In part 1 of this series, I discussed why an M8 was necessary for my photographic techniques, and how I came to secure one. In part 2, I discussed the camera’s ergonomic factors, shutter volume, and sociological impact on today’s streets. In other words, I’ve discussed everything except what matters most — image quality. So let’s get down to it.

The Sound of a Photograph

It’s a little known fact that photographs make sound. A print reflects visible light, which has a frequency that ranges from 384 to 769 terahertz. Audible sound, by contrast, has a much lower frequency — ranging from 20 hertz to 20 kilohertz. Because a photograph is physically unable to vibrate with a force capable of propagating audible waves, it can’t be heard directly. Instead, its sound is modulated by the visible light’s high-frequency carrier signal. Note that this is exactly the same principle on which radio broadcasts work. You can’t hear your favorite FM station by listening directly to the high frequency carrier waves that float through the air  — you need a radio to demodulate the content and extract it from the carrier band. The same is true with photographs. You can’t hear the photograph by listening to the images — you need a human being to demodulate the audible content from the carrier wave. In this case, the image comes into the eye, where the brain demodulates the signal, and the mouth then articulates the sound of the photograph.

Look, for example, at one of your worst photographs and a “pfft” sound escapes from your mouth. This is the sound of that photo. Glance at a mediocre image and listen carefully as a quiet “meh” falls from your lips. Intriguing images tend to make “hmmmm!” sounds of varying intensity.

Why is this important? Because I have discovered that RAW image files from the Leica M8 make a specific sound — and that sound is “whoah!” This sound, though not unique to M8 photographs, is unique to unprocessed digital negatives. Generally, when a photograph possesses the “whoah!” sound, it’s been carefully honed via a skillful application of Photoshop post-processing techniques. To hear an unprocessed image make this sound is remarkable.

Prior to getting the M8, I could easily find all my post-processed images in an Adobe Lightroom gallery — they simply leapt from the screen — a handful of “whoahs” in a symphony of lesser sounds. There was no need to look at file names or metadata. The post-processed images had a vibrance and energy about them that is simply missing from unprocessed RAW captures. Once the M8 arrived, I could no longer quickly distinguish the processed images from the unprocessed M8 RAW files — they both said “whoah!”

Cartier-Bresson on Nonlinear Differential Equations

The M8 delivers stellar “negatives.” I didn’t expect this. Charts and graphs and mathematics all indicate that, ultimately, the RAW output from a Leica M8 is commensurate with an old Canon 20D. Measurements and calculations of a camera’s color sensitivity, tonal range, signal-to-noise ratio, and ISO sensitivity are all readily found on the internet. All are earnest attempts to scientifically quantify theoretical performance levels for different cameras. Fortunately, I once owned a Canon 20D, and still have hundreds of its better photos in my Lightroom library. In spite of their identical scientific measurements, there is not the slightest similarity between the 20D’s RAW files and those from the Leica. The differences between images from the 20D and those from the M8 are every bit as apparent as those between a point-and-shoot and my Canon 5DmkII. Prior to owning an M8, I had a modicum of faith in such camera specifications. I now believe them to be pure, unadulterated crap. If specs had any significant meaning, Henri Cartier-Bresson would have carried an HP Scientific Calculator rather than a Leica rangefinder.

While the sensor in a 20D and the sensor in an M8 might both be capable of recording images of equal fidelity, the specs don’t address the fact that the M8 delivers a higher quality image to that sensor. Imagine, if you will, two identically specified audio recorders. One is placed inside a concert hall, and the other out on the street. The recording mechanisms may be identical, but the quality of the music recorded inside the concert hall will far exceed the quality of the recording made outside. There are, I believe, several reasons why shooting with an M8 is like being inside that concert hall.

First, the M8 lacks an anti-aliasing filter. Leica was initially ridiculed for this decision because everyone assumed you had to put an anti-aliasing filter on a digital camera. The main reason cameras have these filters is to prevent moire patterns from appearing in photographs. And how does the anti-aliasing filter reduce these moire patterns? By softening and blurring the image so the patterns are no longer visible. The problem, obviously, is that the typical digital camera softens every image you capture, on the off-chance you might inadvertently capture a moire pattern. It’s like drinking Ipecac Syrup every day, just in case you ingest some harmful poison. When used with high quality lenses, the increased image sharpness and clarity from the M8 is remarkable — like the difference between a nearsighted person seeing the world with and without glasses. The potential trade-off, of course, is the possibility that moire patterns will creep into your photos. But after looking at over 500 M8 captures in Lightroom, I have yet to see a single moire pattern in a rendered image — the mathematical anti-aliasing routines included in Lightroom are obviously doing their job effectively, and without obfuscating image detail.

