Today I went out to take pictures against my better judgment, because the wind is so strong, it keeps moving the vegetation around and you basically can’t get anything still or in focus, especially if you’re doing closeups, as I was. However, I wanted to test something, so here we are.

I assembled a setup that’s closest to my (almost) first camera, the Minolta X-300 with the MD 35-70mm f/3.5 lens. Instead of the X-300 and Kodak gold 200 film that I commonly used, I used my old Sony A7II with an adapter, but other than the camera being 24MP full frame digital, the setup is functionally remarkably similar, giving me most of the feeling of working with film (manual focus and all that) while avoiding the hassle of having to develop and scan actual film.

The most remarkable thing about this experiment is that I expected to feel a sense of nostalgia, going back in time, using my old lens that I learned photography with and so on. There was none of that. The lens felt awkward, foreign, unintuitive to use because of the macro setting that basically moves the optics away from the film plane like a built-in extension tube when you run out of space on the focus ring to focus closer, and not having the autofocus was actually not that much of a problem because of the wind moving things, that made accurate focus impossible, so I just had to feel it.

Sure, it’s not actually my old lens; that one was lost while moving, in addition to previous situations that resulted in having to rebuild my Minolta system for scratch because I actually lost all of them; long story, but I decided I actually want to have them back, if only to compare with my modern lenses or if I happen to feel nostalgic about the film days. Fortunately, I got four lenses for the average of 50 EUR each, so it wasn’t an expensive indulgence, and there’s only so much you can learn by taking pictures of empty coffee cups, so I went out to see if such a setup would be worthwhile today.

It surprised me to find out how out of shape I am with the manual focus thing, and how absolutely zero nostalgia this triggered in me. It felt mostly awkward, with camera and lens not behaving the way I’m used to these days, and the results didn’t actually look like photos from my old ISO 200 negative days either. They looked like the stuff I took reasonably recently with the same camera and the FE 90mm f/2.8 G macro lens, only less crisp, with worse bokeh and worse colours and the general look usually associated with old optics. Sure, if I wanted to make moody evocative photos on a gloomy day, that might be just what I want, but the nostalgia thing just didn’t happen with me, sorry. What’s surprising is that I ended up with over 15 winners, in that short walk, despite strong wind and the fact that I wasn’t familiar with the equipment, as strange as that sounds considering I used A7II since 2015 and the Minolta lens since 1984 to early 2000s. But that’s the truth – I haven’t actually used A7II with manual lenses for, well, ten years, and that’s a lot for muscle memory. That, however, is not really important, because it didn’t matter. What did matter is finding out that my style didn’t just magically revert into the early 2000s just because I returned to the lens I used then. In fact, nothing changed but the gear, and the gear was, well… worse. I mean, it’s not worse to the extent that I can’t make decent pictures with it, but I didn’t have any sort of epiphany about how great the old stuff was and how it can do everything the new stuff can. It’s just… meh. It’s worse, and not just worse than my best modern glass, it’s worse than my worst modern glass. I think the FE 28-70mm f/3.5-5.6 kit lens that I replaced would perform better in every way, other than probably needing macro extenders for closeups. I mean, sure, the old lens creates a look that’s hard if not impossible to replicate with modern lenses, but if I react emotionally to something, it’s the crispness, clarity and smoothness of the modern lenses, where detail is perfectly sharp, and the rolloff is smooth as butter, the colours are clear and crisp, and there’s no stupid bullshit with white balance measuring greenish when the lens is open. I like that crisp, bright and clear look so much I basically bought every single modern lens that I found useful, regardless of them being expensive as all fuck, just because I feel so good about them. They are something I once would have dreamed about, if I knew it were possible.

In the days of early digital, I once said on a photography newsgroup that I would be satisfied with a Minolta MD digital body with a 35mm sensor, that I can mount my old lenses on, and just keep making pictures the way I’m used to. Now that I can try doing exactly that – with the only difference that the digital body isn’t an SLR that I expected, and it isn’t a MD specific body, but one that can adapt almost any glass to it, I can say with conviction that I was completely wrong. Those modern lenses… they are absolutely magical in their clarity, crispness and lack of all the stupid bullshit I once tolerated simply because I didn’t know better.

