This is probably the third article I’ve written about the Contax T, and hopefully the last. I scrapped the others because they simply didn’t live up to the camera. I wrote one article comparing the T to an Olympus XA. This makes a lot of sense to me – both are aperture-priority (only) manual focus rangefinders with nearly identical compact dimensions. But this article was unfair – I own two Ts and zero XAs. I have used an XA, and have pretty clear memories of the things I didn’t love about it, but until I buy another one for the purpose of comparing to the T, I don’t think it’s quite right to base an article upon said comparison. I do plan to do this, however, as the T seems very strongly influenced by the XA, so I guess my earlier statement that this will be my last article on the T was a lie.

In truth, though, it would also be unfair to the T to lead with an article pitting it against another. The T doesn’t solely exist as an alternative to the XA, the T stands strong on its own. These days I’ll carry any number of rangefinders with me into DC, but I have to consider how much pedestrian traffic I’ll be subject to (or, how sardine-like the Metro will be), how much bulk a given camera will add to me, and how sturdy said camera is, just in case. On days when I don’t want to deal with this decision, or nothing seems like a great idea, the Contax T comes with me. More often than not these days, unless I really feel like shooting something else, or I have something specific in mind for medium format, the T is the camera I want by my side anyway. This is largely due to its lilliputian yet sturdy nature. I can keep it in a small pocket in my messenger bag (rather than strapped separately around my neck), not notice a major weight increase, and trust that it’s not constantly on the brink of being crushed.

a diptych showing some decent separation via depth-of-field with the 38/2.8

Of course, aside from being sturdy and small, a camera needs to be good at taking pictures. And it needs to be good at working with its operator, which of course means something different to everyone. For me, the T works out quite well on both counts. The lens, a five-element 38/2.8 Zeiss Sonnar T*, is a stunning chunk of glass in a small barrel. Of course lenses are more than just their optics, and this is where things get a bit more interesting. The focus feel is amazing, better than most larger lenses I’ve used, and the best I’ve ever felt in something so compact. Unfortunately, there is no focus tab, so you are stuck handling a very tiny ring. Focusing is tricky in a package this small, as blocking the rangefinder in the process is pretty much inevitable. Compounded with the tiny aperture ring inexplicably stuffed behind the focus ring, and the lens is not really the most ergonomic thing to use.

This is an important point to note, because the camera is manual focus only, and aperture priority only. The user will be spending a lot of time with these rings. If you want to blow it all to the wind and rely on hyperfocal, this is indicated with f/8 in green on the aperture ring, and a green dot and DOF scale on the focus ring corresponding to hyperfocal at f/8. Aside from these controls, the user is granted a +1.5 EV exposure compensation button on the top deck, as well as a self-timer switch, and of course the shutter release. The release itself is an unnecessary touch for the luxury market – a synthetic ruby designed by Kyocera’s Advanced Ceramics division. As this was Kyocera’s first creation under the Contax name, it’s understandable that they wanted to go all out. Understandable, but still a bit humorous. Anyway, the ergonomics of the camera are not the best, even for my tiny pixie hands. I can’t even begin to imagine the sort of person who likes to slap gigantic battery grips on their already massive SLRs handling one of these petite cameras.

out of focus areas get a little bit edgy at times, but images are crisp.

The aforementioned +1.5 EV compensation button is the only real control over exposure that a T user gets. However, the T does not (thankfully) rely on DX codes to set the meter ISO, so as long as you’re mindful of what you’re doing, you can adjust ISO for whatever compensation you need. ISO readout is on the back of the camera, adjusted by pressing a button on the back and rotating the outer ring of the rewind knob. Metering is not TTL, but rather via a sensor on the front of the lens, immediately above the front element. The lens is not threaded for filters, but if one was to find slip-on filters that would fit, they would (thankfully) be over the meter sensor as well. Using common sense to compensate for backlighting via the +1.5 EV button, and otherwise trusting the meter has yet to let me down. The camera will warn you with an over light if you’re working outside the range of capable shutter speeds, but thankfully it will not prevent you from shooting it anyway. An overexposed shot is, after all, better than missing the decisive moment. There is no AE lock, which is a bit of a let-down.