Second, in order to further maximize sharpness and contrast, Leica built the M8 with an unusually thin glass cover over the sensor. The tradeoff here is an increased sensitivity to infrared light. When shooting for black & white, the increased IR responsiveness is not a problem and, in some instances, may be beneficial. But if your final image is destined for color, it does necessitate you use an IR-cut filter on your lens. When used on wide angle lenses, IR-cut filters also cause red vignetting (manifesting as cyan-colored corners), which requires software correction. If you’re using coded Leica lenses, these corrections are applied automatically in-camera. If you’re not using coded Leica lenses, a program called “Cornerfix” yields excellent results. The M8’s infrared controversy, workarounds, and workflow contortions are well-documented, so I won’t discuss them further. Suffice to say, whether you think it’s for better or worse, Leica’s decision to fit the M8 with such a thin sensor covering has helped squeeze even more magic out of those magnificent M-mount lenses.

Third, and speaking of magnificent M-mount lenses, I’ve been shooting almost exclusively with the Leica 28mm f/2 Summicron. A camera can only be as good as the lens you mount on it, and the Summicron is exceptional. With the M8’s crop-factor, this lens operates like a 35mm lens on a full-frame 35mm SLR. To date, the best 35mm lens I’ve used is the Canon EF 35mm f/1.4L. It’s a highly-respected industry standard that I, myself, rated 9 out of a possible 10. All I can say is, if that Canon is a 9, then the Leica 28mm f/2 Summicron is a 14. It’s extraordinary. Of all the 35mm format camera/lens combinations I’ve used, only my Canon 135mm f/2L on a full-frame SLR has delivered RAW images of such quality.

Fourth, charts and graphs and mathematics are completely inept at quantifying aesthetic pleasure. Stereo manufacturers, for example, try to build amplifiers with the lowest harmonic distortion readings possible. Yet many audiophiles prefer tube amplifiers — precisely because their analog harmonic distortion is actually more pleasing to the ear. What good is a spec if it’s irrelevant? Look no further than the silliness of the megapixel specification. We all know it’s possible to place so many megapixels on a sensor that image quality begins to degrade. Yet many people (consumers, mostly) use megapixel comparisons to determine which camera is ‘better.’ No doubt, if one camera contained 20 megapixels and another contained 15, the average consumer would conclude the 20 megapixel model would produce a better image. But what if the 15 megapixel camera sported a full-frame 35mm sensor, while the 20 megapixel model was a pocket camera with a typical 6mm sensor? Assuming both cameras were competently engineered, the 15 megapixel camera, with a sensor 30x larger than the pocket camera, would utterly annihilate the 20 megapixel model. Even Mr. Magoo would see the difference.

Assessing the M8 by its specifications is like evaluating Yosemite by its travel brochures. In both cases you’ll miss the point — entirely. The Leica appealed to me because its handling and ergonomics were more conducive to the sort of quick, candid shooting I wanted to perform. That was the bait. But what set the hook and reeled me in was the image quality. Make some room in the creel — Leica’s bagged another convert.

8-Bit RAW?!

Leica usage, amongst non-Leica users, is considered a ‘cult.’ But, I assure you, I own no hooded black robes. I don’t chant incantations when choosing an aperture setting, and the camera doesn’t require a secret password before it releases the shutter. My mind, my eye, and my techniques are mine — not the camera’s. I am not a slave to the Leica zeitgeist — the Leica is a slave to mine. The images I choose to capture are not determined by Leica, they’re determined by me. And the M8 is the tool that best-enables me to capture these images.

Besides, would cultists dare question their supreme ruler? M-series aficionados have, for nearly 60 years, vociferously challenged many of Leica’s conservative and downright quirky design decisions. As part of a new generation of Leica shooters, I have my own laundry list of complaints, and none is more irksome than their decision to use 8-bit RAW files.

Choosing to output 8-bit RAW files is, without a doubt, the single dumbest decision Leica made in regards to the M8. Much dumber than their decision to outfit the M8 with the traditional and hopelessly anachronistic baseplate. More foolish, too, than the controversial decision to use a thin IR-shield over the sensor, which necessitates the use of IR-cut filters and software vignetting correction. Those decisions are annoying but surmountable. 8-bit RAW files, in contrast, have no work-around. They simply limit what a photographer can accomplish with an image.

