Category Archives: Philosophy of Photography

The End of Photography As We Know It

“Nothing Regresses Like Progress” – e.e. cummings

Milan Kundara, in his novel Slowness, notes the bond between slowness and memory, speed and forgetting. Making the same point in a different way, Woody Allen tells about his experience of enrolling in a speed reading course. He read War and Peace in 20 minutes. The book, he says, “is about Russia.” For some reason, this makes me think of current photographic culture.

Digital technology has transformed photography, both in its practice and its cultural role. 1.8 billion images will be put online in 2014, and the increase is exponential: this is a 50% increase over 2013. The average person consumes around 5,000 images daily. In 1900, the total number of photographs in the entire world was around 2 million; in 2000 it was 85 billion and in 2015 it will be 3.8 trillion. In 2013, 25% of all of these images made were taken with smartphones, presumably by folks who don’t think of themselves as “photographers.” As a result of this image explosion and the technological advances making it possible, photography is no longer a specialist language. it is now a universal language, spoken via social media, most of it inconsequential chatter. We have entered the fast food era of photography. Photography has become one more experience of people whose lives are full of frenetic activity, the means for a speedy delivery of cheap sensations — individuals as nerve endings in an endless social network.

………………………

But there has also been a change in the pace of photography as a practice – the photograph instantly produced and transmitted, and then just as quickly forgotten.

Digital partisans often think that nothing useful can be learned from the indigenous craft of traditional silver based photography. Most claim that it has been superceded by the ease, speed and potential of digital. Analogue photography is widely seen as a dead technology. But Film affords a return to the ruminative, something that has gotten lost with the ease and speed of digital. Slowing down via the processes of traditional photography can be a potent cure for the motion sickness of modern digital technology. Film photography is gourmet cooking in a fast food culture.

In today’s age of instant results, the protracted processes of film – taking, developing, proofing, reviewing, printing – seem an obvious drawback, but in reality it is one of film photography’s strengths. With traditional photography we are subject to the time between the shutter press and the final result. It allowed time to pass so you could clear your mind of the moment and have a more objective view of what you’d produced. It allowed a space for reflection divorced from the immediacy of the moment, gave a value, a weight to the significance of what you’d produced by virtue of the enlarged contextual frame time afforded. A printed silver halide photography became its own thing, a few steps removed from the immediacy of the moment. I’m convinced that the instantaneous nature of current technology has made us worse as photographers, more impoverished as visual artists. We’ve gained speed at the expense of reflection.

Creative products summoned at speed are not likely to be the best but simply the first, the automatic or habitual response as opposed to the reflective or idiomatic. Subtlety and nuance are lost at speed. Its the difference between traveling at 80 mph on the Interstate, where everything basically looks the same, and traveling a back road by bicycle. You simply see more when you slow down, and photography is dependent on refined seeing.

………………………

There is always the danger, in these kinds of discussions, of indulgence in nostalgia, that to question the momentum of new technologies is to declare yourself willfully ignorant, a present day Ned Ludd. I think us who cut our teeth photographically in the analogue age should remain unapologetic, speaking for what might be thought of as a proper understanding of the proportions and values of photography as a practice. Yes, digital imaging offers us new forms of stimulus and engagement and can be captured without fuss and instantly disseminated worldwide at a touch. While I’m not competent to weigh the competing claims, one thing is absolutely clear to me: today’s immediate images are fundamentally different from a traditional printed photograph, a function of their instantaneous nature but also of the lack of the tangible and a more questionable indexical relationship of the digital image to reality. Whatever, it is indisputable that digital imaging will bring with it new forms of seeing, memory and even consciousness. But what is also clear is something important embedded in our traditional notion of photography as a practice is susceptible to being lost unless we acknowledge its value and take active steps to preserve it.

A little Luddism might go a long way; but so, too, would a photographic culture obsessed less with innovation and more with deceleration and the time needed for contemplation. Traditionally, Photography as a craft was above all a vehicle of contemplation and meditation, a way to achieve deep levels of absorption in a creative activity. The flexibility and autonomy of digital photography is now ours — but ironically, for many of us the constraints inherent in traditional processes now seem like freedom. Digital technologies outsource our creative tasks to automated technology, essentially stripping the process of its primary purpose. Today, the primary value of slow photography is as a means for deceleration, for therapeutic rather than the mundane purposes of daily life.

Formerly we lived moving back and forth between two poles, the solitude of making and the connectedness of communion, privacy and public interaction. The new imaging reality puts us somewhere in between, removing the requirement of technical competence while constricting the role of photography to mundane communication.

