Category Archives: Leica Rangefinder

You’ll Be a Better Photographer if You Use a Leica

“The essence of communication is intention.” Werner Erhard

Let’s face it: Leica cameras are ridiculously expensive and technologically crude. They lack common features found on cameras a fraction of their cost. They can be finicky and incredibly expensive to maintain and repair. Their digital offerings, when not plagued by manufacturing defects, have been years behind the curve in an industry where technical obsolescence is measured in months, not years.

I’ve owned a few digital M’s along the way, but exercising the rational part of my brain, sold them and have since settled on a Nikon D800E for exacting work and a couple of Ricoh GXRs for easy digital capture. Both the Nikon and the Ricoh produce stunning files, and, if there exists in the digital era certain cameras that approach the minimalist perfection exemplified by the Leica M in the film era, the Ricoh GXR is surely one of them. The folks at Ricoh hit it out of the park with the GXR and it’s A12 M mount, but also its 28mm and 50mm AF modules mating a dedicated sensor to impeccable optics. I remain completely blown away by how good my photos are from the GXR. As for the D800E, well, we’re easily talking resolution and dynamic range found in medium format 6×9 cameras. That’s crazy.

And along the way I’ve followed, admittedly with a certain amount of schadenfreude, the debacle that is the delaminating CCD sensor of the M9, ME and MM. As I understand it, Leica still sells the MM and ME with a sensor they know, at some point, is going to need replacing, for no other reason than its defective by design. Yet, people are still queueing up to buy them, knowing all of the above. And, I must admit, in moments of weakness, I’m tempted to plunk down five grand and pony up for a Monochrom, outdated, delaminating CCD sensor be damned. When all is said and done, I must admit, that’s one cool camera.

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It used to be that a ‘serious’ photographer had to do things and master techniques that required specialized knowledge and training. Any art school graduate who’s been made to read Leslie Stroebel’s Basic Photographic Materials and Processes as a foundation of their studies in photography learned that a serious interest in photography required an understanding of its technical aspects, aspects that required considerations of mathematics, physics, chemistry, psychology and physiology. Armed with the skills such knowledge provided, we could easily differentiate ourselves from the dilettantes who took snapshots and dropped their rolls off to be developed at the corner drugstore. We were serious about the craft of photography, and we versed ourselves in its chemical and physical underpinnings and the means to manipulate its variables to produce something unique, a product of our specific vision. And it was this knowledge that was a prerequisite of our photographs being qualitatively better than the snapshots of the dilettante, even if, in practice, there was little about the photographs themselves that might have distinguished one from the other. Our photographs had intentionality.

Digital photography is radically democratized. Everybody can do it, and do it well without any real understanding of the mechanisms involved. My niece, who knows nothing about photography as a craft, routinely produces stunningly beautiful photographs with her iphone, photos with more power and aesthetic character than 99% of those uploaded in endless procession by “serious” photographers on enthusiast sites like Rangerfinder Forum or Photo.net. She has an “eye.” Digital image-making (I hesitate to refer to it as photography) is essentially idiot-proof; point the device, press the button, send out the result for other’s perusal. If you’ve got an “eye,” chances are your results will be good, often better than the best creations made during the film era by serious photographers with advanced knowledge and painstakingly acquired technical expertise.

If we profess to value the dissemination of visual reality, this is good, an advance, because we as photographers are freed from the encumbrances of the technological constraints that stand between us and the creation of our vision. Now all of us can document our lives and the lives of others around us without first hurdling the technical bar existent in analogue days. Photography need no longer be a craft, a practice that requires something other than a common aptitude. Anyone can do it, and do it well.

But there’s a catch. The tools we use, and the manner in which they allow us to use them for our creative purposes, have an authority in the process, because they function to structure our attention in a certain way. The design of the tool conditions the nature of our involvement in our creative practices, an “ecology of attention,’ in the words of philosopher and social theorist Matthew Crawford, that may be more, or less, adapted to the skills needed to meaningfully involve the craftsman in his creative actions. Tools do matter. I would suggest that, in spite of the tired cliche that “it’s not the camera,”, your skills are dependent, in a real sense, on the camera.

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Maybe this helps lead us to an explanation of why some of us consciously reject the ease of modern photography, preferring instead to treat our photography as a craft that requires a certain intentionality. Many of us believe that the values that Leica has heretofore embodied – simplicity grounded in the assumption that the photographer understands the process and is best able to choose the appropriate variables, aesthetics driven by functional concerns, a need for the transparency of the camera in the process because it is ultimately only a tool in service of our particular vision – are necessary aspects in what we define as “photography.” We’ve learned and practiced a craft we define as “photography” that requires knowledge, skill, intentionality, and we see these aspects eroded to the point of irrelevancy with the remarkable inovations of the digital age.

So, we chose to “do it the hard way,” even though its now no longer necessary as a technological necessity. Granted, an evocative photograph is an evocative photograph irrespective of the means of its capture, but many of us still find a great satisfaction in the process of photography, a process that requires specialized knowledge and tools that allow us to translate that knowledge into a photograph that embodies our intention. And for these purposes, there exists no better camera than a Leica M. It’s minimalism of design and function creates the perfect tool with which to exercise intentionality in the practice of our craft. We get to do the thinking and make the appropriate choices. To do so it requires of us a sophisticated knowledge of basic photographic principles. We ‘take’ the photographs, not the camera.

Do we get ‘extra points’ for difficulty? No. A good photo is a good photo, whether I take it with my unmetered M4 and chose a film and developer to enhance the effects I’m looking for, or whether my niece pushes a button a her iphone. We both may create beautiful photos, but I’ll do so as a ‘photographer’ who understands and values the process, while her motivations, concerns and interests in what she’s doing may never have reached the level of mindfulness. To my mind there’s a huge difference between us, not merely a difference of degree but a qualitative difference in who we are and how what we do defines us. “Snobbish” ? Possibly. True? Most definitely.

And that’s why I’m intrigued by the Monochrom. It looks, feels, and operates like a traditional analogue camera. No ‘modes,” no image stabilization, no wifi, no mindless automation. You get to choose. Is it hopelessly crude from a technological standpoint? Yes. But if you’re looking at it with those technological parameters as decisive factors, you simply don’t understand how the function of photography is a guiding interest for a remaining few. Insofar as a digital camera is capable of recreating the minimalist design and function of a traditional analogue camera, its the best current option for carrying forward the practice of mindfulness in the photographic process, a practice many of still desire in an age of the mindless ubiquity of iphones and social media.

Leitz, Zeiss, Nikon and The Genesis of High-Speed 35mm Photography

When Oskar Barnack built the first 35mm film camera, the “Ur-Leica” in 1923, he fitted it with a 5cm f/3.5 Elmax Anastigmat. When the Leica I went into full production a two years later, Leitz fitted it with the same lens but modified it with two as opposed to three cemented elements, and renamed it the “Elmar.” The f/3.5 Elmar is a very sharp lens, even opened up, and helped establish Leica’s reputation for fine optics. There are claims that Leitz had the capabilities to produce an f/2 50mm at this time, but chose not to to insure they offered the finest quality optics for their fledgling 35mm camera system.

For years Leica trailed Zeiss, the acknowledged leader in optical design, in producing high-speed lenses. Already in 1928, Zeiss had released the 50/1.5 Sonnar, a 7-element modified triple with only 6 air-glass surfaces (in an era of uncoated lenses, each uncoated surface reduced light transmission by about 15%, which was why fast lenses were so difficult to produce before the advent of lens coating). In the late 30’s Zeiss introduced vacuum fluoro-coating to the Sonnar, creating the Sonnar T. Starting in 1930, Leitz offered as an alternative to the Elmar it’s first “high-speed” 50, a 5cm f/2.5 Hektor. Shortly thereafter, in 1933, Leitz introduced a 5cm f/2 Summar, a modified Zeiss Planar design which they subsequently improved upon and reintroduced in 1939 as the Summitar. Max Berek, who designed most of the lenses for Leica in the 1930’s, explained that the reason Leitz had not used their own design for their original high-speed 50 was they had wanted to be certain their original offerings met a high standard so as to insure the success of the Leica 35mm camera, and they did not then have the optical expertise to design a clean sheet high speed lens and so chose to borrow Zeiss’s proven Planar design.

Leica produced their first high-speed 50mm in 1936 with the introduction of the Leitz Xenon, an uncoated seven element double Gauss type with ten surfaces (the rear element was split in two). While there is some evidence to support Leica’s claim that the Xenon was a Leitz creation, for patent reasons Leitz sublicensed the design from Schneider, who had themselves licensed the patent design from Taylor, Taylor Hobson (TTH) in Great Britain, agreeing to use Zeiss’s “Xenon” designation for the lens. In the 1949, Leitz began fluoro-coating the Xenon and renamed it the Summarit (however the US Patent still had a few years to run, so you’ll find some early Summarits still carrying the US Patent number). Lens coating, developed in Germany during the war, made a tremendous improvement on the uncoated Xenon, increasing contrast and reducing flare. After the war, Leitz also offered a service to coat existing pre-war lenses, but would not coat the front element because their coating was not sufficiently robust to resist damage with normal cleaning.

While some claim that it was the introduction of fluoro-coating that revolutionized Leitz optics, in reality it was Leitz’s post-war decision to open their own glass research facility in order to reduce their dependence on third parties. But Zeiss remained the leader in high-speed lens design and production into the 60s. While Leitz was busy playing catch-up to Zeiss’s recognized high-speed technical dominance, Japanese camera makers – Nikon and Canon – each started offering versions of the 50/1.5 Sonnar, the 50/1.5 Nikkor, and the 50/1.5 Canon. In 1951 Nikon recomputed the 50/1.5 into the 50/1.4 and set in motion the beginnings of a tectonic shift in public perception and professional acceptance of Japanese optics, a design and manufacturing contest between the German and Japanese producers that continues to this day.

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David Douglas Duncan introduced the world to high quality Japanese lenses. Duncan used a Nikkor-SC 5cm F1.5 and Nikkor-QC 13.5cm F4 on his Leica IIIc for most of his photographs taken in Korea. Other photographers took note of the quality of Duncan’s images and word spread about the quality of the Nikkor lenses.

In their December 10, 1950 edition, the New York Times noted the emergence of Nikkor optics amongst professional photographers: “The first postwar camera to attract serious attention in America has caused a sensation among magazine and press photographers following the report by Life magazine photographers in Korea that a Japanese 35mm camera and its lenses had proven superior to the German cameras they had been using. The lenses, which include a full range of focal lengths, give a higher accuracy rating than lenses available for German miniatures.” The article quoted “camera expert” Mitch Bogdanovitch that the Nikkor lenses “are of excellent color correction and perform better at full apertures than do Zeiss lenses.” The President of Carl Zeiss, Inc. USA, subsequently threatened to stop advertising in The Times. The Times ultimately allowed Zeiss to run a statement that the “Zeiss lenses being tested were not true Zeiss lenses.” This was most likely accurate. After World War II, much of the Zeiss machinery that was used to produce precision optics was shipped back to Russia as war reparations. Wholesale lots of optics, optical glass, lens parts, and fixtures were shipped to Russia where they were completed at the KMZ factory. ZK used Zeiss parts for their 5cm F1.5 Sonnars and 5cm F1.5 Jupiter-3’s through the early 1950s.