Most digital cameras give you RAW files with 12-bits of data recorded in each color channel. The M8 gives you RAW files with 8-bits of data. Since I’m already on-record as stating that M8 RAW files are more visually appealing than those from other cameras, why does this matter? Because it affects what you can do with an image in post-processing. Leica lenses and the M8 body capture images of superb quality. The M8 records these images at a higher bit-rate, then downsamples them to 8-bits in the final RAW file. Leica’s rationalization is that there is no discernible difference between the captured image quality and the 8-bit output and, thus, decided that photographers would prefer to have smaller file sizes.

I have no doubt that Leica’s downsampling algorithms create an image perceptually indistinguishable from the one captured. My problem is that, in modern photography, the digital negative is only a starting point — it’s not the final destination. By giving us files with only 8-bits per channel, the M8’s digital negatives are less forgiving of post-processing. 12-bit files have 4096 variations between the lightest and darkest tone in each of the three color channels. 8-bit files have only 256 variations. Although good conversion algorithms can create a reduced tonal map that makes a downsampled image visually indistinguishable from the original, those images become “set in stone.” When you start to push pixels around—changing their tonal relationships—the images begin to deteriorate. Because of the coarseness in 8-bit tonal values, the creaminess of the Leica image becomes ragged and mottled when subjected to anything more than subtle post-processing. This is madness. Leica has designed lenses and a camera that can capture images of impeccable quality. They then, essentially, throw away all the perceptually ‘unneeded’ bits, and give us a downsampled version that cannot be processed without visible degradation. Why? SD cards are ridiculously inexpensive. The M8 even supports SDHC cards, whose higher capacity would easily store hundreds of full-size, 12-bit RAW files on a single, thumbnail-sized card. From my perspective, there is absolutely no need to downsample the image. The camera is capturing images at a higher bit-depth, but the internal software reduces that depth before it’s recorded to the card. Why can’t Leica recognize that, in 2009, there is no longer a need for these smaller RAW files? Why don’t they recognize that photographers will post-process digital images the same way they manipulated prints in a darkroom? Why has Leica continued to update the camera’s firmware without ever issuing an update that gives photographers access to the 12-bit captures? It’s infuriating. Setting aside my modesty temporarily, I’ll cop to the fact that my post-processing skills are exemplary. The M8’s image quality is astonishing. Together, we could create some stunning photographs. But Leica’s decision to create 8-bit RAW files prevents this synergy from forming and means, for serious work, I must still turn to the 5DmkII — a camera that allows its raw files to be manipulated in any manner I see fit.

Come on, Leica. If you only do one other thing with the M8 series, give us 12-bit RAW files!

Misplacing my Discombobulation

When I decided to purchase the M8, I expected to dedicate an entire blog entry to my problems and frustrations with adapting to the rangefinder. For the last 20 years, I’ve been staring through the barrel of my lenses — able to frame images precisely, preview depth-of-field effects, and accurately visualize the unique spatial perspective of each lens. Surely, the loss of these features would be problematic, right? Wrong.

I took to the rangefinder like bacon to eggs. It turns out that I don’t need to preview an image’s depth of field — my years of experience have taught me exactly what to expect from each focal length and each aperture. I can see depth-of-field in my mind — I don’t require the camera to show me, and I don’t miss looking through a lens. I know, instinctively, how various focal lengths will affect perspective, and I can frame and shoot accordingly. Honestly, if you really understand photography, then the things a rangefinder doesn’t tell you are the things you already know. You will miss nothing. If, however, your photographic education is somewhat spotty, an SLR is a more forgiving and helpful teacher.

My rangefinder experiences have been nothing short of pure joy. I had but one bad habit to correct — a persistent desire to focus perfectly. When you peer through a rangefinder, you’ll see a center spot with a split image — half the image comes through the viewfinder on the left. The other half comes from a different viewfinder on the opposite side of the lens. When you turn the focus ring on the lens, the two images converge or diverge accordingly. When an object is in perfect focus, the two images align. My problem was that, instinctively, I wanted the two images to be in precise alignment before shooting. Intellectually, I knew that wider focal lengths and narrower apertures created an extensive depth-of-field that made it pointless to obsess over accurate focus. But, because the M8 is designed for instinctual photography, the instinctual half of my brain was initially in control of the camera’s functions — causing me to be overly slow and conservative when focusing.  Eventually, my intellectual brain successfully trained my instinctual brain to ease-up on its precise focus fixation, and accept a variable amount of slop as dictated by the current focal length and aperture.