I suspect, when everything shakes out, that the photography/imaging divide will walk the line of communication versus creative expression, the immediacy of digital communication versus the handicraft of individual expression embodied by traditional analogue photographic processes. The dedicated “photographer” will have to tolerate being irredeemably at odds with a world of ever “smarter” photographic instruments operated by ever less capable “Imagists.”

So, film photography is dead to the extent that it might compete with digital imaging on equal footing, deigning to do what digital does but just differently. Rather, film photography is becoming an emergent countering medium, valuing slowness and re-engagement with material process. It signals a desire to return photography to a handcrafted and artisinal skill. Hopefully, a new generation will learn the same lessons film users were taught by photography. I hate to think of what the consequences will be if we continue on our track of relentless digital mediation. Will we see our hard won skills eroded, our intelligence debased, and our work devalued, if we sacrifice human responsibility to black boxes full of microchips and organic sensors?

I see the re-emergence of film photography as the tip of a cultural iceberg, a gathering opposition to the flourishing digital ethos in a visual culture gone rudderless on a sea of digitized Ones and Zeroes. It is the renewed recognition of a value placed upon the sense of connection to one’s creative tools, at least in the visual realm. It will be made difficult by the unrelenting corporate greed constantly pushing newer imaging technology upon us. What we need is faith in the essential simplicity of photography, its possibilities. This will not be easily offered. It will have to be fought for, and fighting will require us to find one another in common cause. Photography depends for its existence on photographers, and in the future we will be in very short supply.

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.”

Missing the Train (or… Avoiding The Digital Rat Race)

Nassim Taleb, NYU Professor of the Science of Uncertainty and contrarian thinker par excellence, once remarked that the best advice he had ever been given had come from his friend the novelist Jean-Olivier Tedesco, who, being advised by Taleb that their train was leaving soon and they should run to catch it, stated that if he had learned one lesson in his distinguished career, it was that one should never run for a train.

Its great advice, and I encourage you as a photographer to follow it. Missing the train is only a problem if you run after it. There is an elegance in refusing to run after trains, in not setting your standards in line with others, a sense of being in control of whats important in your life and in your creative decisions. In photographic terms, this means resist running with the digital herd, with its lemming like pursuit of greater sharpness, more resolution, and the delusive idea that constant equipment upgrading will somehow get you where you’re going creatively. You stand above the herd, not outside of it, when you do so by choice. You have far more control over your success photographically if you set the criteria for success yourself.

Part of my educational expertise is exploring creativity and studying the personalities and habits of creative people. If there is one invariable rule I’ve gleaned from them, its that truly successful artists (not the fashionable and soon to be forgotten) don’t run after trains; they are surprisingly unconcerned with the technology of their profession; they are concerned, rather, with the evocative images or the evocative words they create. Now, I’m not going to get into the tired debate about whether you as a photographer are an “artist”, only that the refusal to run after trains is effective advice in any number of creative arenas and is almost invariably a precondition to real creativity as opposed to the slavish ape-ing of others. Think of someone like Vivian Maier, for example. Ignored in life, now celebrated in death, because she had something to say. Do you really think that she cared what equipment she used, or that it made any difference to the power of her images? Would her photos have been better, more evocative, if she had bumped up from a Leica III and ancient Summitar to an M240 with an Aspherical Summilux, or from an ancient TLR loaded with Pan X to Sony a7s with image stability and 25,600 ISO capability? Would she have been better, more productive, if she posted regularly on Rangefinder Forum debating what Filson bag went best with her newest Leica MP240? Think about it, and while you’re at it, stop obsessing about your equipment and start obsessing about why your photos look like everybody else’s. Ironic words, no doubt, from a guy who writes a gear head blog, but good advice none the less. The point is this: don’t confuse the means with the end.

Photography is a simple process. A light tight box, some optics to concentrate light, and a light sensitive medium is all you need. Its a process that’s provided enjoyment and incredible creative possibilities for over a hundred years. Leica film cameras, with their transparency as a creative tool, are a large part of that story. They still can be, and they are for a few people who value them for what they do and not what they are. Now the digital revolution has swept aside all of it. Your 7 year old kid with his jphone can do things photographically that you only dreamed about doing with your Leica in the film age. Has it made photographers ” better?” I’d submit its made them worse, less creative, more slavish and herd like.