The iconic Nikkor-SC 5cm F1.5 remains one of the most obscure of the vintage Nikkors. Nikon originally developed the 5cm F1.5 for use on the Hansa Canon. Two batches of lenses were produced, the “905” batch in May 1949 and the “907” batch in July 1949. After the war, when Nikon needed a super-speed lens to compete with Zeiss and Leitz, Nikon used the 5cm F1.5 as the basis for their now venerable 50mm f1,4. Fewer than 800 1.5 Nikkors were made, about 300 in Leica mount and 500 in S-Mount, before Nikon replaced the F1.5 with the Nikkor-SC 5cm F1.4 the following year.

The Nikkor-SC 5cm F1.5 is a Sonnar with seven elements in three groups, although a unique formulation. The Nikkor is made to the Leica 51.6mm focal length standard, and is constructed using different optical glass than the Zeiss optic. The focus mount is an all-brass rigid mount, finished in chrome, and has a close-focus of 18”. It is the first Nikkor lens to feature the close-focus capability, followed by the 5cm F1.4 and rigid-mount 5cm F2. The optical surfaces are all hard-coated. The aperture mechanism does not employ click-stops, while the subsequent F1.4 and rigid F2 lenses of 1950 feature click-stops.

“True” Zeiss lenses in Leica mount were manufactured during the war in small numbers. The 5cm F1.5 Sonnar “T” made during the war used a “recomputed” optical formula that improved performance compared with the pre-war lenses. The wartime Leica mount Zeiss lenses are not as well made as the Nikkor lenses used by Duncan in Korea. The choice of available materials for the fixtures and focus mount was poor, with lighter, less robust metal alloys used. The design of the Zeiss focus mount for the Leica camera was not well thought out; as an example a set screw through the focus ring serves as the focus stop. Zeiss lenses of the period that saw heavy use often fell out of RF calibration, with the sleeves and helical loosening-up, making the lens unusable.

In post WW2 Germany, Zeiss produced their lenses with what remained behind. Post-war Leica mount “Carl Zeiss Jena” Sonnars can be found that are not in the “official records”, and often have a “one-off” quality about them. These lenses were probably machined using mostly hand-made tools, sometimes were missing parts, and had sub-standard finish on the optics and mechanical fixtures. These lenses were used with many post-war Leica cameras, many bought by serviceman in Occupied Germany. A post-war era Zeiss lens in perfect condition would probably not have withstood the combat conditions faced by Korean era war photographers.

Nikon optimized their post-war rangefinder optics for wide-open use, and the 5cm F1.5 is no exception. Zeiss optimized their lenses for stopped down use and perform best at F2.8. Leitz optimized their lenses for mid-aperture usage, as does Leica even today. Zeiss did not start optimizing their Sonnars for wide-open use until recently.

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The 50 f1.4 Nikkor S is the lens most responsible for making Nikon’s reputation in the early 1950s. It was a leap ahead of Zeiss, and certainly, Leitz, in high-speed lens quality. Nikon introduced the Nikkor S-C 5cm f/1.4 in 1951 at a List price of approximately $1,700 in today’s money. First versions were marked “NIKKOR-S C” to denote that the lens was coated. The “C” was dropped in 1957. In 1962, Nikon introduced a longer version with different optics, engraved “50mm” instead of “5cm”, referred to as the Olympic version. Nikon again re-made the larger 50mm lens in 2000 as part of the S3 Millennial set.

Ive always been impressed by the old Nikkor LTM lenses. The 50 f2 and the 35 f1.8 are particularly good vintage users. The 50 has a beautiful classic look, sharp and contrary even wide open. They are plentiful today because so many of them were made for use with amateur cameras (Tower, Nicca). And they are inexpensive – excellent examples can be found for between 200-300$. The 35mm 1.8 LTM is another story, carrying prices of 1700-2500$ depending on the condition. Both of these vintage Nikkors have aged better than similar offerings from Leitz given their harder front coatings.

There also exist a number of Nikkors in Nikon S mount, that heretofore were limited in use to the Nikon S rangefinder series. A beautiful camera, no doubt, but it has its limitations – specifically a rangefinder patch that’s very hard to read except with high contrast edges. The Nikkor S lenses themselves are uniformly excellent.

In 2000, Nikon made the decision to reproduce the S3 with an updated version of the Nikkor 50 1.4 (the “Millennial”). In 2005, they reproduced the SP coupled with an updated Nikkor 35 1.8. Almost all were snapped up by collectors assuming that the prices would appreciate with time. For whatever reason, prices of new, unused kits have currently depreciated by 75%, with early speculators selling S3 kits they bought for $6000 for less than $2000. I recently bought a brand new chrome S3 kit from Japan for $1550.

Throw into the mix the 50 Millennial and the 35 SP remakes with modern multi-coating and the rangefinder Nikkors make an excellent alternative to the uber-expensive Leica offerings.

The irony of the S3 Millenial is that its starting to become popular again because of the lens, not the camera. You can chalk that up to the Amedeo Adaptor. Now, thanks to an enterprising gentleman in Argentina who produces a Nikon S to Leica M adaptor as a labor of love, you can use your S mount lenses on your Leica M, rangefinder coupled, with his Amedeo adaptor. And the adaptor is nothing like the plethora of cheap Chinese adaptors recently appeared on the market allowing use of various lens mounts on mirrorless cameras. The first thing you notice about the Amedeo adaptor is how well-made and tightly toleranced it is. It looks and feels like something that should have the Leica name attached to it. Its focus throw is smooth and firm, and it locks into the M mount with a pronounced click. Extremely nice.

Which leaves us Leicaphiles with wonderful new options for the use of Nikkor S lenses on our M’s. For less than 2k you can buy an unused S3 body with 50 1.4 attached, buy an Amedeo adaptor for $275 and have a 50 1.4 prime lens for your M every bit as sharp and well built as the $5000 Summilux Aspherical. You’ll also have a new Nikon S3 body you can slap a new VC 50 2.5 S on (approx $250-300) and use as a second rig. The S3, itself a worthy competitor to the M3, is, in my opinion, worth the $2000 price alone, as you’re getting the functional equivalent of a brand new M3 throw in “free of charge” when you buy the set for the Millennial Nikkor 50 1.4. And, having not had to spread for the $5000 Summilux, you’ll have almost $3000 in change left over.

Amedeo Adaptor

Construction of the Leica Camera

Leica MP Brochure

1976: The Year Art Photography Changed

Prior to 1976 ‘serious’ photographers shot black and white. William Eggleston changed that. On the 25^th May 1976, courtesy of an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and the accompanying book, ‘William Eggleston’s Guide’, color photography arrived as a serious photographic medium. The subject is a rather laconic view of fly-over America, subject and era lending itself perfectly to the Kodachrome aesthetic. Eggleston had pioneered the photographic trope of the banal as interesting, the ordinary as revelatory. While this idea, played out as it has subsequently been, now might seem trite, it was revolutionary in 1976.

The MMA reprinted the book in facsimile in 2002 along with an essay from photography critic John Szarkowski.

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Eggleston is a Leica gearhead. He owns over 300 leicas. This is a picture of a a handbuilt case he uses to store and transport some of them. This particular case holds 13 different Leica cameras and a couple of old Canon rangefinders for good measure. The case itself is a leather briefcase that Eggleston retrofitted with wood panels.

Eggleston is particular about the earlier Leica thread mount bodies. In addition to standard issue models, his collection includes rare limited-edition and custom-painted bodies. He claims he uses all of them. Eggleston admits his gear fixation “has grown into something of an obsession.”

Ironically, the photograph above was shot by Eggleston using a Fuji X-Pro1.

The Leica Camera: A Tool, or a Luxury Item?

Leica started out as maker of small, simple cameras. If you needed a small, exceptionally well designed and made 35mm film camera, they offered you the tool. Any elitism that accompanied the Leica camera was a result of its status as the best built, most robust, and simplest photographic solution. You paid for the quality Leica embodied.

Over time, as technology trends accelerated and Japanese manufacturers like Nikon and Canon grabbed the professional market, Leica shifted gears, no longer competing on whether or not their rangefinder cameras were the most useful or most efficient tools for a given purpose, although, for certain limited purposes – simplicity, quietness, discreteness, build quality – they remained exceptional as tools. Starting with the digital age, Leica now competed primarily on luxury, which is a fundamentally different promise than the optimal design of a tool.

Leica is now a luxury tools company. The cameras they sell cost more, but some photographers still choose them, some for the identity that comes along with the use of a luxury good and some for the placebo effect of thinking one’s photographs will improve by virtue of some special quality it is assumed Leica possess. But there remain some of us who still use Leicas because a Leica rangefinder is still the most functional tool for us in the limited ways they always were. We still identify with Leica not a a luxury good but primarily as a maker of exceptional tools, and this creates the ambivalence many of use feel towards the brand as currently incarnated. The ambivalence is a result of the tension of a Leica as a tool versus a luxury item.

Its a tension that Leica is having a difficult time navigating too. As a luxury item producer, Leica probably doesn’t care that its cameras aren’t cutting edge. On the other hand, Leica knows it will not survive if its product is not seen as a preferred choice of the status conscious. At some point in the evolution of every luxury branded tool, users who care more about tools than about luxury shift away to more functional options. You see this today in Leica purchasers’ demographics; the brand is perpetuated largely by those who identify a Leica as a status marker, whether that Leica be a used M purchased on Ebay by someone come of age in the digital era who wants to The Leica Experience, or a new digital M purchased largely by an affluent amateur. Professionals and serious amateurs who need the services of a small, discreet camera system have largely migrated to more sophisticated, less expensive options like the cameras Fuji is currently offering.

I suspect that the era of Leica as a working tool is gone, but the silver lining is that there remains a small but dedicated following who values mechanical Leica film cameras still as a functioning tool, and hopefully there will remain those who cater to them and service them. It would be a shame if that portion of Leica’s heritage were to be lost.

Educating The Digital Generation

Young photographer: “I had the pleasure to use a Leica M3 once. That’s a cool old camera. I can see why people still use them, the “retro” thing and all.”

Older Photographer: “It is a beautiful thing, isn’t it? Weren’t you surprised at its mass? Heavy as a brick, isn’t it? Built to last a few lifetimes. They certainly don’t make em like that anymore.”

Young photographer: “Yeah, a friend had recently bought it after reading about it on the net. He’s really into film these days. Sold all his digital gear and now looks down his nose at digital photography. Says its for “chimps.” Pretty condescending, but he’s a decent guy, and he did let me use it to take a few photos, even though he seemed reluctant to let me handle it.”

Older Photographer: “A true friend. I would only ever lend mine to a person who understands the value of the instrument. Sounds like your friend knew you would appreciate it.”

Young photographer: “Yeah, its build felt so solid. You can tell immediately that its a precision instrument.”

Older Photographer: “Like a microscope or other lab instrument from the house of Leitz or Zeiss. That culture inspired the high quality instruments of the 50’s and 60’s, cameras that could be used for life and inherited … before plastic and silicon. Think about this: The plastic, automatic, battery-driven camera has been around since 1980 or there abouts… 35 years. How many plastic cameras from that time are collectible and working today?”