Conclusion

We live in an era where a preponderance of popular music is assembled from prefabricated audio loops rather than from the blood, sweat and creativity of instrumentalists. So it should come as no surprise that rangefinder cameras have fallen from favor. Their usage — like violins, trumpets or pianos — requires a commitment to study and practice. But “study” and “practice” are antonyms for “instant gratification,” which is what pumps the pulses of today’s society. Modern, auto-everything cameras have as much in common with the Leica M-series as the Guitar Hero™ game has with a Fender Telecaster™. For many, these blunt instruments of passionless photography rise to near-perfection when bundled with a cellphone.

But for those to whom photography is a lifelong craft, there is no such thing as a ‘perfect camera,” and no single camera can do everything a photographer needs it to do. Wildlife and sports photographers, in particular, would find the Leica M8 utterly useless. But if you’re a photographer who documents everyday life, the M8 is as close to perfect as you can currently get. Supplementing the M8 with a Panasonic G1 brings you that much closer — each camera compliments the other’s weaknesses. Yet the two sit, side-by-side, in a bag much smaller than the one that carries your big, bulky dSLR.

For the first time since being infected by the dreaded “street shooting bug,” I am thoroughly happy with my gear. I feel liberated and I feel free.

In part 1 of this series, I recounted my reasons for purchasing a Leica M8, and how a series of fortuitous events enabled this to happen. At the time I made this purchase, the original M8 had been on the market for two and a half years — an eon in digital photography terms. Graduates from the school of “latest is greatest” will deem this a curious purchase decision, but it has several advantages. First, Leica has now had 30 months to work the kinks out of the system — and there were a lot of kinks. Second, the many experienced rangefinder shooters who boldly blazed the digital Leica trail have kindly left us latecomers with a wealth of maps and detours around the camera’s many quirks and curiosities. Third, it’s the only way a mortal photographer of meager means can afford entry.

So, for the M8-curious, what wisdom can I possibly impart that was not previously disclosed by the many sage rangefinder shooters before me? Perspective. The fact that I am not an experienced rangefinder shooter, but a born and bread SLR-slinger, affords me a completely different vantage point from which to assess the M8 and its role in modern photography. Since the majority of M8 reports were penned by experienced rangefinder photographers, they’re frequently skewed toward discussing the differences between the M8 and the film-based rangefinders that preceded it. It’s all good stuff — if you’re also a long-time rangefinder shooter. But what if you’re not? What if you’re one of the crazy ones that, after shooting SLR’s for 20 years, suddenly decide you want to hand over a sizable chunk of your photography technique to the rangefinder — a system with which you’ve had only limited experience? Now where’s your guidance? That’s why I’m here.

So to all the rangefinder veterans who, while reading this report, will likely snicker at the blatant obviousness of my findings, I apologize. At least you now have another supporter to help shore up your depleted numbers. And, to all the SLR shooters who are blithely unaware of rangefinder cameras or techniques, let this report be a guide in your own quest to determine whether or not a rangefinder deserves a place amongst your SLRs.

First Physical Impressions

My first impression, upon receiving my ‘beater’ M8, was to think popflash.com mailed me the wrong one. The camera looked flawless. It was ding-free and showed no obvious signs of wear, even under intense scrutiny. I’ve unsealed brand new products from factory packages that don’t look this good. I was mentally self-prepared to receive a camera that had doubled as someone’s hammer. Instead, I got something that looked barely touched.

Though my M8 doesn’t appear to have seen duty as a hammer, that’s not necessarily indicative that it hasn’t. The camera feels like a precision-forged, solid slab of industrial-grade carbon steel. I get the sense that a little medium-duty household hammering wouldn’t leave a mark. Compared to the M8, my Canon 5D mkII feels like it’s assembled from Tupperware™. There is no doubt, should I ever be called upon to photograph the armageddon, that I’ll grab the Leica — it and cockroaches will be all that endure.

Of course, such robust construction exacts more than a financial price. In this case, the cost is weight. When you reach for the M8, your natural tendency is to pinch a corner between your thumb and forefinger and exert a gentle lifting force. The camera just laughs. If you want to lift this sucker, you better wrap your whole hand around it, bend your knees, exhale firmly, and jerk upward in a forceful but fluid motion. OK, perhaps I’m exaggerating a little, but the Leica is heavier than you expect.