I mentioned the overexposure light, one of four LEDs inside the finder to give you an idea of the shutter speed. The shutter ranges from 1/500″ down to 8″, with indicators for ’1/500″ – 1/125″,’ ’1/125″ – 1/30″,’ and ’1/30″ – 8″.’ You never know exactly what it’s doing, but you get a sense, and can judge whether you’re in hold-your-breath or I-really-need-a-tripod territory. The finder is bright, has good eye relief, though is a bit small and only ~.75x. The rangefinder spot is a yellow diamond, a nice throwback to Yashicas past. No parallax compensation is provided, not even a frame indicator. No aperture readout, but the aperture adjustment happens in even clicks of full stops, and can thus be adjusted blindly with ease.

the t’s compact size means i always have a camera with me in the district.

Loading the camera is a bit of a trick. Release a latch on the bottom of the camera very carefully (this latch is a common point of failure) The entire back and bottom plate are a single shell which is removed, much like on a Leica CL. Also like on the CL, once opened, there is a swing-down pressure plate on the body side of things. Unfold this, and open up the camera (not doing so reportedly can strip some gears). Get the leader into the takeup, make sure the sprockets are engaged, shut the pressure plate, and wind on a bit. Make sure advancing is smooth, make absolutely sure the sprockets are (still) engaged, and that everything is tight. Frame tolerances are incredibly tight on this camera, and if loading isn’t spot on, overlaps are bound to happen. Put the rear shell back on, and (again, carefully) latch it up.

Just in loading the film, I pointed out two ways in which these cameras die. Despite being made of titanium and tough alloys, despite being designed by FA Porsche, they are somewhat fragile. I have two, and one works perfectly. The other, my day-to-day, is physically beat up on the outside and has some internal issues as well. I’d hazard that the gears have stripped a bit, because I really need to make absolutely sure that the sprockets are perfect, or else it just seems too weak to advance. Fixing this is likely impossible. My latches are fine – if yours are broken, one hackish solution is to keep the body together via a bolt (or similar) in the tripod thread. The meter on my beater is always on when the body is open – my other one works properly and as most cameras do, with a half-press of the shutter button. Sometimes the meter just doesn’t come on, and I have to waste a frame – advancing/recocking the shutter always gets it back in order. Even with these issues, I trust it to be reliable enough to use as a daily user. I understand its failures, and haven’t had new issues pop up. Another issue I have heard of is the velvety ‘bellows’ that permits the lens to fold and unfold leaking light. Users have successfully rigged up their own replacements.

i thought i missed this (personal, important) shot by hitting the end of the roll. fortunately the t’s very tight frame spacing means you consistently get extra frames. also notice the ringy out-of-focus point lights. all rights reserved (not cc-licensed) on portraits inc. this one.

Few final notes to end on. Film advance is manual, with an advance that folds flush (and is metal and fairly sharp, I have cut myself popping it out!), but the film counter is electronic and only readable with the camera open. Beginning to advance the film can trick the counter into advancing, my counter often reads high because I accidentally ‘bump’ the counter into advancing when I’m popping out the advance lever. I think the counter goes up to 74, I guess for those old Ilford long rolls. There’s a small hole in the center of the rewind knob, this can be used to visualize that film is actually advancing. There’s also a flash unit, dedicated and with variable output based on the camera’s meter. I have one for each camera, but have not used them much at all. The original case has a long flap and two snaps – it fits the camera either with or without flash attached. No remote release, self-timer is your only option to avoid shake during long exposures.

The Contax T is a really quirky camera, there’s no getting around that. It’s also pricy to acquire one just to find out whether it works for you or not. For me, it was love at first fondle, and I snatched up the next one I saw as well. I keep mine with me most of the time when I’m not carrying something larger, and I keep it set at its labeled hyperfocal setting for quick deployment. Even with its shortcomings, it’s a camera that has yet to disappoint me with its excellent optics, great feel, and compact size.