Young photographer: “Good point. Although my friend’s Leica camera seemed hopelessly simple. It confused me. I mean, in this day and age of computers and smart technology, it just seemed so low tech. Like driving a 1956 Cadillac across country when you could be driving the latest Lexus. It sounds romantic and all until the car overheats and leaves you on the side of the road in some god-forsaken hell-hole in Arkansas. For example, I put the camera to my eye and tried to half click the shutter to lock focus and exposure……”

Older Photographer: “Half?! There’s nothing half about a Leica M.”

Young photographer: “….and then I realized that there was no half click option and I had already released the shutter and taken a picture!”

Older Photographer: “Yeah, but did you feel how buttery smooth the shutter release was and how quiet it was? Beautiful, huh? It just feels so right, and it’s also very functional for slow shutter speed use in low light because its very easy to release the shutter without shaking the camera.”

Young photographer: “Then, of course, I reflexively turned to the back of the camera where the LCD should have been and realized there was no screen to view the image, only a blank piece of plastic. Duh! It’s a film camera!”

Older Photographer: “That blank looking door on the back only looks like plastic. That’s a little frame that flips out to help with film loading. Next time you see your friend, check and see if he’s gotten into the digital Leicas yet. If so, it’ll have an LCD on the back but it will feel in a lot of ways like the older M film cameras. That’s why a lot of us older guys buy the digital versions; not because they’re intrinsically better (only rich dentists or dilettantes you find obsessively posting on gearhead websites think that) but because they feel comfortable, like an old shoe. It’s what we know.”

Young photographer: “Yeah, I get that, but man, I understand the Leica glass is amazing. Corner to corner sharpness. Great bokeh. Apparently they make it with some rare glass that costs a ton of money. Anyway, so after I realize I can’t see my exposure on an LCD, my friend came over and asked me what exposure and aperture combination I had chosen. I assumed it had been on Auto so I told him I really didn’t know. Apparently, there is no Auto setting on the camera. Honest mistake. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a camera before that didn’t have an Auto setting. Teutonic simplicity is what my friend says. He seems to think you’re “not really a photographer” if you use Auto modes. He even mentioned the Leica M7 somewhat dismissively. I think this whole business, what he calls “purity of vision,” is pretty pretentious. But the cameras do look and feel cool; there really is a beauty about them as instruments.”

Older Photographer: “Speaking of automation, there actually are a number of automatic features on the Leica M, but not the ones that come to mind in the present era. For example,

1. When one removes the bottom to change film, the film counter automatically resets to zero.

2. When one advances the film the camera automatically charges the shutter and automatically increments the frame counter.

3. When the yellow image in the viewfinder is superimposed on the main image, the lens is automatically set to perfect focus an any light.

4. When one then looks at the scale on the lens, it automatically displays the depth of field for that focus setting.

5. When one changes from one lens to another, it automatically displays the correct frame lines for that lens.

6. When one sets shutter speed, aperture, or focus, the camera automatically and faithfully does exactly whatever it was commanded, no more and no less, and no guessing on its part.

7. When one overexposes or underexposes a record of the fact is automatically recorded on a piece of film for further evaluation. Learning happens, automatically.

8. When one uses this (or any) camera for an extended period of time, required actions become second nature. This is a kind of automation too, like riding a bike, swimming, or shifting gears.

9. The M7, M8, and M9 do have aperture priority AE. This was a major departure from all-manual by Leica. Purists like your friend call this “Dentist Mode.”

Incidentally, one will see “AUTO” engraved on a lot of old SLR primes, confusing new image makers. The lenses automatically open wide for focusing, then automatically stop down to the selected taking aperture for exposure, then automatically re-open again for bright viewing.”

Young photographer: “Yeah, my friend explained to me that I had to manually set the shutter speed and aperture. When I asked him what the proper settings were, he said I’d need to learn to accurately judge various lighting conditions because the M3 had no exposure meter. I was like, WTF?”

Older Photographer: “Well, it certainly can be confusing if you’ve grown up with a digital camera, that’s for sure. Most of us old guys use hand meters, and there are also clip-on meters that slot into the hotshoe on the top of the camera that you can use, but your friend was right; back in the day we used our best estimate of exposure. You’d be surprised how good you can get with a little practice. It becomes second nature. Some people, sounds like your friend too, argue that you really don’t understand the craft of photography until you truly comprehend exposure; you know, aperture, shutter speeds, how and when to vary them to achieve the effect you want, what exposure values to use in different lighting conditions and at different ASA – I mean ISO – ratings, things like that. But now that everything is automated, you probably don’t need to know that stuff anymore. Your camera does it for you. I wouldn’t worry about it, unless, of course, you catch the film camera bug like your friend.”

Young photographer: “Yeah, and its not just exposure, its focus as well. My friend asked me if my focus was good, which also confused me. The camera sets focus, right? So I was like, yes, it certainly looked like everything was in focus in the viewfinder. …. He asked “Did you align the two images ?” And, embarrassingly enough, I was like “align what?” Not my best moment I agree.”

Older Photographer: “Well, the rangefinder camera certainly is a different beast, and its not your fault you didn’t realize the camera had no autofocus. Speaking of which, its fascinating how the rangefinder came about; it had its beginning with artillery. Some of the early ones for cameras were accessories, miniature hand-held versions of what goes on ships to direct cannon fire. It was a pretty clever thing to put a cam on the lens of a camera to operate a rangefinder device. The one on the M3 is an amazing feat of mechanical engineering, although for my money the rangefinder in the Contax II is probably the best one ever put into a 35mm camera. Old Contax don’t have the hipster cache apparently, though.“

Young Photographer: “Well that was my first and unfortunately last experience with a Leica camera. He never did offer it to me again and I suspect its because he’s become really picky about that camera, like its too valuable to use. I go over to his house and he sits in his chair and practices using the camera without any film in it. Says he’s “exercising the shutter” to keep the low speeds from sticking.

But, you know, in spite of all that there’s just something really cool about an old Leica. It’s exclusive. It projects an image of refinement. And from everything I’ve heard, the glass is so good you can pick out Leica photos pretty easy. I’ve got half a mind to buy one to use shooting weddings. Black and white film wedding photography; expanding market for that retro look. I was thinking an M4 with a good zoom, maybe a Sigma until I can find the money for a Noctilux or Summicron; I’ve heard the M4 has the best viewfinder of all the M’s. How cool would that be, doing a wedding with something like that!?!??”

Older Photographer: “Well, best of luck with your new business. Work hard, learn your craft and most importantly, pick the right tools for the job and know how to use them. And if you ever travel my way, let’s meet up. You can use one of my Leicas for the day, get to know it a little better before you jump in feet first. I’ll even thaw some film for the occasion. And, if you let me use your 5D, I’ll be happy to take your picture holding my Leica. You can use it on you website.”

The Leica (Leitz Minolta) CL

In 1971 Leica decided to produce a compact Leica (CL) camera that would be a less expensive alternative to their pro model M5. In the late 60s and early 70s, production costs in Germany had risen high enough that it was beginning to price Leitz products out of an increasingly competitive sales environment. Leica looked for ways to cut costs while expanding their market share. To keep production costs to a minimum, they needed the camera to be manufactured by an outside company with hi-tech capabilities and lower labor costs than those in Germany. Leitz approached Minolta, and the Leica CL was born.

The Leica CL and the Leitz Minolta CL are 35 mm compact mechanical rangefinder cameras with interchangeable lenses in the Leica M-mount. They were developed by Leitz/Leica in collaboration with Minolta, and manufactured by Minolta between 1973 and 1976. Leica put their name on the CLs they sold, and they were put through “German quality control,” but that’s really the only difference between the Leica or (Leitz) Minolta CL. In reality, all of the cameras were made on the same assembly line in Minolta’s factory in Japan. In the U.S. and Europe, the CL was sold as the “Leica CL”. In Japan it was sold as the” Leitz Minolta CL” and “Minolta CL”. Sixty-five thousand serial numbers were allotted to the Leica CL, and additionally approximately 20,000 Leitz Minolta CL’s were produced. 3,500 examples of the Leica CL received a special 50 Jahre marking in 1975, for Leica’s 50th anniversary.

The CL came standard with either a 40mm f/2 Summicron-C or 40mm f/2 Rokkor M. When sold with a Leitz Minolta CL, the lenses were called Minolta M-Rokkor 40mm f:2 and 90mm f:4.

Leitz designed and produced the Summicron-C 40mm in Germany. Minolta produced the M-Rokkor 40mm f/2, which was an optical design identical the Leica Summicron-C 40mm and manufactured it in Tokyo with Minolta glass. The Summicron and Rokkor are identical in performance, and many people prefer the M-Rokkor as it uses a standard 40.5mm filter and hood. Minolta also produced a later version of the M-Rokkor for the Minolta CLE, the M-Rokkor 40mm f/2 mark II, which is multicoated and reputed to be slightly better optically than the Summicron and first version M-Rokker, although I suspect that’s down to internet speculation. Suffice it to say that the Summicron-C and the M-Rokkor in whatever version are very compact and incredibly sharp, still as good relatively today as they were 40 years ago.

Leitz designed the Elmar-C 90mm f/4 for the CL and manufactured both it and first production runs of the M-Rokkor 90mm f/4 for the Minolta CL in Wetzlar, changing only the bezel and markings for the Minolta lens. Later, after Leica had discontinued the CL and Minolta continued with the CLE, the same lens design was manufactured by Minolta in Japan. You can tell which was which by the “Made in Germany” and “Made in Japan” markings on the lens barrel. Minolta also subsequently produced an M-Rokkor 28mm f:2.8 lens for the CLE. All these lenses can be mounted on the CL too. M-Rokkor-branded lenses for the CL and CLE take the more easily found 40.5mm filter size.

The CLs are identical. The Minolta is a Leica, and vice versa. There are some differences between the CL and the M series Leicas. The shutter speed dial is positioned on the front of the CL. The shutter speed also appears in the finder display (the M5 shows the shutter speeds in the finder as well while the other M’s do not). Instead of the horizontal cloth focal plane shutter found in the M series, the CL uses a vertical cloth shutter. This allowed the CL body to be very compact, still the smallest M mount camera made by Leica. Much like the Nikon F, the entire bottom plate and back detaches from the CL for film changes. As with the M series, the shutter is entirely mechanical, a battery only needed for the meter.

The CL does not have a rangefinder as precise as that of a the Leica M. The rangefinder base of the CL is 31.5 mm and the viewfinder magnification is 0.60, leading to a small effective rangefinder base of 18.9 mm. This is too short for accurate focusing with lenses longer than 90mm and fast lenses used at full aperture. It has frame lines for 40mm, 50mm, and 90mm lenses, and the viewfinder easily accomdates a 35mm lens (just use the entire viewfinder frame). The 40mm frame is always visible.

If you’re looking to buy a CL, the Leitz Minolta version with 40mm M-Rokkor sells for about 60% of the Leica CL with Summicron. The only differences between to two cameras are the external engravings. I have one and love it. Its diminutive size makes it a perfect camera to take everywhere, and the optical quality of the 40mm M-Rokkor is outstanding. I find myself reaching for it when I’m heading somewhere with no particular photographic ideas in mind.

The ‘Added Value’ of Black Paint

On November 22, 2014, Westlicht Auction will put up for sale, among other things, two Leica MPs, MP-375 and MP-24, both with matching Leicavit. Both mechanically sound. The only difference between the two cameras is that one is chrome ((MP-375) and one is black paint (MP-24). The chrome MP-375 could easily be described on Ebay as “MINTY!” The MP-24, not so much.