Curiously, the substantial weight you feel when lifting an M8 from a table becomes nearly non-existent when it’s slung over your shoulder. Though this appears to violate the laws of physics it is, in fact, an illusion of ergonomics. The M8 is a superbly balanced camera. When you lift an M8 by the strap, it hangs plumb — tilting neither up nor down, left nor right. This means, when draped across your body, the M8 simply melds to it. For me, it’s like having an extra super-strength bionic rib in my chest — it becomes a part of my body, not something hanging off of it. When you walk, the M8’s mass dampens any bouncing motion. Also, since the M8 always sits flat against your body, there’s none of the swinging and twisting motion you get from an SLR, which inevitably hangs cockeyed due to the exceedingly heavy and unbalanced lenses. Similarly, when you lift the M8 to your eye and frame a shot, the camera provides no resistance — only a well-balanced damping effect and steadiness in the hand.

The ergonomic factors that work with the M8 when you wear it on your body are the same factors that work against it when you lift it off the table. The M8 is an item of symmetry. It has no bulbous curves around which to wrap your right palm. It has no molded finger indents, no thumb rests, and no organic shaping of any kind. It’s a rectangle with a tube sticking out the front. The M8 offers the user no obvious place to grab it and lift. Unless you’re willing to put big greasy fingerprints on the LCD, viewfinder and distance meter window, the M8 encourages you (as I described previously), to grab it by “pinching a corner between your thumb and forefinger.” When lifted in this manner, the camera might as well be a 1961 Buick LeSabre.

All this talk about mass and heft and apparent weight might seem aimlessly trite, but there’s a point — particularly if, like me, you’re an SLR shooter that’s contemplating an M8. The first few times I felt tempted enough to fondle the M8 in camera shops, the experience left me cold. That’s because one of my major goals was to eliminate the bulkiness of the SLR. But when lifted, fingered, and examined in a camera store, the M8’s utilitarian body shape makes the camera seem exceedingly heavy and clumsy to hold. It’s only when strapped to one’s body and lifted, from there to the eye, that the M8 transforms into a featherweight. For over a year, my camera-store experiences actually had a negative impact on my decision to purchase an M8. It was only after I took the trouble to attach a strap and feel how the camera sat against my body, that I “got” it.

Because the M8 was never designed to be a one-handed camera, Leica and numerous third-party developers have created all manner of add-on ergonomic doo-dads. You can purchase cases with built-in ‘bumps’ with which you can better grab the camera. Leica offers a replaceable bottom plate with a built-in ‘tube’ that extends vertically up the right-face of the camera, giving the fingers of your right-hand something to grab onto. Both of these items are unnecessary if you plan to wear the M8 but, if you choose to slip on a wrist strap and carry it with one hand, they’ll prove invaluable. Personally, I’d be fine resting my four fingers on the camera’s flat front edge if there was something, instead, for my thumb to grip on the camera’s back. Fortunately, Tim Isaac makes just such a product and, eventually, this may be the first ergonomic add-on to adorn my M8. But I plan to shoot judiciously with the camera as-is before deciding to accessorize it in any way.

KaTHUNK Zawip

When graphic designers create page layouts, they use strings of nonsensical characters to help them visualize how the actual text will look. This is called greeking and, contrary to appearances, it is not mistakenly responsible for the title of this section. No, kaTHUNK zawip is really a German term, which comes from the Solms region and means, literally, “the sound of an M8 shutter release.”

To those of us who heard the legendary tales of whisper-like Leica shutters, the M8’s kaTHUNK zawip comes as quite a shock. This thing is loud. Not only is it louder than the DMC-G1, which I thought was too loud, but it’s even louder than my 5D mkII. Nowhere, in all my preliminary research, had I unearthed this particular fact. Now, I’m fully aware that Leica traditionalists were bemoaning the M8’s shutter volume, but I thought, “So what. It’s still gotta be quieter than my SLR.” Nope. It’s not. All you SLR-shooters who think the legendary Leica ‘discreetness’ extends into the audible realm are, like me, mistaken. If capturing the shot requires maximum auditory discretion, use one of the many point-and-shoot cameras that allows for totally silent operation.

Leica, to their credit, heard the customer complaints and designed a completely different shutter for the M8.2. As with all the M8.2 improvements, Leica (also to their credit) offers M8 owners the option to upgrade their old M8 shutter to the new, quieter version. To Leica’s ultimate discredit, however, this shutter upgrade costs as much as my entire ‘beater’ M8. Obviously, I won’t be replacing the shutter.

Short of wrapping the camera in a blanket, there’s little that can be done. In March of 2009, Leica released firmware version 2.004, which adds the M8.2’s so-called “discreet” shutter function to the M8. This function, essentially, allows you to separate the zawip from the kaTHUNK. The kaTHUNK sound comes from the opening and closing of the shutter. The zawip sound comes from its re-cocking. In the film days, you would re-cock the shutter manually, meaning you could choose to make that sound at a more appropriate time. With version 2.004’s discreet shutter option enabled, pressing the shutter button still takes a picture with a resounding kaTHUNK, but the shutter re-cocking and corresponding zawip sound will not occur until you release the shutter button. In theory, this lets you snap a shot, hold the shutter button in, walk away, and then release the shutter button — separating the zawip from the kaTHUNK.

