My camera & Me
From the magazine Schnappschuss No. 52
The passionate photographer from D?sseldorf explains to us what a shelf in his studio is all about and how pictures sound. by Thomas Stelzmann
Gray plastic, a red button and images in my head Every time I unlock the door to the studio and walk towards the equipment store, I walk past this
giant shelf from the Swedish furniture store and see "her" lying there.
Second row from the top, middle shelf, that's "her" place.
My first own camera.
A simple, indestructible Minolta 35mm camera made of gray plastic with a 35mm lens, fixed
focus and a big red button to release the shutter. It was a Christmas present, just before the long-awaited ski trip in the eighth grade of grammar school. Joch Grimm, South Tyrol. The big button was ideal because you could hit it even with ski gloves on.
In the 24 other compartments of our camera shelf, on the other hand, there are some really beautiful old cameras. Agfa, Voigtl?nder, ADOX, Zeiss-Ikon, Robot. All beautiful, smelling of leather and oil, all in working order and all in use. But this simple plastic camera with the red button is something special because it can do something that, strangely enough, none of its "neighbors" on the shelf have managed to do so far and probably never will: It makes certain noises when you work with it, and these noises evoke images. Not just on film, but in my head, in my memory.
The loud film transport, where you could always hear when the batteries were going to give out. Sometimes you prayed that the small, screeching motor would still manage to rewind.
What should you have done if it wouldn't have gone backwards or forwards? Funnily enough
it always worked, no matter how weak the batteries were.
Then the beeping sound when the flash charged. The sound got so high that you couldn't hear it any more. Finally, the red glow lamp signaled that the flash was ready and you could start shooting again.
When I hear these sounds, I think of mountains, snow, schoolmates, the smell of freshly waxed skis and torn-off chairlift poles.
From these first points of contact with photography to my current work as a professional photographer, they have always been there, the sounds of photography, which have always had a meaning for me and still do today. Because with the tools of photography
it's the same as with my main photographic subjects, people - there are quiet representatives, normal contemporaries, and there are loud, poltrotic types.
Quiet people don't play themselves into the foreground, you often don't even notice them, and yet they are there. They observe, take careful note but have little influence, and when they speak, you listen to them intently. There are suitable cameras that allow you to
work in completely different ways
Discreet "bitching"
Street photography requires unobtrusive action. It's about observing. Not to influence. Neither the scenery itself, nor the people in it. Street photography is voyeurism of reality, and the voyeurist has to stay in the background in order to be able to act. You don't need big and heavy cameras here;
It was not for nothing that Leica rangefinder cameras were the street photography and reportage cameras par excellence. They were relatively small, compact, had small lenses and, above all, they were extremely quiet.
The "zick" of a Leica shutter didn't give you away and didn't bother anyone, often it wasn't even
noticed, even when it was quiet around the photographer. It reminded me a little of the click of a ballpoint pen when you push the lead out.
Nobody takes any notice of it.
Since I don't have the necessary change for a Leica and I can't estimate how high the "myth surcharge" on the purchase price is, I looked for a camera that would become my companion for the subject of street and reportage photography - "My Leica".
After a long search, I found the mirrorless Fujifilm X-E1.
Its analog, uncluttered operation (setting wheel for exposure times on the camera and aperture adjustment ring on the lens) is accompanied by a fantastic lack of noise, which makes working in the unobtrusiveness possible.
The photographer can concentrate on the place where he belongs: behind the camera.
This camera is almost not present: street photography, taking pictures during lectures, readings or in museums is no problem. The image quality is on a par with full-frame DSLRs, the lenses are high quality and like the camera, very compact. That's why I almost always have it with me.
Fujifilm has eliminated the two biggest weaknesses, the somewhat sluggish autofocus and the slow electronic viewfinder, with its successor, the E2. The excellent lenses such as the 23mm F1.4 (equivalent to 35mm and ideal for close-up "mid-range reportage" in poor light) or the 56mm F2.0 (equivalent to 84mm, a good portrait focal length) have remained.