Westlicht expects MP-375 to sell for a maximum of €60,000 and MP-24 a maximum of €180,000. In effect, the guy who buys MP-24 will be paying a €120,000 premium for the black paint, most of which, given a quick look at its photo, has already worn away.

‘Black Paint’ is one of those serendipitous features that has assumed incredible importance for ‘collectors.’ Years ago, some professional users wanted cameras that were less apparent in the field (usually PJs in Korea and Viet Nam getting shot at), so manufacturers like Leica and Nikon started producing black cameras along with traditional chrome using black paint (as that’s all that was available at that time). The black paint wore much quicker than the traditional chrome finish and a well worn black paint Leica or Nikon usually signified a professional user. Most amateurs avoided the black cameras because they looked old and beat up much too fast for their tastes. As a result of customer complaints about the lack of permanence of black finished models, Leica offered new black chrome models, black anodized chrome over brass meant to be much more durable, starting with the M5 and the Leicaflex SL.

Leica resumed offering black paint models again with the M6 TTL, mostly due to nostalgic demand from fondlers. Today, the black paint fetish has assumed the irrationality of the Tulip Mania of 1636-1637, usually doubling or tripling the value of any pedestrian vintage Leica or Nikon. Like all matters of style, speculative investments based on such ephemera are tentative at best. My advice: buy the chrome MP and use the extra €120,000 you’ve saved to buy an original Thomas Kinkade painting.

Original MP in beautiful and perfect working order, clean finder and shutter, with Leicavit MP, matching chassis number inside the camera. Expected selling price: EUR 50.000 – 60.000

Original and very rare black paint MP with patina of professional use, in perfect working order, matching chassis number inside the camera, with black Leicavit MP. Expected selling price: EUR 150.000 – 180.000

Why a Mechanical Film Camera in a Digital Age?

Which of these cameras is ‘obsolete?’

All things being equal, simplicity is the best solution to any problem. This is the premise of Ockham’s Razor, a philosophical principle devised by William of Ockham (c. 1287–1347). This simple concept has a venerable history, still taught today in many introductory philosophy courses. Leonardo da Vinci called simplicity “the ultimate sophistication.”

We are not talking here about the categorical renunciation of all technological advances. Voluntary simplicity does not mean reflexively renouncing the legitimate advantages of technology; rather, it recognizes that humans have a bond with their tools that transcends the idea of the tool as merely a means. Given this, it is rooted in a skeptical attitude toward the claim that increased technology is always the best means to an end. It involves a thoughtful stance in relation to technology, rejecting what is superfluous to the achievement of a given aim while acknowledging the emotional weight of our relationship with our tools. This is far from being primitive or regressive. It is progressive at its core.

The Notion of Obsolescence

Mechanical film cameras today might seem an anachronism, sort of a technological dodo bird. But the reality, I would submit, stands this assumption on its head. In a very profound sense, it is the opposite. The best mechanical film cameras can be considered the ultimate refinement of a simplified technology, never to be obsolete.

Today the main reason for obsolescence is that supporting technologies may no longer be available to produce or repair a product. Digital technology is extremely susceptible to obsolescence of this type. Integrated circuits, including camera sensors, memory and even relatively simple chips may no longer be produced because the technology has been superseded, their original developer gone out of business ( see Kodak) or a competitor has bought them out and effectively killed off their products to remove competition.

The Leica M8, Leica’s first digital M, rolled out to great fanfare only 8 years ago, is already obsolete. Leica can no longer source its sensor or its LCD screen. If you own an M8 and these stop functioning, you now own a very expensive paperweight. Fixing it, even if you could, would probably cost substantially more than simply buying the latest Leica M. It is rarely worth redeveloping a product to get around these issues since its overall functionality and price/performance ratio has usually been superseded by that time.

Camera manufacturers now deliberately introduce technological obsolescence as a product strategy, with the objective of generating long-term sales volume by reducing the time between repeat purchases. Ever tried using that Nikon D100 sitting in the back of your closet? If it still works, it will give you the same results it did when it was new; the problem is that digital camera technology has moved on to such a degree that it simply is not feasible to use it anymore when much better technology exists. All digitized products are inherently susceptible to obsolescence in this manner; digital cameras routinely become obsolete in favor of newer, faster, better units. Let’s not even begin to speak of rapid obsolescence of data formats along with supporting hardware and software that plagues modern photographers.

Digital cameras also become functionally obsolete when they do not function in the manner they did when they were created. This may be due to natural wear, or when the technology is only designed with a limited lifespan in mind; today’s cameras, ‘professional models’ sometimes excluded, I suspect are intentionally designed to use faster wearing components, what is called planned obsolescence. The intention is not always cynical; rather, it’s a practical recognition of the regular exponential advance that can be expected of computerized products (See Moore’s Law). Why build a unit to last 20 years when it will be functionally obsolete in 3? Such products, which naturally wear out or break down, become obsolete because replacement parts are no longer available, or the cost of repairs or replacement parts is higher than the cost of a new, more technologically advanced item (see Leica M8).

Mechanical cameras – the best, overbuilt like Leica Ms – are not subject to either technological or functional obsolescence. The technology of analog photography is simple: a light tight box capable of housing film; optics that concentrate light; a shutter that opens and closes at repeatable, regulated intervals; and an optical aperture that controls the amount of light passing through the lens. Any ‘improvement’ on these necessary parameters can only be nominal at best. Likewise, almost every fully mechanical Leica M ever built, absent those subjected to destructive forces (e.g. dropped into water, penetrated by a bullet etc) either still functions or can be made to function again with a Clean, Lubricate and Adjust or simple replacement of parts. If the part is no longer available it can be fabricated.

If mechanical devices can be considered obsolete, it is usually an obsolescence of style and not of function. When a product is no longer desirable because it has gone out of the popular fashion, its style is obsolete. It may still be perfectly functional, but it is no longer desirable because style trends have moved on. But this sort of obsolescence is subject to human whims and can be undone. Based on a fashion cycle, stylistically obsolete products may eventually regain popularity and cease to be obsolete. What we are really talking about when we speak of the obsolescence of mechanical film cameras is, at base, that they are not in fashion.

Marilyn Monroe with Nikon F

Tactile Pleasure and the Act of Photographing

We’ve all seen the guy or girl, be it in Brooklyn, Portland, Raleigh or Austin. It’s become a cliché, the hipster with an old film camera, eschewing ‘modern’ mass technology for something more ‘real,’ more authentic. Whatever the motive, it points to something profound about the relationship between humans and their tools. At a very fundamental level, humans are defined and shaped by their use of tools. Tool use is the basis of human culture, and the tactile experience provided by using a tool is profoundly significant for human flourishing. Ironically, now that people spend so much time in a two-dimensional universe there’s a renewed acknowledgment of the pleasure to be found in the aesthetics and use of beautiful three-dimensional objects.The mechanical camera underlines the quirky, humanistic qualities of instruments created by hand. A mechanical camera is only partly a photographic device. It is also a complex and nuanced tactile object. Being without electronic or computerized circuits, there is a simplicity to them that computerized tools lack, a mechanical solidity that makes sense from a human perspective. The link between cause and effect is more transparent. You do something with a mechanical tool, it results in something tangible and coherent. You understand the why.

Having been schooled squarely in the analogue age, I admit my ingrained biases may not make me the most objective of observer of the issue. But there is something, ‘unreal,’ simulated about the tactile experience of digital use. It’s the difference between a computer game that simulates racing a motorcycle on a track and actually riding a motorcycle on a track. The computer recreation is designed to give you the same sensation as being out there actually racing the track, but its a simulation of the reality, not the reality itself. What is missing is a certain solidity of experience. Not to say there isn’t enjoyment in the simulation, maybe, given the absence of danger, even a type of enjoyment that isn’t available to the analogue user, the guy actually out there in the vehicle running the track, but its not the same enjoyment; its, at best, a proscribed psychological enjoyment stripped of much of the tactile pleasure of the act itself. Photographically, there is something satisfying, from a bodily perspective, of winding on the film by hand; of turning a knob that controls the flow of light; of the sound of a mechanical shutter opening and closing. Digital cameras lack this bodily satisfaction, instead providing an experience akin to a conjuring trick, the link between cause and effect subsumed by the computerized nature of the transaction.

The Importance of the Process

Photography is about looking and seeing. It involves deliberation and judgment. It is about having the concentration, focus, required to look closely. Most of us who grew up on film are still ‘contemplative’ and ‘conscientious’ when also using digital because its been bred into our relationship with photography. For us, digital hasn’t made a difference in that respect. But it certainly has for those coming of age photographically in the digital era. All the talk about ‘slowing down’ and ‘understanding light’ or ‘better composition’ that accompanies use of film cameras comes primarily from those who grew up on digital devices and are just now using film. They’re discovering all those things that film users learned as formative consequences of the use of mechanical film cameras.

It’s great that people are discovering film and the processes behind it and are now more thoughtful about what they are doing as a consequence. If it takes using film to be more conscious about our actions, then that might also help make contemporary digital photography a better place, too. The point is this: digital isn’t going away, obviously. But there will always be a place for film photography. Photography shouldn’t be seen as a zero sum equation, where the advent of a newer technology completely displaces mature technologies. Digital photography hasn’t, and never will, replace film photography. Digital has given photographers another option, but film use will always remain an option for those who prefer its methods and results, just as the advent of fine art acrylic paints didn’t kill the use of oil based pigments but simply gave painters another medium with which to work.

The Image Is Everything

If a certain amount of younger photographers are discovering the aesthetics of film and the differences between film capture and electronic capture that’s a huge positive, and a necessary corrective to a disturbing trend propagated by the technical potentials of digital capture. Digital photography has produced an obsession with sharpness and resolution which is causing us to overlook our connection to the image. It is so prevalent today as to be a universal photographic fetish. The perfection of digital is a false standard. Imperfection is beautiful, and a misplaced emphasis on sharpness can make an image lifeless and boring. I love the emotion of motion blur, and grain in film, it gives us something organic that connects us to the images we see. We’re humans, not robots, and much of contemporary photographic imagery could easily have come from the brain of an awesomely-cool-looking-yet-emotionally-barren android photographer.

Leica M5, Neopan 1600

I think this is an issue we need to consider with current digital image making. The fetishism for high resolution is creating an odd desire for something beyond the real, a kind of visual hyper-reality. With film we chose a format for a specific subject matter. Large sheet film was used to get ‘sharpness’ and detail for very large prints. Grand landscapes were best depicted by using fine grained sheet film. Medium format gave us portability while allowing us to print big when needed. 35mm film was used for ‘decisive moments’. The grain and the characteristics of small film were part of the image itself, characteristics of the image that are part of the image’s interpretation. To be sure, photographers have always defined characteristics like high resolution; we used different emulsions and developers, and we sought out good lenses, etc. But sharpness was rarely an end in itself. But the interpretation that comes from the hyper-real digital look is more akin to some sort of cloning perfection. It is beyond the real.