That’s an interesting thing about this life, as well. We got used to it, and we see death as something scary, because it means losing what we are used to, without first seeing where we are heading, and knowing if it’s better. Before I tried modern lenses and digital sensors, I’d actually fight to keep my old Minoltas and film, because it was all I knew, and I loved what it did for me, even if it frequently made me struggle and fail. But once I got used to the modern gear, it’s actually traumatic to revisit the old stuff, and I find the experience highly educational.

Similarly, when I have an experience of the “other side”, when the memory is fresh and immediate I could just shed the flesh without a single thought. As weeks pass, the memory fades, and I no longer feel that way; the physical experience, again, becomes all I am immediately familiar with, and I would instinctively try to protect it, and fear what comes next… if I don’t immediately experience it.  If you’re in a dungeon long enough, you’ll feel afraid of getting out. It’s something we all need to keep in mind. Lack of immediate familiarity with where you’re heading creates fear, and attachment to the known.

Had you met me when I was younger, between 1984 and 2005, and told me that most of my lenses would be wide angle, and my photographic style would be defined by wide compositions, I wouldn’t have believed you; in fact, I’d say there’s no way. In my early photography, I defined good photography as successful presentation of a beautiful detail through isolation, using depth of field.

Here are some of my earliest preserved works:

Those are all colour negative prints, 35mm film, year 2000 or earlier, but nothing earlier than than 1998, I think. Everything earlier than that was left at my parents’ place when I moved out. You can see the pattern in all of them – basically, get close, get the detail, isolate it from the rest of the world, and capture that feeling. It’s not a matter of equipment; I used a 35-70mm zoom lens, so I could have gone wide enough, but I didn’t; even when I did, I sucked at it because I didn’t know how to compose wide.

This is my first successful wide-angle shot:

Probably because I used Romana’s film point and shoot camera which didn’t have the closeup functionality I instinctively relied on, I composed the picture differently, but that did not result in a change of style. In fact, my pictures in the following years were more in the line of this:

You get the picture; again, remove the detail from the world, find the beauty as separate, isolated, in a photographic equivalent of meditation.

It’s not that I stopped taking such pictures completely; they still make up a significant portion of my work. However, a typical shot I am aiming for these days is something like this:

I’m trying to figure out the differences and similarities myself, because it’s not that the wide-angle compositions lack that meditative feeling of the closeup shots. It would be too easy to say that I just learned to evoke a similar feeling with a different technique, but I don’t feel that it tells the whole story. You see, in order to do a closeup shot, you need to remove almost everything from the composition. With an ultrawide lens, everything that is in front of you will be in the frame, even your shoes or tripod legs if you’re not careful. With it, you can no longer abstract ugly and the mundane from your composition and create beauty by omission. You need to compose the entire world in front of you into an artefact of beauty. It’s not just a matter of photographic technique; it’s something about the worldview, about not fearing chaos and ugliness and escaping into reduction.

It’s not just a matter of using an ultrawide lens. The picture above is made with an 85mm portrait lens, at f/1.8, but I would never have used such a wide composition in my early years. Even when using a long-ish lens and shallow depth of field, I’m leaving more of the environment in the composition.

I mean, this is taken with a 400mm telephoto wide open, for fuck’s sake. If you gave this lens to my 2000 self, I’d have composed it so tight you’d see nothing but the cyclist’s head and shoulders, most likely. This is a normal, slightly wide composition, just with telephoto spatial compression. I remember a conversation I had with two people, somewhere around 1999-2000, about what equipment I’d like to have. The first thing would be a digital camera that has a 35mm sensor capable of full film quality, not the stupid toys that existed those days, but real replacement of film with digital technology with preservation of everything that’s good about film. The second thing I wanted was a big zoom lens, essentially this 100-400mm telephoto that I have now. What I couldn’t imagine then was the way I would use that big zoom lens. I would expect portraits of birds in their environment. I wouldn’t expect, essentially, normal to wide compositions with spatial compression:

I think I’m starting to understand what I’m doing there. It resembles the difference between meditating in a quiet, isolated room with your eyes closed, and learning to meditate with your eyes open while walking or interacting with people. It’s a difference between having to hide from disturbances, learning to ignore them, and finally learning to make them part of the experience. It’s a transition between waiting for your wife to stop taking pictures and remove herself from the composition, then composing her into the shot as a joke, and then intentionally composing her into the environment as a stylistic choice that makes the compositions what they are.