Given the fact that, on my Canon 5D, the re-cocking sound is louder than the shutter release, I thought the new Leica ‘discreet’ mode would be more useful than it is. Unfortunately, unlike the 5D, the M8’s kaTHUNK shutter release is acutely louder than the re-cocking sound. That said, I’ve still chosen to use the new discreet shutter mode for two very subtle reasons: First, the zawip sound is much higher pitched than the kaTHUNK. As such, even though it’s quieter, it tends to cut through the din of a noisy environment a bit more that its volume would indicate. Second, since we’ve all grown up in the presence of cameras, we’ve come to expect them to emit the two-part sound. So, when the kaTHUNK catches someone’s attention, they subconsciously think “did I just hear a camera click?” When the ear doesn’t receive the corresponding zawip sound, the brain thinks, “No, I must have been mistaken.” Like I said, it’s subtle… but its better than nothing, and it’s much more practical than a blanket.

As I gain more hands-on experience with the M8, I’ll be able to determine whether or not the excessive shutter volume is as detrimental as I fear. In my first few preliminary forays onto the street, I’m finding that the kaTHUNK’s lower pitch is a bit more masked by environmental sounds than the higher-pitched 5D. At least I know, should the volume of the M8’s shutter ever get me into hot water, the camera itself will be a most effective weapon of self-defence.

Social Experimentation

Though I felt compelled to warn fellow SLR-slingers that the M8’s shutter release affords no more furtiveness than a Canon 5D mkII, audible stealthiness takes a back-seat to physical stealthiness. After all, as long as you can run fast enough, it’s far better to give yourself away after you’ve taken a photo than before. If people notice your camera before you get your shot, then you’re not getting it. And this is where the M8 really excels.

I think, in order to pursue street photography, you need to have an interest in people, and in their interactions with each other and with the world around them. Effectively, this makes all us street guys amateur sociologists and, as such, I’m not beyond conducting a few social experiments of my own.

One of my more important experiments involves watching how people in crowds respond to different types of cameras.

SLRs always attract attention. Be it a furtive glance or an open-mouthed gawk, the SLR gets noticed. It’ll attract the watchful eye of a protective mother, the calculating eye of an opportunistic thief, and the competitive eye of every gadget geek. The bigger the lens, the more you’re noticed. And don’t even get me started on white lenses. They have an uncanny knack, not just of getting noticed, but of eliciting such enlightened comments as “betcha that thing takes really good pictures!”

Surprisingly, my little LX3 point-and-shoot also attracts some scrutiny. I would have thought, since everyone seems to carry a portable camera, that it would go unnoticed. My suspicion is that the general public all subscribe to the erroneous theory that cameras take pictures, not people. As such, they all believe their pictures would be so much better if they just had a better camera. The LX3 definitely looks like a more sophisticated point-and-shoot, and I frequently see people straining to make out its branding. This is not unique to me or my LX3. I’ve sat and observed crowds of camera-toters all casting curious glances at each other’s gear. Maybe the point-and-shoot is the new status symbol? Maybe people live in constant fear that the model they’re carrying will be perceived as ‘lame,’ causing them to perpetually look at other people’s cameras for validation? These are all theories, but they don’t obscure the fact: point-and-shoots get noticed.

The DMC-G1 also gets noticed. Like the LX3, the attention it receives is benign but still palpable. There’s a sort of hokiness to the G1 that, I feel, makes it attractive to gadget freaks. The camera’s compact package is loaded up with all manner of knobs, dials, buttons and gizmos that are like catnip to technology geeks. Fortunately, I’ve been able to use this to my advantage. I simply stand on the street — camera at waist level and the LCD flung open — and just sort of look down curiously at it. It’s a goofy looking camera, so I play the role of an equally goofy nerd who can’t figure out all those knobs and buttons. In reality, I’m zone focusing and shooting free and unscathed.

My experiences with the M8, though preliminary, are encouraging. I draped the M8 over my shoulder and took a couple walks along the busy downtown sidewalks — carefully watching the eyes of everyone who passed me. Several glanced, ever-so-briefly, at my camera. No stares, but enough of a peek to indicate that, on some sub-conscious level, people were noticing the M8. And really, why wouldn’t they? The thing is beautiful. So I took some black gaffer’s tape and covered both the white model number and the iconic red dot. The camera practically disappeared on the table. With a body shape that screams “mid-20th century,” and no shiny logos or writing to belie that fact, the M8 is transformed. It more resembles a Soviet-era knock-off that your grandfather might have picked up after World War II, than it does a modern image-capturing instrument.