Today there seems to be this odd desire for the hyper-real as if an author’s interpretation of the real no longer exists via the choice of materials; high resolution and sharpness being applied indiscriminately to all subject matter as a standard photographic trope. I find myself missing the unique and interpretive look of traditional film photography. It seems so much richer and so much more capable of being infused with the idiosyncratic which is the base foundation of all creative enterprise. What increasingly dominates is a fetishism of the surface of the image while the content and context of the image too often takes a back seat. And that’s also why some people who grew up on digital are now looking to escape such bewitchment by turning to the simplicity, directness and creative possibilities of film. Call it a return to the interpretive. Others have tired of the never ending introductions of so-called ‘new’ cameras (more like minor tweaks of already existing technology) and the emphasis on the technology, and have found that using a mechanical film camera is not a retrenchment but a reanimation of the photographic impulse.

*****

Why use mechanical film cameras in a digital age? For most people, a mechanical film camera seems an anachronism. But in a very profound sense, it is the opposite: mechanical film cameras are the ultimate refinement of simplified technology with an established history. As such, ironically, they are not “obsolete” and never will be, except maybe from a standpoint of style. Technologically and functionally, mechanical film cameras resist obsolescence in a way newer digital cameras cannot, because they are, at base, simple.

Perhaps someday we will acknowledge that a blind faith in technology can itself be regressive. There is tactile pleasure in the use of a mechanical instrument that is missing in something computerized. At the risk of devolving into the metaphysical, maybe it’s a fuller experience of the real rooted in sense of physical solidity and cause and effect. There is also an elegance to simple things that complicated things lack. It’s the pleasure of riding a bicycle on a Spring day instead of taking the car.

Ode to a Legend – The Leica M4

By Tom Grill. This originally appeared on his blog About Photography

For me, the M4 is the camera that reached the pinnacle of analog design. It was the natural sequel to the M2 and M3 designs into one body with a few more bells and whistles added. The one time Leica attempted to diverge from this basic M design with the M5 model in 1971 led to such an uproar that the M4 was reinstated only a few years later and has continued to be the basis for flagship camera design of the company even up to the newest M 240 digital model.

My 1968 black painted M4. I sent it back to Leica for a factory replacement of the viewfinder so it now has six lens frame lines of the M6 instead of the original four. I did this because I use a 28mm lens a lot and usually have the Leica meter on top of the camera taking up the slot where I would normally put an auxiliary optical finder. And look at the beautiful engraving on top. Don’t see that much anymore.

There were several iterations of the M4. The M4-2 was introduced in 1977, followed by the M4-P in 1981. Each new version added a couple of new features — a hot shoe, motor-drive capability, extra finder frames — but modernized the production line and replaced the black enamel with a more durable black chrome. I always had a penchant for cameras with black paint over brass. After a little use some of the paint wears through to the brass and the camera takes on an individual patina that identifies it as yours. Excessive brassing becomes a battle-worn badge of honor, something to be worn proudly, as if to say, “I served”.

The Leica M4 with MR-4 meter mounted on top.

The M4 was introduced in 1967 and produced until 1975 with a little break while the M5 ran its short-lived, orphened course. The M4 had framelines for 35mm, 50mm, 90mm and 135mm lenses in a 0.72 magnification viewfinder. Mine was made in 1968, and had a later, standard factory addition of the M6 viewfinder adding 28mm and 75mm frame lines.

I always liked the look of the Leica meter. Not that it worked all that well — I still carried around a hand held auxiliary meter for more accurate readings — but it slipped conveniently into the accessory shoe, had a high/low range, and synchronized with the shutter speed dial, all pretty advanced stuff for 1968.

The handle-crank rewind knob was one of the late-to-the-party innovations Leitz added to the M. The one on the M4 was angled so it could be operated quickly without constantly scraping your fingers on the side of the camera — something of an anachronism in today’s digital world, but much appreciated at the time by photographers needing to get the spent roll out of the camera quickly and reload it for the next breaking shot.

Adding the angled rapid rewind crank was considered a big deal at the time. I can still recall discussions with veteran photographers who were convinced that Leitz maintained the slow turning rewind knob on the M2 and M3 to avoid rewinding the film too fast and causing static light discharge that might damage a film frame.

The M4 did away with the removable film take up spool, and introduced a faster film loading system that gripped the end of the film automatically to load it onto the spool.

The self-timer lever was an M4 luxury — some say frivolous addition — eliminated from later versions of the M series. After all, pros don’t need self-timers.

The M4 was the last of a breed. It reminds me of souped-up, propeller-driven fighter aircraft at the end of WWII. Each had reached the apex of analog, hand-crafted design on the cusp of fading into oblivion in the face of a newer technology. The planes were replaced by jets, the rangefinder by the SLR. Fortunately, the M-series camera hit a very responsive chord in the human psyche that has made it last even into the digital era. For many, Leica M is the icon of professional camera, and retro styling based on the Leica M design is undergoing a renaissance in cameras like the popular Fuji X-Pro1. And let’s not forget that in keeping with the M analog tradition Leica continues to make the M7 and MP film cameras today.

Buying a Black Paint M3 on Ebay. Caveat Emptor.

Black paint Leica M3’s are rare, as in really rare. And, like all Leica rarities, they’re expensive. One recently sold at auction in Hong Kong for $472,00.00. So, imagine my surprise when a “Leica M3 100% Original Black Paint Finish – With Original Documents,” above, showed up on Ebay with a No Reserve starting price of $.99, complete with ample paperwork from Leitz, NY proving its provenance. The seller (he of two feedback) apparently bought the camera from an estate sale:

Leica M3 in original black lacquer finish – Early Double Stroke
I recently found this entire set an estate sale. I have been a member of eBay since 1999. I recently started this new account. There is no reason for concern because any potential buyers will be protected under the buyer protection plan established by eBay and Paypal
M3 comes with original receipt, guarantee, and gold tag
All serial numbers match and you can verify that Leica made Black M3’s during this Serial Range by going to this website (L-camera-forum)
L Seal is intact on Camera
Camera come with its original brass body cap – made by Leica for their black cameras
Auction has plenty of original brochures and manuals (see photo)
Camera has glass film Plate
Camera is operating perfectly and firing at all speeds
Timer is working correctly
Viewfinder is clean and clear
Camera has been tested recently and takes wonderful photos
This camera has to be the rarest camera on eBay currently, a very early run of Leica’s Black finished M3’s
Kind Regards

Is the camera a “real” black paint M3? Who knows. Suffice it to say that there are numerous red flags that suggest its a fake: according to Leica’s records, before the original black paint MP’s, from no. 13 to no. 150 (1957), just after batch M3 882001-886700, no black M’s were made; the vulcanite looks suspiciously new; and the wear looks just a bit contrived. The amount of supporting paperwork also seems contrived, too comprehensive for a camera that was used as much as this one purports to have been (in my mind, somebody who would hold onto all that original paperwork and sales brochures, i.e. with an eye to posterity, probably would have treated the camera a little better).

But….Leica’s records, unfortunately, are incomplete, because the verified black paint M3 sold at Hong Kong auction this past May is serial number 746572. And this guy seems to think his, serial number 779019, is legit too. It is known that Leica would produce black paint M’s on order – even before the first “official” black paint M3s were produced in 1957/58. Keep in mind: in 1955 black Leica’s were not “collectible”; maybe the original owner, a Busby Cattenach from Wisconsin, simply wanted a black camera, ponied up his $324 and had Leitz, NY send him one special, and 45 years later some guy with a new Ebay account and two feedbacks grabbed it for a few hundred bucks at an estate sale in New Jersey. It could happen.

Whatever’s up with this camera, it’s no longer for sale on Ebay, having been pulled down after a day or so on site, which is a shame, since I’d already configured my Bidnip account to bid it up to $2100 at the last moment. So much for scoring an under-the-radar deal on Ebay.

A Metered Leica M2?

I ran across this camera on photo.net. Apparently it’s a metered M2 (note the battery cover on the front of the chassis) coupled with a Leicavit. My best guess is that it’s an M6 chassis with an M2 top plate. Whatever, its beautiful. I have no idea of the story behind it, although I’m certain Leica never officially built one.

Leica Selfie #17

Constructing The Leica

Leica Introduces An All New Film Camera, The Leica M-A

Kudos to Leica. They’ve introduced a new film camera – the Leica M-A. The M-A is identical to the still available Leica MP but has no meter, needs no battery, and contains no electronics. Think of it as an ‘updated’ M4. The M-A isn’t completely new: In typical Leica fashion, Wetzlar offered a ridiculously overpriced stainless steel collector’s edition of the Leica M-A, the Leica M Edition 100, this past Spring.

The M-A will be available in black chrome (yes, no retro “black paint” version) or silver chrome from Leica dealers starting October 2014. The price in Germany is 3,850 €, international prices will be announced later.

My only quibble is the knurled rewind, which has always been a PITA. I would have preferred the much more efficient rewind found on the M4, M6 and M7, a small quibble indeed in light of the fact that a camera manufacturer sees the continued viability of analogy photography and is actually committed to producing new cameras to meet the demand.

From Leica:

With the Leica M-System, Leica Camera AG, Wetzlar, is one of the few manufacturers still producing both analogue and digital cameras. In this, the company can draw from decades of experience in the construction of the finest precision-engineered cameras. Now – 60 years after the first Leica M rangefinder camera, the M3, left the factory to significantly change the world of photography – we have chosen the occasion of this anniversary to present a new analogue model: the Leica M-A.

As a purely mechanical rangefinder camera, the Leica M-A stands for a return to photography in its most original form. Without reliance on a monitor, exposure metering or batteries, photographers can explore entirely new creative horizons. Because, with a camera reduced to only essential camera functions, users of the M-A can now concentrate entirely on the essential parameters of subject composition – namely focal length, aperture and shutter speed – and on capturing the decisive moment.

From its shutter-speed dial and the aperture ring on the lens to the characteristic rangefinder focusing principle – the technical specifications of the Leica M-A are essentially based on the currently available analogue Leica MP. All of its precision-engineered components and functions are designed and constructed for absolute robustness and a long working life, and are housed in a painstakingly hand-built metal body. This ensures that the Leica M-A, as a product with particularly enduring value, brushes aside every challenge with absolute dependability.

The visible elements of the Leica M-A are as timeless as the precision-engineered principles employed inside it. For example, the Leica red dot was omitted to emphasise the classical simplicity of its design. Seen from the side, the Leica M-A is significantly slimmer than its digital counterparts.

The camera can be supplied in a choice of two different finishes: the classic appearance of the silver chrome version carries forward the traditions of 60 years of Leica M design. In the black chrome alternative, the M-A is reminiscent of the style of the M Monochrom and sets new standards in unobtrusiveness and discretion. While the silver chrome version of the M-A displays its origins in the engraving on its top plate, only much closer scrutiny of its completely matt black counterpart reveals the discreetly engraved Leica script on its accessory shoe.

Each Leica M-A is supplied complete with Kodak Tri-X 400 black-and-white film, which is also celebrating its 60th anniversary this year. Since its appearance on the market in 1954, its unmistakeable look, exceptional sharpness and tonal gradation, extremely broad exposure latitude and very good shadow detail made this black-and-white film a firm favourite and the classic medium for art and reportage photography.

The Leica M-A will be available from authorized Leica dealers starting October 2014.