I recently saw a Walker Evans exhibition at the Getty in Los Angeles. It consisted of beautiful 5×7 B&W contact prints taken in Cuba in the 1930’s. I had just come back from Paris, where I had seen the latest fashionable photography in various galleries and art spaces. Saw a lot of people in those spaces with the latest digital Leica’s proudly hung around their necks as some sort of creative talisman. The difference between the two aesthetics was striking: one, small, simple, deep, jewel like, each photo a visual feast for the eye; the other, large, sharp, resolute, garish, dominated by the surface and completely unremarkable. When I got home, I rededicated myself to the simple joys of film photography and have never looked back.

So, if your Leica MM sensor has de-laminated after 6 months, or the Fuji you bought last month is now obsolete, or the Aspherical Summilux you paid a month’s salary for suffers from back focus, use your angst as a means of re-evaluating what’s really important in your creative journey. When the grapes you have been eating are sweet, consider the Aesop’s fable of the grapes you do not reach for. They’re just as likely to be sour as sweet.

Are Leicas Still Relevant? Two Gearheads Debate

I see the merit in both positions. Of course, any debate about the continued relevance of Leica M must start with the introduction of the Nikon F…...

A…Then came Nikons, and they took over quickly because they were the first camera system in a long time that was significantly better than or equal to Leicas in almost every way that counted to working photographers.

B. It’s a point. The Nikon F was indeed a better system solution than even the world’s best rangefinder, well matched to the requirements of most journalists of the time. However, for the more deliberate shooter who prefers a quiet, small, stable, unobtrusive photographic instrument with superb optics, excelling in low light, the M continued to have an important place to play. Many documentary, newspaper and magazine photographers used Leica M’s until recent times. I doubt that their subjects even knew what a Leica was. They used those cameras for good business reasons, IMO, not for status, and especially not so if status would have gotten in the way of their work.

A. All that was left for Leica was the legendary status, and, less so, the fact that, although outmatched in almost every way, they were still well-made cameras. When your product is not even close to being able to take on the competition (i.e. Nikon in this case), you can no longer rely on the product itself to keep you in business.

B. Well, they have had their troubles, haven’t they? Somehow they persist. An old photographer told me back in the sixties “Cameras come, and cameras go, but the Leica remains.” I laughed at him. I’m not laughing anymore. With all due respect, one limitation in your logic, IMO, is the notion that a camera wins by doing more things better, even if in the process it does a few important things worse.

A. The Leica mystique was always perpetuated to some degree by the company, and when the cameras gradually phased out in the wake of Nikons, I think Leitz came to rely on their legendary status to keep themselves in business.

B. They were phased out? The M is the only 35mm camera I know of that has persisted from 1953 to the present day with a single common mount and unbroken product continuity. If I am not mistaken, its latest iteration is one of the smallest full-frame digitals in the market space, and is selling well. I wonder if any of the photographers who once used the film M’s will be using digital Ms for their work. I would bet that there will be some who do. SLRs cannot do everything best. It’s a fact. My 1950’s M3 and Summicron can still be serviced by numerous skilled technicians. My Nikon F has poorer support. Thankfully, it does not need much of it. The Nikon just keeps on going, like that Energizer Bunny. But the Leica M3 is definitely superior in fit, finish, and operation.

A. The sentimentality of those who had grown up with and made their livings on the legendary Leicas of yore was stoked by the company and passed down from generation to generation.

B. Probably so. One sells however he can. As we all know, many of the most memorable images in history were recorded by great photographers using Leica rangefinders. And those images did not cease in 1959, with the appearance of the F.

A. Now we have exorbitantly priced Leica cameras that are no better than what the company made when Nikon first blew them out of the water. Think about it.

B. Yes, the early M’s really were that good. May they always be as well made. Rock solid, heavy and stable, smooth as butter, quiet as a mouse, unobtrusive, wonderful in available darkness, terrific for candid imaging. A tool that in some few ways cannot be matched by an SLR or a dSLR.

A. How the heck else is a company supposed to stay in business with a product that was handily outmatched fifty years ago?

B. It wasn’t categorically outmatched, and it hasn’t been. It became a less suitable match than an SLR for a majority of users. It remained popular for some others for a few very good reasons. How do you compare a wrench to pliers? These are completely different tools. As to how Leica survives, they will have to figure that out for themselves. The M9 and S2 seem to have some promise. I wish them luck, as that is all I have to offer them.

A. When your product is no longer competitive, you don’t sell the product. You sell something more than the product. The product simply becomes a vehicle for the purchase of status.