The Polaroid SX-70 was a groundbreaking camera in 1972. Edwin Land had already impressed photographers with his film that didn’t require a trip to the photo lab. This was still a tedious process, however, requiring the photographer to time out development, stop it by carefully peeling apart the film, and probably get covered in chemicals in the process. The Land Cameras themselves were relatively compact folding rangefinders (or viewfinders, depending on the model), a trend that was losing favor in the rest of the photo world as SLRs became more accessible and popular. The SX-70, then, was impressive indeed – it retained the compact collapsible nature of earlier Land Cameras, but was a true SLR! And more impressive yet, it used a brand new integral film system which removed any chance of operator error during development, and kept the photographer’s hands clean.

manipulating impossible project fade to black film

SX-70 film also had the interesting characteristic of an emulsion that could be physically manipulated to achieve painterly effects (see Kathleen Carr’s work, such as Polaroid Manipulations for good examples and instruction). This was great for artists, not so much for casual consumers, I suppose, and eventually with the immensely popular OneStep cameras came the less manipulable and more quickly developing Time Zero film. After that, there was no SX-70 film at all, and people took to crazy hacks to get 600 film in their SX-70s. After that, there was no Polaroid film at all.

very expired time zero that i found in a model 3

Now, after all of that, we have The Impossible Project, a new era of Polaroid film in both SX-70 and 600 speeds (as well as other formats), and a return to the Polaroid as an artist’s tool. This is the main reason you buy an SX-70 today, because without the limited selection of film from Impossible, you have a funny looking paperweight. But if you’ve decided to go down the path of shooting Impossible integral film, you still have far more camera options than just the classic SX-70 folding SLRs. You can save a lot of money and get a OneStep or one of the many 600 models with single-element plastic lenses. But in my opinion (and I am not alone here), the folding SLR SX-70 is the definitive Polaroid camera.

Folding SX-70s (note: I refer to folding SX-70s, but this info holds true to the later folding 680 and 690 SLRs, which are essentially the same cameras, meant to handle 600 film) were the last mass-market Polaroids with really decent optics. The lenses (116mm/8) are four element designs, made of coated glass. Later, lesser Polaroids generally use plastic optics, of three-, two-, and even single-element designs.

model 1 and model 3 – notice the viewfinder of the scale focus model 3

The folding aspect may seem like a gimmick at first, but much like simpler folding rangefinder designs, it really is a worthwhile space-saving design. The folded up package feels sturdy, and slips easily into a bag (likely into large cargo pockets for those who are so inclined), or hangs nicely around the neck if you’re lucky enough to score an Alpha 1. Small packages are nothing notable – if you want a tiny camera, get an Olympus XA, or go all out and grab a Minox III! But to get medium format prints out of something so portable is definitely a convenience, and while the folding mechanism could have been a horrible, tacked on design, it is not, and works very well in practice.

quite a contraption.

Finally, unlike most later Polaroids, the SX-70 is actually an SLR (note that the Model 3 is the exception). Excepting very early versions, these SLRs even have horizontal split-image rangefinders to assist with focus. This is useful, because the maximum aperture diameter (f/8) is larger than, and the closest focus (~10″) is closer than any Polaroid to follow. With few exceptions (Pronto! Rangefinder and Captiva SLR come to mind), future Polaroid models are either hyperfocal/focus free designs, or rely on the user to scale focus. Being an SLR also means that there are attachment optics available for telephoto and close-up work, and since the photographer can see through them, these are actually useful.

b/w conversion in post

Using an SX-70 has its ups and downs. Again, it’s manual focus, which is a plus for most creative photographers (even the later AF models have manual focus override). Focus is a convenient wheel over the shutter button, which is smooth and pleasant to operate. The shutter release itself is a soft-touch rubber button, which while lacking the satisfying clunk of an old mechanical release, does have a reassuring resistance and a good (albeit unique) feel. Where the camera is lacking to the creative photographer is in exposure control. The SX-70 follows another trend of the time – program line exposure mode. Unfortunately, the SX-70 offers only program mode, with no ability for the photographer to choose shutter speed or aperture. Even worse, the photographer also has no indication of what shutter speed/aperture the camera is wont to use. Limited control for backlight compensation, &c., is afforded via a knob to the left (from the user’s perspective), though not labeled in EV. This compensation knob automatically resets to ±0EV when the camera is folded. Metering is decently accurate (they were apparently ‘calibrated’ at the factory by dropping different levels of ND in front of the meter cell), but is not TTL.

hydrant, old impossible fade to black

In the end, once you have an SX-70, you want to carry it around. Maybe not every day, maybe not most days, but every once in a while you buy some film and take it out, and it’s still just as charming as it was in 1972. You get used to the decisions it makes, you get used to the quirks of whatever film is being offered at the time, and though it may not be quite like any other camera you own, you love it. You don’t learn to love it, you love it right away, and you love it always. The SX-70 was a brilliant, ground-breaking design on the day Land first showed it off, and it’s still unlike anything else you’re bound to have in your collection. An expensive hobby, yes – the cameras are collectible (though not particularly rare), and the film is pricy, limited production stock made by a small company. But again, there is really nothing quite like shooting one.

buttercups!