Street Shooting With a Leica M Film Camera

This is a reprint of A Guide on How to Shoot Street Photography on a Film Leica (or Rangefinder) written by Eric Kim and originally published September 2, 2014 on his blog Eric Kim Street photography Blog. [Editors Note: I like Eric Kim. I recommend his blog. It’s good that we have a new generation of photographers who’ve discovered film and are enthused about its possibilities. I also like that he “gets” the traditional appeal of Leica rangefinders i.e. not a a signifier of status, but as photographic tools.]

I know a lot of street photographers who have gotten into film recently, and have recently invested in film Leicas (specifically Leica m6’s). I wanted to write this guide to share everything I personally know about shooting on a film Leica based on my 3 years of experience. Disclaimer: I am not a Leica expert, nor do I claim to be. But I will to share some practical tips and insights about film Leicas and how to shoot them on the streets.

Which film Leica to get?

If you’re reading this article, either own a film Leica and shoot street photography, or might be interested in getting one.To get this out of the way, the best bang-for-the-buck film Leica is the Leica M6. It includes a meter, and is relatively modern. I recommend getting one via my good friend Bellamy Hunt from Japan Camera Hunter (or eBay with good sellers, reliable second hand stores, or on Craigslist after you see it in person). Also note: m2, m4 and m4-2 do NOT have 28mm framelines (thanks to Anon):

A quick rundown of all the film Leicas out there:

Leica M2:

I deal for 35mm lens, but doesn’t have a built in meter, and has a “cold shoe” (the hotshot doesn’t fire). Also loading film in it is a a pain in the ass. But you can get good deals on a film Leica M2. If you are good at metering with your eyes, this is a good bargain.

Leica M3

Apparently one of the best Leicas ever made– this is the Leica Henri Cartier-Bresson shot with most of his life. Has a beautiful viewfinder, and is ideal for a 50mm lens. Unfortunately, natively it can’t use a 35mm lens (unless you get attachments for it). Similarly to the m2, doesn’t have a hotshot and loading film in it is annoying. If you are a 50mm guy, it is a good body.

Leica M4

Great film body, the camera that Garry Winogrand used for most of his life. You can find great deals on these. Doesn’t have a built in meter.

Leica M5

A lot of people hate this camera because it looks ugly, but some great work is being made with it (Junku Nishimura uses one). It is bigger, chunkier, but some argue the ergonomics are better.But if you don’t care about aesthetics, I’d go for it (if you can find a good deal on it).

Leica M6

The best bang-for-the-buck film Leica to get. Has a built-in meter, fast rewinder, and is also the camera that Joel Meyerowitz and Bruce Gilden shot for a long time. Also as a note, there is a Leica M6 TTL which has a larger shutter speed dial (same as the Leica M9), and it supports the SF20 flash ttl mode. Also apparently a little bit more rugged than the M6 (as it is a bit newer). This was the first film Leica I owned, it was given to me as a present from my friend Todd Hatakeyama. I recently “paid it forward” by giving it to another talented photographer named Bill Reeves in Austin, as he needed the camera more than I did and needed a film body to create beautiful work.

Leica M7

The most electronic film Leica out there– it is still being made by Leica. It has aperture priority mode, and exposure compensation. Downside of the camera: you can only use two shutter speeds if the battery on the camera dies (all the other film Leicas are fully mechanical, and can shoot without a battery). Also, I have heard from other photographers that if isn’t as reliable as the other film Leicas (provably due to all the electronics). Ideal if you want aperture-priority, and don’t like manually changing your shutter speed.

Leica MP

The newest film Leica, still made by Leica– (mp stands for “mechanical perfection”, pretty cheesy but the most robust of all film Leicas). The Leica mp has the styling of the old M2–3, is made out of solid brass, and is the newest one (thus the most reliable one). This is currently the film Leica I use. I sold my M9, bought a used Leica MP (in mint condition from Japan Camera Hunter) and pocketed the change. The reason I chose the MP was partly aesthetic (I like how the black paint brasses over time) and mostly because it is the most reliable (I can’t have my camera fail on me while traveling).

The body doesn’t matter that much

To be honest, the film Leica body you get doesn’t matter that much. You can’t tell the difference of image quality of a $800 Leica M2 compared to a brand-new $5000 Leica MP. However you should ultimately choose your body based on your personal needs (if you like having a built-in meter, if you shoot with a flash, and what focal length you shoot with). Also note that all film Leicas (except the M3) support frame lines of 28, 35, 50, etc). Any lenses wider than 28, and you need an external finder.

Jorge Fidel Alvarez, Leica M6, 35mm Summicron, Ilford HP5, Wuhan, China 2014

Lens choices for a film Leica

For 99% of street photographers, I’d recommend getting a 35mm lens. 28mm is too wide for most people, and 50mm can be a bit cramped. The best bang-for-the-buck lens for a film Leica is the Voigtlander 35m f/2.5 – as you will probably be shooting at f/8 most of the time, and if is very cheap (less than $400) and very compact. If money is no option and you want the sharpest and most ergonomic lens, I’d recommend the Leica 35mm Summicron ASPH f/2 (great ergonomics, build quality, and incredibly sharp).

Some other great Leica lenses (if you don’t like 35mm) and can afford it:

Other good bang for the buck options are:

–50mm Zeiss f2 (or voigtlander equivalent)

–28mm Voigtlander f/2

However at the end of the day, your focal length is your personal decision.

My suggestion: try experimenting with different focal lengths and see which one you like the most. Then once you find your ideal focal length, just stick with it. Also disregard all these bokeh, sharpness tests online for lenses. I think it is better to have a light and compact lens, you honestly don’t need a lens faster than f/2.8 if you’re shooting street photography from f/8–16.

Zone focusing

Leica’s aren’t meant to be shot wide open in street photography. You can’t constantly nail f1.4 shots of people moving. Furthermore bokeh shots in street photography tend to be cliche, and you lose context of the background and environment. To be frank, very few great photos in history were shot wide open. Most were shot with a relatively deep depth of field (f/8–16) to get a context of the subject and the background. When you shoot with your film Leica, I recommend you keep your aperture at f/8 by default (remember the saying, f8 and be there). This gives you a deep depth-of-field (everything is in focus) and lets enough light into your lens (sometimes f/16 causes your shutter speed to be too slow). I generally keep my lens pre-focused to 1.2 meters (the focusing tab is smack dab center) when I’m out on the streets. 1.2 meters is roughly two-arm lengths away.

When I see a subject around 3–5 meters away, I just turn my focusing tab 45 degrees to the right. When the subject is very close to me, I turn my focusing tab 45 degrees to the left (.7–1 meter). Over time, you should learn how to judge your distances well. For example, start to learn how far away .7 meters (around one arm-length), 1.2 meters (2 arm lengths away), and 5 meters (the average distance of a street from the curb to the storefront). Over time, your finger will intuitively focus with the focusing tab based on how far your subject is away from the subject.

Some lenses unfortunately don’t have focusing tabs on them. In those cases, either glue on a focusing tab (you can find them on eBay), or know how much you have to turn your wrist to the left or right when focusing.

What you don’t want to do when shooting street photography is this: bring up your Leica to your eye, put your focusing patch on your subject, and fool around for 5–10 seconds trying to nail your focus.

What you should do is this: see how far your subject is, pre-focus to that distance (without looking through your viewfinder), bringing up your camera to your eye and quickly shooting.

Essentially a Leica in street photography should be used like a point and shoot camera.

Jorge Fidel Alvarez, Leica M6, 35mm Summicron, Ilford HP5, Wuhan, China 2014

The benefits of shooting with a film Leica

Personally I don’t think I’ll ever purchase another digital Leica. I once owned the Leica M9 (it was a solid camera)– but now it has lost so much value in a short period of time. This is my reasoning: all digital cameras are essentially computers. How long do you keep your computer for– probably not longer than 4–5 years. Which means you have to keep upgrading them. A digital Leica re-sale value is quite low. After a year or two of owning a digital Leica, you lose around $1000–2000 in value. And they will probably get updated every 2–3 years. So if you shoot digital and love it (and are rich), I’d say go for the digital Leicas. After all, there is no other better digital rangefinder in the market.

But for me, I like the idea of buying a film Leica and owning it for the rest of my life. A film rangefinder will never go out of style. In 50 years my grand children can still use the camera, and it will still be “functional”. But I doubt a digital camera will still be relevant in 59 years. Because once the lithium battery runs out of charge, it will be useless.

Also with a film Leica, I fall less victim to “GAS” (gear acquisition syndrome). I’m not in a rush to upgrade my cameras, because there is nothing more updated than a film Leica. There will never be a Leica mp version 2 with video. This allows me to make no excuses about my photography, as I have the best film rangefinder that money can buy.

To also be honest, Leica film rangefinders aren’t as expensive as they seem. You can get a great condition Leica M6 for around $1500–2000. That’s not cheap, but around the same price as a Fuji x-series camera, or a modern DSLR. You can get a great Voigtlander lens for around $400 (Voigtlander 35mm f/2.5 lens) which is probably 80%+ the performance of a $3000 Leica 35mm f2 Summicron ASPH lens. And in terms of “sharpness”, I can’t tell a difference between voigtlander, Leica, or zeiss lenses.

Nobody is going to care how sharp your photos are at the end of the day– they’re only going to care the emotional impact and composition of your images.

Alternative film rangefinders

Don’t get me wrong, there’s also tons of great affordable film rangefinders. You don’t need a Leica. The Yaschica electro 35mm is solid, as well as the Voigtlander Bessa And Zeiss Ikon cameras. For me, I prefer the film Leicas because they are more robust, have a more “classic” design, and have been around for a longer period of time. I also prefer the ergonomics. But each man to his own.

On shooting film

Film can get a bit pricy depending on where you live. But if you shoot black and white film and process it yourself, it is quite cheap. Also take into account that if you shoot digital, you upgrade constantly (every few years). With a film rangefinder or Leica, you will never really “need” to upgrade. When shooting film, you also shoot less. So I don’t think the whole “…but I can shoot 1000 photos a day on digital and save money in the long run.” Most street photographers I know rarely shoot more than 1 roll of film a day.

When I’m at home and not traveling, I probably only shoot 5–10 photos a day. When I’m traveling, I might shoot half a roll to a full roll depending on how exciting things are. I know some street photographers who only shoot 1–2 rolls a week. My favorite film for color is Kodak Portra 400, and Kodak Tri-X 400 for black and white. But experiment with different films and see what you like.

Some good alternatives:

Ilford HP5 (black and white)
Kodak Gold 400 (affordable color film with good saturation and gritty look)

Scanning your 35mm film

For me nowadays I shoot on Kodak Portra 400 color film, and I get it processed in the states at Costco. It only costs me $5 usd a roll, including develop and scan (3000px wide). The quality looks good to me (all the film photos on my flickr and website are from Costco). They use professional Fuji equipment (for developing and scanning)– and I’m pleased. You can also go to local convenience stores or drugstores if they offer it (for color film). Just test out a few test rolls in different areas, and see if you like the results. Sometimes labs will screw up your negatives (so always experiment different locations).

With black and white film, I hand process it myself (professing black and white is expensive in the states) and scan it myself with an Epson v750 (the Epson v700 orPlustek 8200i are better affordable options). I process just with a changing bag, and use hc–110 developer from Kodak which is quite good. I have heard my friends having great results with “rodinal” developer (for a nice gritty look). Ultimately the chemicals you use is personal preference.