So I took a few more walks with the taped-up M8. No one noticed the camera. No one even glanced at it. Even when I would lift it to my eye, no one displayed a hint of recognition that I was a guy about to take a photo. With every camera I’d ever used, whether point-and-shoot or SLR, the very act of lifting it to eye level would send people scurrying in all directions — courteously attempting to remove themselves from whatever they assumed was my intended subject. With the M8? Nothing. Apparently, the M8 makes you invisible. Nothing is more desirable for a street photographer.

Like a real sociologist, I’ve invented a theory to support my findings. And my theory is based on the fact that the M8 looks nothing like any camera sold in your neighborhood Best Buy store. Sure, it looks like a camera. But it looks like the one your great-uncle used to take that shoebox full of faded, badly focused vacation photos currently sitting in a puddle in your basement. In other words, it looks completely irrelevant to the modern world. And anyone still using such a thing must be equally irrelevant. This, I surmise, is why people don’t even try to move out of my way when I lift the M8 to my eye. “Why bother?” I hear them think. “The guy doesn’t even have a real camera, so how can he be taking a picture of anything useful?” KaTHUNK zawip. Gotcha!

In Part 3, I’ll discuss M8 image quality and how I’m coming to terms with those crazy rangefinder conventions.

I purchased my first Canon EOS SLR nearly twenty years ago and, though I have sometimes gazed longingly upon the more specialized offerings from Leica, Hasselblad and Linhof, I’ve remained faithful to the format ever since. As an instrument of general photography, the SLR is simply more flexible, more adaptable, and more affordable than the alternatives — an attribute that’s served me well during my metamorphosis from casual hobbyist to serious professional. But in every relationship, there exist little irritants — little traits that, over time, grow from quirky annoyances into colossal inadequacies. And my long partnership with the SLR is no exception.

For example, the SLR’s most endearing characteristic — its flexibility — has gradually become one of its most nettlesome. To sate the multifaceted needs of an ever-expanding marketplace, SLR designers continue to create hundreds of specialized settings and dump them into fussy, multi-level, on-screen menus that impact the camera’s immediacy and usability. While all these little settings have their time and place, they’re frequently configured to satisfy the requirements of the previous shot’s time and place, and not the one I wish to take currently.

Problematic, too, is the format’s escalating bulk. Digital technology has yielded heftier SLR bodies and more cumbersome lenses, with each generation of sensor technology demanding greater performance from the glass in front. I reached a point where, unless I was going on a photo assignment, I was increasingly unwilling to take the SLR with me. Its heaviness nagged at my shoulder, and its prodigious lenses were pushy and ostentatious in crowds.

Slim, sleek, semi-pro point-and-shoot cameras soon found their way into my coat pocket. And, though these lovely little wonders satisfy the desire for portability, they exhibit a total lack of respect for traditional photographic values. With their limited dynamic range, high noise levels and absolute denial to operate the way you want them to operate, they’re forever destined to be the ‘other camera.’

For many photographers, the path ends here. They simply carry an SLR when image quality matters, and they carry a point-and-shoot when portability is key. I would likely have reached the same conclusion had my photography compulsion not extended to street photography — a discipline with a rather unique set of camera requirements.

Street photography, as I first discussed in my Like a Leica series of articles, requires a combination of features and techniques that are present in neither the SLR nor the so-called “enthusiast” point-and-shoot cameras. For street shooting, I need fast glass and SLR image quality in a small, unassuming format. I need a camera that won’t put a labyrinth of menus and artificial intelligence between myself and my subject. I need something that can be zone-focussed and shot from the hip. I need a viewfinder that shows me the world outside my frame, so I can shoot at exactly the right moment. In short, I need a rangefinder. But my resistance to re-adopt a film-based workflow limited my options: I could choose either an old Epson R-D1 with its tiny 6 megapixel sensor and impractical 1.5 crop factor, or an overpriced Leica M8 with a reasonable 10 megapixel sensor and a workable 1.3 crop factor. “If only,” I fantasized, “I could somehow get an M8 for the price of an R-D1.”

