and shoot cameras, and other gratuitously anachronistic tools, when they could have a full frame Canon or Sony that sees in the dark and produces seamless 30 x 40 prints.
When someone complained to the ground-breaking British disk jockey John Peel that vinyl records contained more surface noise than CDs, he replied “life has surface noise”. Film is a small reflection of the flawed, partial, limited but deeply textured purview most of us see the world through.
I think you answered your question at least in part in Are Bure Boke, desu-ne?
A couple more thoughts (and perhaps to square the circle of tonight’s archive exploration… that began last night with a reading of your M-A article)…
the answer is also partly in the M-A. We sit in front of computers, and when we move around we talk on, message on, ‘consume’ ‘media’ on, and socially (dis?-)connect on our digital phones.
But you can pull that roll of Kentmere having just looked at results (for the first time) from the EE taken on TX400, and wonder how the Kentmere might turn out. Adventure. It will be analogue. Nostalgia. And when you scan it, and then crop it slightly, tweak the contrast to simulate the density you might have wanted, you will have merged the analogue you knew with the digital you know. Hybrid.
Pi.
The next time I have the lame idea to buy one of those TV series DVDs, I’m going to watch them in reverse order.
Goodnight.