For scanning, I just recommend using the default silverfast software. You can get a solid job with it.Flatbed scanners aren’t as high quality as dedicated 35mm scanners (like the plustek) but honestly– for the web, they are good enough. If you want museum quality scans, get it professionally drum-scanned.

Printing your photos in the darkroom

If you shoot black and white, I highly recommend making darkroom prints. The experience is absolutely incredible, and really gets your hands dirty.

I heard printing color is much more difficult (I’m going to learn how to do this soon), but the results are stunning. My friend Sean Lotman from Kyoto does all his prints himself in his color darkroom, and scans his prints onto flickr. I’ve seen his prints first-hand, and they absolutely blow me away.

So if you shoot film, I recommend both printing and scanning the negatives. Do whatever you enjoy and have fun doing.

Will shooting with a film rangefinder make you a better photographer?

For me, I think shooting with a film rangefinder hasn’t necessarily made me a better photographer– but it has made me a lot more patient, brutal when it comes to editing my photos, and has given me a lot less excuses about my gear. So in a sense, my photography has improved shooting with a film rangefinder.

Rangefinders aren’t for everybody. They suck for a lot of stuff, such as:

Framing isn’t as accurate as SLR
Parallax error is annoying (when you frame your subjects closer than 1.2 meters)
They don’t have a close minimum focusing distance (most rangefinder lenses only focus up to .7 meters)

But all in all, I don’t mind the restrictions of shooting with a film rangefinder much. Sometimes I feel the constraints help me be more creative with my framing.

Here are some pros of shooting with a film rangefinder:

You can see outside of the frame lines, which allows you to see more of the scene in the street. (But if you wear glasses, you’re limited at 35mm. You can’t see all of the 28mm frame lines if you wear glasses)
You don’t get viewfinder blockage when shooting (your viewfinder isn’t through the lens like a DSLR, so you don’t get viewfinder black-out when shooting)
Small and compact (easy to always carry around with you in your bag, or around your neck, or in your hand)
Dials are easy to change for shutter speed, aperture, and focusing distances.

So for me, a film Leica rangefinder is currently my ideal tool for street photography. This isn’t for everybody– I know some guys who take far better photos than I do just on an iPhone.

There is no “best” camera for street photography. Just find the “best” a camera for street photography for your personal preferences.

I do encourage experimentation for different camera systems (DSLR, micro 4/3rds, Fuji x-series, iPhone, compact cameras, rangefinder). Ultimately the camera system you like for street photography will depend on your preferences. Some of us like to eat vanilla ice cream, and some of us like chocolate ice cream. There isn’t one “better” flavor.

Editor’s Note: lots of good advice here, although I disagree with the author’s advice that the M6 is the best Leica rangefinder for street photography. In my mind, they’ll all, with the exception of the M3, as good as the other, and if I were to choose, I’d pick up the cheapest M2 I could find. Every M2 I’ve ever had has been super smooth in operation. Yes, it doesn’t have a meter – but you don’t need a meter when street shooting, just like you don’t need autofocus. A good rule: “F8 and be there!” which in practice means F8 and a shutter speed aproximating your film’s ISO, and go out and shoot. Film has latitude, a little over expose, a little under exposed, no big deal. The point is, stop fiddling with you camera and get the shot.

Why I Love My Leica

From The Gaurdian, John Naughton, The Observer, Saturday 23 August 2014

John Naughton bough this first Leica as a graduate student at Cambridge: ‘It was a second-hand M2 with a 35mm Summilux lens and foolishly extravagant for a skint young scholar.’ Photograph: Antonio Olmos for the Observer

I’m a photographer. No, let me rephrase that: I would like to be a photographer. In reality I’m merely an obsessive who takes lots of photographs in the hope that some day, just once, he will produce an image that is really, truly memorable. Like the images that Henri Cartier Bresson captured, apparently effortlessly, in their thousands. Think, for example, of his famous picture of the guy leaping over the puddle; or the one of the two stout couples enjoying a picnic on the banks of the Marne; or his magical picture of a cheeky young boy carrying two bottles of red wine on the rue Mouffetard in 1954. I like this last one particularly, because the lad in the photograph is about the same age as I was then and I often wonder if he’s still around, and what he looks like now.

You can think about this obsessiveness, this quest for the one perfect picture, as a kind of illness. If so, then I’ve had it for more than half a century. And I’m not the only sufferer. Only the other day I was reading a profile of Derrick Parfit, the celebrated Oxford philosopher, who believes that most of the world looks better in reproduction than it does in life. Unlike me, though, Parfit has specialised. There were only 10 things in the world he wanted to photograph, writes Macfarquhar, “and they’re all buildings: the best buildings in Venice – Palladio’s two churches, the Doge’s Palace, the buildings along the Grand Canal – and the best buildings in St Petersburg, the Winter Palace and the General Staff Building”.

bresson marne

Sunday on the banks of the river Marne. 1938. Photograph: Henri Cartier-Bresson/Magnum Photos

Accordingly, between 1975 and 1998, Parfit spent about five weeks each year in Venice and St Petersburg. (That’s the kind of thing you can do when you’re a fellow of All Souls.) Like me, he dislikes the harshness of the midday sun, so he’d wait for morning or evening light. He would wait for hours, reading a book, for the right sort of light and the right sort of weather.

When he came home, Parfit developed his photographs and sorted them. “Of a thousand pictures,” Macfarquhar writes, “he might keep three. When he decided that a picture was worth saving, he took it to a professional processor in London and had the processor hand-paint out all aspects of the image that he found distasteful, which meant all evidence of the 20th century – cars, telegraph wires, signposts – and usually all people. Then he had the colours repeatedly adjusted, although this was enormously expensive, until they were exactly what he wanted – which was a matter of fidelity not to the scene as it was but to an idea in his head.”

Now that’s a serious case. My condition is nothing like as bad as that. But I recognise the longing for perfection. Parfit contracted the illness because a rich uncle gave him an expensive camera (make unspecified). I caught it via a chance encounter when I was 13.

I was brought up in rural Ireland, which in the 1950s was a pretty sober society, priest-ridden and poor – not unlike Poland before the Berlin Wall came down. On Sunday afternoons, my parents insisted that the family go for a “drive” – an idea I found tedious in the manner of teenagers the world over. On one such Sunday we wound up in Killarney, Ireland’s answer to the Lake District, and we were walking through the beautiful grounds of Muckross House when we came on a young woman sitting on a bench. She was in her 30s, neatly dressed and with a self-possessed air.

naughton ireland

A photograph taken by John Naughton on 20 April 2013 in a caravan park in Kerry. John says: ‘The “austerity” regime imposed as a condition of the EU bailout was visible everywhere in Ireland at the time. The little boy was dejected because nobody would play football with him. It was one of those metaphorical moments.’

We sat on a nearby bench and my father engaged her in conversation, much to my embarrassment. It turned out that she was English and on her first visit to Ireland. Da asked if she was enjoying it. “Very much,” she replied. What did she like about the country? “Oh,” she said, “that’s easy: the cloudscapes.” She explained that she was a photographer and Ireland had very interesting light because of the way the sunlight was filtered through the clouds.

At this point I sat up and began paying attention. I had never heard this kind of talk before. “What sort of camera do you have?” I asked. She explained that she had two – “one for colour and one for black-and-white”. I was astonished: in our world families had (at most) only one camera; and any photographs they took were in black and white. Seeing my amazement she asked if I would like to see one of her cameras. I nodded eagerly. She reached into her bag, took something out, leaned towards me and placed it in my outstretched hand.

I nearly dropped it! I was expecting something of the weight of a Box Brownie. Instead I found myself holding a silver-grey metallic object that looked more like a scientific instrument than any camera I’d ever seen. “It’s a Leica,” she said. “It’s made in Germany.”

The rest of that afternoon is lost in a haze. I do remember her talking about how one should use a yellow filter when photographing landscapes in black and white (it deepens the blue of the sky and makes clouds stand out), about framing and composition, and some stuff about focal lengths. But what I came away with were two ideas: one was that photography was something that was challenging, interesting and rewarding; the other was that if you wanted to do it properly you needed serious kit.

leica barnack

Oskar Barnack, inventor of the Leica camera, 100 years ago.

That kit was invented 100 years ago this year in Wetzlar, a small town in Germany, where a 35-year-old technician invented a camera that would shape the way we perceived the world for the rest of the 20th century.

His name was Oskar Barnack, and he worked for a company called Leitz which made microscopes for scientific research. He had been hired by Ernst Leitz, the proprietor of the company, in 1911 and by 1913 had risen to be its director of research and development. His abiding passion, however, was not microscopy but photography, an art form that at that time required not just technical skill but a physique strong enough to lug around a large plate camera and its load of 16.5cm x 21.6cm glass plates.

Barnack suffered from acute asthma and the weight of the kit caused him difficulty in breathing, so he set out to reduce the load. He first tried fitting four images on to a single glass plate, but abandoned that approach because the quality of the images was poor. (At that time photographic prints were mostly produced by contact printing from the negative and so quality was directly proportional to the size of the negative: the bigger the glass plate, the better the result.) Barnack concluded that lightweight photography would have to be done with something less dense than glass plates, and with smaller, lighter, cameras.

At this point, he had a stroke of luck. One of his colleagues, Emil Mechau, was working on a project to improve the performance of movie projectors, particularly the infuriating fluttering of the images when projected on to a screen. He was working with 35mm celluloid roll film – a format invented by Thomas Edison in the 1890s which eventually had become standard for the emerging motion-picture industry. Barnack had found the lightweight recording medium he sought. All that was needed was a camera that could handle it.

Barnack set about designing and building one. The prototype he came up with was made of metal (hitherto cameras were hand-built, often exquisitely, with hardwood). The camera took one picture at a time, the film being wound on manually by means of a sprocket wheel that engaged with the holes on the sides of the film strip. Because the film moved horizontally – rather than vertically as in a movie camera – he decided that the dimensions of each image should be 36 x 24mm, and that a roll of 36 images would fit in the camera body.

Thus were set the basic parameters of 35mm photography. There remained, however, one problem. Since the 36 x 24 images were tiny by the standards of the day, the only way to produce large images of acceptable quality would be to print them via an enlarger. The tiny images would have to be phenomenally sharp, which meant that they needed lenses of extraordinary optical quality. Here again Barnack was lucky: one of his colleagues at Leitz was a genius with optics named Max Berek, who designed a 50mm lens (the first Elmar) that delivered the kind of optical performance Barnack’s camera needed.

Leica 1 camera, 1925.

The Leica 1, 1925, the world’s first 35mm camera. Photograph: Science & Society Picture Librar/Getty Images

The first three prototypes of the camera were produced in late 1913 and early 1914. It was called the Ur-Leica (Lei from “Leitz” and Ca from “camera”). It was astonishingly small, fitting comfortably into one’s hand, had a two-speed shutter, an automatic frame-counter and Berek’s f3.5 Elmar lens (which collapsed into itself when not in use, making the camera even more compact). It was a breathtaking, revolutionary device that would change photography for ever.

It would be some time before the world found out about it, however. One of the first photographs Barnack took with the camera shows a spike-helmeted German soldier who has just affixed to a public building a copy of the Emperor’s Order for total mobilisation. Germany, along with the rest of Europe, was descending into the first world war.