B. As I said, one must pitch it however it will sell, always putting it in its best light. Thankfully, the fact that some people buy it for status is wholly unknown to the Leica. It just does what it does. And that’s what matters for those who actually use Leica M’s regularly. Anytime I don’t need the special capabilities of an SLR, I shoot with the Leica. I just like it. And as for the status, most folks seeing an old guy like me with an obviously ancient metal camera are more likely to have pity than envy. They don’t even know what it is, nor do they take it seriously. That’s a good thing in candid imaging, actually. Quite easy to mix in with folks.

A. Make no mistake. Leicas are primarily luxury/leisure items, and have been for decades.

B. Matters not to me. Mine has no red dot. I paid $600 for the camera in the 90s and another $250 to clean, lubricate and adjust. I have no doubt that if I sold it today, I could recover about that. Now think about this: The cost of ownership would be nearly ZERO. What other camera matches that? The cost of ownership is so attractively low that its hard to say no. And if you don’t like the Leica, someone else will. Hardly any other camera has so little risk to the owner as an M. Maybe Hasselblad 500c or a classic Rollei.

A. The way I see it, the trick to getting around this overpriced idiocy, and to simply get your hands on an excellent rangefinder camera, is to realize that the company has made no significant upgrades for 90% of truly serious shooters since the M2. If you want a quality rangefinder that simply gets the job done in an old-fashioned manner, don’t buy anything past the M2, and do not fall for any of the collector garbage.

B. On this we agree mostly. If somebody is dumb enough to buy a gold plated Leica with ostrich skin for a million dollars, then good for them and Leica. It’s nothing to me. If it helps Leica survive, then maybe parts for the M’s will continue in manufacture longer.

A. Realize that no matter how good everyone proclaims Leica optics and mechanics of the cameras to be, they are over all an outdated and inferior tool to SLRs.

C. Apples vs Bananas I say. Each tool to its own user and purpose. “Outdated” is an irrelevant term if a tool is judged by the photographer to be best for any particular application.

A. Ultimately, if there’s a justification for still shooting a Leica M, it’s the same reason you drive a ’61 Cadillac: because they’re cool, and fun, not because they are the best in the world in a technical sense (though they may have been at the time they were made).

B. The public knows what a ’61 Cadillac is. They don’t know a Leica M from Adam’s house cat. For the few areas where a rangefinder (Leica or otherwise) has an advantage, no SLR is its equal. Did anyone ever replace a well appointed tool box with an all-knives.org Knife? The purpose made tools are always better for some specific applications. So it is with the rangefinder.

A. Everyone is so convinced that having a Leica makes them a serious photographer. Everyone is convinced that they are vastly superior in quality to any other camera. Balls to that.

B. Not me, and not everyone. Some say my people pictures are better when I use the M3 instead of my F or F2. Maybe so. However, I agree with you that the machine does not make the image. That’s the photographer’s job! Anyone who thinks a camera makes them a photographer probably believes that cookware would make them a chef, or that a Ferrari would make them a world class driver at Le Mans.

A. The proof in pictures says otherwise. People shoot the same crap with Leicas that they do with any camera, and often it is even crappier because rangefinders are such a pain in the ass to use compared to SLRs.

B. You are right in that technology does not make one a photographer. I goof just as often with an F, an F2, an M3, or with any of my other cameras. Anyone who feels that an M is a pain to use should just get something else. It is no pain for me. Most folks don’t like rangefinders. Okay by me, as long as I can enjoy mine.

A. Leicas are cool because they are fun and old fashioned. Embrace that, and don’t take them so damned seriously. You’ll get out cheap, and have a million times more fun and get a million times better pictures than all the bozos paying big bucks for them so that they can think of themselves as serious photographers. Get an old thread mount camera or an early M and you’ve got everything that was ever good about using a Leica in the first place. You usually escape for well under a thousand bucks too.

B.They are good for more reasons than that. As for the bozos, they can simmer in their own mental stew. I like the M because I like using the M and I like the images. That’s all that matters to me.

A. The Leica mystique is due to the fact that people do not know how to objectively judge something, take it for what it is, and just enjoy it for the hell of it. They’ve always got to attach some sort of twisted value to it beyond what it actually is: a cool old camera that used to rule the world.

B.You are off the mark in your assessment about objectivity of judgment. I hope for your sake you do not own a Leica M. Fortunately, most folks who dislike them don’t, and some who own them actually do love using them.

Leicaphilia

Philia (/ˈfɪljə/ or /ˈfɪliə/) is one of the four ancient Greek words for love.