In addition, the camera is not as intimidatingly present to people who are not often or don't like to be photographed as some DSLR monsters, which some amateur photographers carry around like a
trophy.
So the E1 and its successor is a quiet camera for people who are also quiet when it matters and give the subject the space it deserves.
Rattling is part of the trade
My workhorse, the Canon EOS 5D Mk. II, is a completely different story in terms of noise.
I've done all my photo projects with this camera. It's robust and free of superfluous frippery.
You could also say: it's getting on in years. Above all, however, it makes it clear with its mirror flare: "Pictures are being taken now. "
When it is in use, restraint is not an issue. When I take the
heavy full-frame equipment with me, it's clear from the outset what it's all about.
This includes fashion shots in cities such as Paris. There it almost doesn't matter how loud or quiet a camera is, everything is lost in the background noise of this metropolis. Here, nobody feels disturbed by the sound of the camera, on the contrary: imagine a photo shoot without a shutter sound. For the models and assistants, the sound of the mirror is the signal that concentration is now required, a kind of starting signal for the meeting at hand and for what might happen.
The protagonists of the "KEINE KOHLE MEHR" project,
which I have been running together with my colleague Wolf R. Ussler for almost four years, are used to completely different volumes. We bring former miners back to their former workplace and stage a part of their life story there. The project is still ongoing. The first exhibitions are already underway, and the aim is to produce an illustrated book about and with the contemporary witnesses of the Ruhr region's most important era.
All but one of the images were taken with the 5D Mk. II. The locations of the former colliery sites in the Ruhr area are often dusty, dirty or wet. Equipment has to work here, you have to be able to rely on the camera, as the images cannot be repeated. What counts is robustness, endurance and image quality. The rest, such as Wi-Fi, GPS or other frippery, couldn't be less important to me. Due to its age, the 5D Mk II embodies photographic reduction and simplicity. The sealed L-optics cost a fortune, but together with the camera they form a reliable and dirt-resistant team in terms of image quality.
The audible mirror rattling doesn't bother anyone here, the protagonists, all of whom are male, are tough and, just like back then in their profession, never get rattled when it matters.
My colleague Wolf takes his pictures for the project with his Nikon equipment. Not only do his pictures "sound" slightly different to those taken with my Canon, his Nikon also sounds very different. It exists, the acoustic diversity in photography.
The others
The other inhabitants of the camera shelf are completely different from my X-E1 and the 5D Mk. II. They are "real" cameras for 35mm or roll film. ADOX, Robot, Zeiss-Ikon, they are all representatives of quiet photography. Except for one. My "new acquisition". It's a Russian medium format SLR from the nineties of the last century, a Kiev 60.
It looks like an old SLR on steroids, and it sounds like one too. Weighing in at over 2 kg, it's one of those chunky types that you have to like. Powerful, sometimes less precise, but indestructible.
Your mirror slap, which you can feel, leaves no doubt that a picture has been taken. You can
hear that the mirror in its body has to push certain amounts of air to the side in order to
move.
The noise doesn't sound as strained as that of the modern DSLR. It's a powerful "flop", like a "Place there, here I come!"
Tripods tremble and vibrate under the strain. The "buzzy-ticky" film advance, which also tensions the mirror mechanism, leaves no one in the dark as to what is happening and what will happen next. No other of my cameras makes photography so clearly audible.
To photograph with it is to make clear what you are doing. You can be sure that people will talk to this "machine".
It often gets people talking because of its somewhat raucous appearance, the background noise and the attention it attracts. It is doubtful that this would be possible with a normal everyday camera.
Talking about sounds as a photographer seems unusual at first. But the sounds in photography are important to me, they are part of it, regardless of whether they are loud or quiet. They accompany the moment on its way to being preserved on a memory card or film.
They are the only thing we really notice when we take a photograph, the only indication that the camera electronics or the film's chemistry are now starting to work and that we have preserved something that would otherwise have disappeared. I wish you good ears! Thomas Stelzmann, D?sseldorf
www.thomasstelzmann.de
Project "KEINE KOHLE MEHR "
www.keinekohlemehr.de
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