Leitz survived the war and the ensuing depression. The first commercial Leica – the Leica I – was launched at the Leipzig Fair in 1925. It was already much more sophisticated than the prototypes. It had a built-in optical viewfinder, shutter speeds ranging from 1/20th to 1/500th of a second, an accessory shoe – and Berek’s Elmar lens. Just under 59,000 of the Leica I were made and those that survive are now among the photographic world’s most coveted collectibles. Five years later, the first Leica with interchangeable lenses was introduced. The revolution was under way.

Leica cameras transformed the embryonic genre of photojournalism. Journalists had been using cameras almost from the dawn of photography: think of Roger Fenton documenting the Crimean war, Matthew Brady doing the same for the American civil war or Jacob Riis’s photographs of the lives of the poor in the tenements of 1890’s New York. These pioneers were constrained by the bulk of their equipment and their reportage was correspondingly static and formal. In most assignments, aspiring photojournalists stuck out like sore thumbs, or at any rate like the tripods they were obliged to use.

The Leica changed all that. Suddenly it was possible to be unobtrusive. The camera fitted in a coat pocket. It didn’t need a tripod and was quick and quiet to operate. So photography became fluid, informal, intimate: the technology no longer got in the way of telling the story. So new kinds of storytelling evolved, published in the new illustrated magazines such as Picture Post and Life.

leica korda with che

Alberto Korda with his 1960 portrait of Ernesto “Che” Guevara which became a global revolutionary icon. Photograph: Jose Luis Magana/AP

These publications developed new ways of laying out and presenting stories, creating the narrative not with slabs of text but with photographs, captions and short pieces of text. Freed by Barnack’s 36-exposure rolls from the straitjacket imposed by glass plates and cut film, photographers were suddenly able to take as many shots as they needed, enabling editors back at base to choose from their contact sheets the images that best suited the narrative they were creating. The heyday of this kind of photojournalism was from 1925 until the 1960s, when the illustrated-magazine format began to wilt under the pressure of television news and features.

At the heart of photojournalism was the Leica. Almost all the great photojournalists of the period had at least one of them in his or her bag. (The only exception I can think of is our own Jane Bown: she always worked with Japanese SLRs.) Many of the images that became, in one way or another, iconic of the time were shot on Leicas: Nixon jabbing his finger at Khruschev; Alberto Korda’s photo of Che Guevara; Robert Capa’s photographs of the D-Day landings [Editor’s Note: Capa shot a Contax, including the D-Day pictures; somehow the story has been transformed as another famous event shot with the ubiquitous Leica. it wasn’t in this instance.]; Cartier-Bresson’s photograph ofGandhi’s funeral pyre; Bert Hardy’s image of the Queen attending the Paris Opera in 1957; Cartier-Bresson’s photograph of a Gestapo informer being publicly exposed by a woman she had betrayed. And so on. Leica seeped into popular culture, such that when Dorothy Parker was asked to review Christopher Isherwood’s I Am a Camera she replied, “Me no Leica” and everybody got the joke.

Leicas have never been cheap (the latest model in the M-series costs about $6,000 just for the camera body) but when you handle one you can see why. They are beautifully engineered precision instruments, and that kind of precision costs money. They have a reassuring heft and solidity, and shutter actions that are exquisitely balanced and quiet. (Even today some US courts define acceptable noise levels for courtroom photography in relation to the noise level of a Leica shutter.) And they go on for ever (my venerable M4-P dates from 1980 and still seems as good as new) – and Leitz will fix and service them if they falter.

capa dday landings

Normandy. Omaha Beach. The first wave of American troops lands at dawn. June 6th, 1944. Photograph: Robert Capa/Magnum Photos

Until the early 1970s the cameras contained no electronics – not even an exposure meter – which meant they were astonishingly robust. The playwright Arthur Miller once recounted an occasion when he and his wife, the photographer Inge Morath, were invited to dinner by Fidel Castro. “On arriving in the Palace of the Revolution,” Miller recalled, “my wife was immediately required to give up her Leica before meeting Castro. The man taking the camera promptly dropped it from a high bin to the stone floor.” Later on in the evening, however, an aide handed Castro a book of Morath’s photographs. On seeing them Castro “promptly ordered an underling to return her camera to her. And he had no objection to her photographing him the rest of the evening.” The Leica still worked flawlessly.

The other reason why Leicas are eye-wateringly expensive is the glassware. Leitz lenses are astonishingly good in terms of sharpness, resolution and colour rendition. The top-end Noctilux f0.95 50mm lens, for example, is capable of admitting more light than any other lens in the world. But at nearly £8,000 it can also deplete your current account faster than any other lens in existence. I know only one person who has this lens, and he long ago made so much money from technology companies that he doesn’t notice the cost. But even a standard 50mm Summicron f/2 lens costs around £1,600.

These prices attract the derision of some amateur photographers, who see them as proof that Leica has sold out – abandoned the business of serious photography for the universe of luxury goods dominated by Louis Vuitton, Breitling et al; the world of the Financial Times‘s nauseating “How to Spend It” supplement. It is true that the red dot that was the badge for the Leica brand had become something of a fashion icon – to the point that serious photographers took to obscuring the dot with black tape. (In recent models, Leica has abandoned the dot.) But people who buy Leicas as fashion accessories often come unstuck, because you have to know what you’re doing in order to use the M-series cameras. There’s a lovely sequence of photographs online of Eric Clapton using his M8, for example. He takes the photograph, then looks in puzzlement at the LCD monitor and the camera until he eventually realises that the lens cap is still on. The Queen, meanwhile, has been an assured Leica user for decades. And she always takes the lens cap off.

Like other great engineering companies, Leica nearly missed the digital revolution. Initially, the new technology didn’t seem to pose a challenge to high-end photography: the pixellated images produced by sensors the size of a baby’s fingernail were too crude. But the bell began to toll for analogue photography in 2003 when Canon released the EOS 300, the first competent digital single lens reflex, and Nikon followed soon after with its D70. It was only a matter of time before larger sensors would start to produce images as good as those obtainable from film.

As the Japanese giants raced to introduce sensors that would match the size of Oskar Barnack’s original 35mm frame, Leica looked like a rabbit transfixed in the headlights of an oncoming car. Instead of updating its M-range to take digital sensors, it fiddled about in an alliance with Panasonic to produce expensive but essentially derivative consumer cameras which were really just rebadged versions of Japanese originals. For a time it looked as though Leica would go the way of Kodak,, another company that had dominated analogue photography but failed to master digital.

In the end, Leica was rescued from its near-death experience by a wealthy Austrian entrepreneur, Andreas Kaufmann, who gradually acquired a controlling stake in the company between 2002 and 2006 and turned it round. The first digital M-camera, the M8, was launched in 2006. It was a flawed product, but at least it showed that it was possible to combine Leica’s traditional mechanical excellence with bigger sensors. And when the M9, with its full-frame 36 x 24 sensor, appeared in 2009 it was clear that the firm might weather the storm. Which it seems to have done: last year Leica reported annual revenues of around €300m and its 600 employees have moved back to a futuristic headquarters in Wetzlar, aided no doubt by the sacrifices of fanatics like me who took out second mortgages to buy M9s.

I bought my first Leica when I was a graduate student at Cambridge. It was a second-hand M2 with a 35mm Summilux lens and foolishly extravagant for a skint young scholar. In retrospect, though, it was one of the wisest purchases I ever made – not because it was an investment (though it could have been that) but because it taught me everything I know about photography. It forced me to think about what John Berger called “ways of seeing” rather than merely taking shots. It also pulled a comforting rug from under my feet: no longer could I blame my inferior work on the cheap lenses and crappy cameras that were all I could afford. With the same kit as Henri Cartier-Bresson, if I failed in the quest for the perfect picture then I only had myself to blame. Forty years on, that’s still the position. Still, tomorrow’s another day…

Get Em While They Last!

Leica has released a soft-release button to increase the size of the shutter button on a Leica M camera. Price not released, but we can assume its going to expensive.

Using a Leica MR4 meter

An excellent tutorial on the use of the attachable Leica MR4 meter by Michael Geschlecht, from L Camera Forum:

The MR4 meter is a reflected light meter that couples to the shutter speeed dial of many M cameras. It has a sensitivity range of EV +2 to +18. That means with a film of ISO 100 It will give you readings from F1.4 @ 2 seconds to F16 @ 1/1,000th of a second. That covers pretty much of what most people need in many circumstances.

Once you attach it to the M3 it will read an angle of view more or less equal to the angle of view of a 90mm lens. This is the angle of view shown by the frame lines either when you insert a 90mm lens into the camera & attach it or when you push the lever under the large, clear viewfinder window in the front of the camera inward in the direction of the center of the camera. Until that lever stops moving. Regardless of the lens mounted. Unless the lens has permanently attached “goggles”.

If the lens on the camera has permanently attached “goggles”: Push that same lever outwards until it stops & use the 135mm frame. Sounds silly but it works correctly.

Replacement Wein 1.35 volt zinc-air “button” batteries are available. Just check in any camera store or find them on the net.

To mount the meter on the camera & properly couple it to the shutter speed dial:

First set the shutter speed on the camera to “B”.

Then pull out the film advance lever to the “stand off” position.

Then rotate the dial of the MR4 meter to “B”.

Then slightly lift up the shutter speed dial on the meter until it stops.

Then rotate that dial in the direction of longer exposures,ie: 120 seconds..

Then slide the meter into the accessory shoe.

Then rotate the shutter speed wheel on the meter back to “B”.

The wheel should now click down & the pin on the underside of the meter’s shutter speed wheel should drop into the little cutout between the “2” for 1/2 second & the either “4” for 1/4 second or “5” for 1/5 second. Depending on which model of M3 you have.

Look to see if everything engaged properly. If all is right you are ready to go.

A meter coupled to the shutter speed dial means: You only have to set the aperture after you make a reading. Unless the shutter speed set before you took the reading is not appropriate. Very fast & handy.

Alternatively, you can take a meter reading, then rotate the shutter speed dial until the aperture you want to use is aligned with the indicator arm. The shutter speed has also been correctly set for the proper exposure.

Whichever works in whatever direction is equally fine.

There is also a “battery check” slide on the front of the meter. If the meter arm goes up to or slightly passes the white dot: The battery is OK. The battery currently in the meter may still be OK even if it is years old. If these types of batteries are not used frequently they usually still last for many years.

USING THE MR4 WITHOUT SCRATCHING THE LEICA TOP PLATE

Often the meter will rub against the top of the camera and leave permanent scratches. This can be avoided by turning the appropriate leveling adjustment screws on the bottom of the meter’s mounting shoe. There are 5 screws holding the foot to the meter, 2 small ones & 3 larger ones.

If you look from the back of the camera, as you try to slide the meter into the accessory shoe, you can see if the screws need adjusting. There should be a clearance of about 1&1/2 mm.
The 2 tiny screws lift & balance the meter above the accessory shoe & the 3 larger screws lock the shoe & hold it in place. Like a tripod.

A little fiddling with the 5 screws as per above, if necessary, should set the clearance so the meter clears the top plate by about 1&1/2 mm while still allowing the pin to drop into the slot in the shutter speed dial on the camera when the shutter speed wheel is returned from somewhere in the 4 seconds thru 120 seconds range to the “B” position.

Once the pin drops down at the “B” position the shutter speed dial should be rotated to all positions to make sure that the pin continues to engage the slot & does not slip out between any of the the settings “B” thru “1000”.