But fantasies are for fools, so I went with Plan B — a Panasonic DMC-G1 micro four-thirds format camera. With its slimmer profile and its ability to mount rangefinder lenses, the micro four-thirds format provides an intriguing solution to several street-shooter issues. In my final two Like a Leica entries, I discussed my preliminary thoughts about the format and judged that the G1 was, indeed, a better “street camera” than either the SLR or the point-and-shoot. Ultimately, I concluded it was an ideal compliment to a rangefinder, but not a substitute.

In the months since I first published those articles, I have shot extensively with the G1 — using both its kit lens and an adapted Voigtländer 35mm f/1.4 Nokton lens — and my conclusions are essentially unchanged. I have come to love zone-focusing with the Voigtländer, and have used that capability to capture images that would never be possible had I lifted the camera to my eye. And, speaking of my eye, I’ve become somewhat less-enamored of the G1’s electronic viewfinder. While it’s definitely better than having no viewfinder at all, beaming a brightly lit and flickering image directly into my eye has, on several occasions, triggered an optical migraine. If you’re prone to these stroboscopic fits of psychedelic temporary blindness, you have yet another reason to prefer optical viewfinders to the electronic variety. I’ve grown to love the G1’s articulated LCD while growing to loathe its quasi-consumer leanings that, more often than not, force me to fight the camera rather than work in tandem with it. Also, with a sensor only 1/4 the size of a full-frame SLR, the G1’s image quality is (to my eyes) more akin to a high-quality point-and-shoot than an SLR. So, like all things in life, the DMC-G1 is a compromise. But, more than any camera I had used previously, I could coerce it to become a reasonably competent ‘street shooter.’ With its articulating LCD and natural M-mount teleconverter ‘feature,’ the G1 earned a permanent compartment in my street-shooting bag — as my secondary camera. But that bag’s primary slot remained open and waiting for what, inevitably, could be its only rightful occupant — a rangefinder.

Concurrent with my eternal quest to find a better street camera, I was tending to the needs of my bread-and-butter SLR — selling old photography and music equipment to fund the purchase of some additional L-lens for my EOS system. But once I completed the sale of the unneeded gear, I made an honest assessment of my current SLR lineup and decided that none of my photo assignments required anything other than the lenses I already owned. One object of desire, the 14mm f/2.8L II, is a very intriguing lens… but not essential. Another, the TS-E 90mm, would be an excellent small product lens… but I rarely shoot product photography and, if I do, I could always rent one. So with no pressing demand for the accumulated funds, I designated the cash as “Leica seed money.”

Unfortunately, a new Leica M8.2 body costs three times more that I was willing to pay. The previous model, the M8, was also priced well beyond my reach. Even with used M8’s, there was a substantial gap between the going price and my actual budget. But I knew, if I spent even a single penny of that “seed” fund, the gap between wanting an M8 and owning an M8 would only widen. So I sat on the cash and resigned myself to waiting a couple of years for the gap to narrow. I kept a daily watch on eBay, but never found a ‘deal.’ I called the Leica guys at popflash.com and told them, if they ever come across a cruddy but functioning M8, to give me a call.

After a couple months of waiting for my desired camera to cross their threshold, Popflash got proactive. They called Leica with my request and, apparently, Leica had a pair of used and abused factory demo M8’s in their headquarters. Supposedly, the bodies had seen enough handling and wear to make them undesirable for Leica collectors. But I’m not a collector. I’m a photographer. And I have no interest in purchasing a camera just to display it in a glass case. I could never see the point of owning a camera that devalued as soon as you mounted a lens on it. So, although my interest was piqued by the prospects of a ‘beater’ Leica, I knew I couldn’t possibly realize my fantasy of getting an M8 for the price of an R-D1. And, sure enough, I was right. My fantasy wasn’t realized — it was exceeded! This M8 — which comes directly from Leica with a 1-year factory warranty, a brand new battery, and includes two free IR-filters of my choice — was priced considerably less than I’d ever seen or dreamed. Needless to say, I leapt at the opportunity to own a factory-warranted camera that had already achieved its full devaluation. I can treat it like a camera, not as an objet d’art. I’ll be able to bump it on a lamp post or scoot it across a table without incurring a single financial penalty! If there are any functional problems, I can have it factory repaired for free. And, most importantly, a dirt-cheap M8 means I can put the savings into the most important component of any camera — the lenses. Therefore, I’m complimenting my Voigtländer 35mm f/1.4 Nokton with a used 28mm Summicron.

So the stage is set. I, a 20-year veteran of the SLR (with all its inherent trappings, baubles and luxuries), am about to enter the bare-bones world of old-school rangefinder shooting. In part 2, I’ll begin to report on the inevitable thrills I’m sure to encounter and the frustrations I’ll likely endure.