I’ve been regularly rotating through three cameras for my daily walks through DC the past few weeks – in medium format, a Fujifilm GF670 (review forthcoming); and in 135, a Leitz/Minolta CL with MS Optical Perar Super Triplet 35/3.5; and a Leica IIIf BD with Summitar 50/2. The first one is a very modern folding MF rangefinder with an accurate meter and (optional) aperture priority operation. The second is an older rangefinder, with a meter that is likely to be (in my case, guaranteed to be) broken. But, the CL is still modern enough that anyone used to using a rangefinder or SLR (provided they understand RF focusing) from the 60s or newer would be able to operate it without confusion. But as a day-to-day carry, the third camera, the Leica IIIf, is an odd duck indeed.

‘blossoms,’ a photo shot for a friend in the district.

The Leica IIIf has two shutter speed dials, neither of which uses the standard speeds of today. It has a film counter that must be reset manually after swapping out rolls. Its rangefinder is not integrated in its viewfinder, so one focuses and frames through two different windows. Framing lacks parallax correction. Framing is only useful for 50mm lenses without the use of an auxiliary finder. Advancing and rewinding are both done with knobs, not levers. Everything on the top deck is intricately connected – the shutter speed dial spins as the shutter releases, and if you get in its way, your exposure is off. There are no fewer than six arrows on the top deck, guiding you through its use. There is no door for loading, rather the bottom plate pops off and you delicately slide your film (with extra leader cut out ahead of time, and attached to a removable take-up reel) through a thin slit. This is one of the latest of the Barnack style Leicas, cameras that revolutionized photography.

from the national gallery sculpture garden, dc.

Mine was made in 1951, my Summitar lens in 1950. Its body is in great condition (for a user, not necessarily a collector), and its internals have recently been overhauled. So in using it, had the technology behind and ergonomics of cameras not changed significantly over the course of 60 years, one wouldn’t really know the difference. But of course, the reality is that cameras have changed significantly. We now only have one shutter speed dial that doesn’t rotate on its own accord, and follows geometric progressions rather than 1000, 500, 200, 100, 60, 40. We now view tons of information through one single, large, bright viewfinder. We now don’t have to cut our own film leaders or else risk getting shards of film stuck in inaccessible, fragile bits of our camera bodies. So how practical is it, really, to use a 1951 Barnack style Leica as a day-to-day user in 2012?

many rectangles.

Many people would argue ‘not very,’ or, ‘are you out of your mind,’ yet demand is still high for Barnacks, and not just from collectors. One of the more infamous internet photo writers describes operating the IIIf as requiring twice as much time to make settings, frustrating the company you’re with. This, to me, is absurd. At the heart of operation, you’re still just setting a shutter speed and aperture, and then focusing. If you’re handholding the camera, you’re probably never going to touch the front (slow) shutter speed dial, so the majority of the time, setting the shutter speed is just as on a more modern body. Focusing and composing requires two windows, but unless you’re leaving your subject centered, the single-window approach really isn’t a major advantage for most shooting. The two windows are right next to one another, unlike older Barnacks, making the transition from focus to framing (or vice versa) quick. One thing that has the potential to slow focusing down is the fact that the rangefinder itself needs to be focused for the most precision. Yet this is a quick throw, and only really needs adjustment for considerable changes in focus range – it’s not a time sink.

‘for the birds,’ shot at a friend’s house.

Still, a Leica M (M2, naturally) with an adaptor, or something like a Canon P is going to be a far less daunting machine to tame. The IIIf still has issues that will slow the photographer down while she’s not actually shooting, such as the loading process, insane by today’s standards. So why even bother with a Barnack? Well, to start, they’re small. Really small. Small presents itself in different ways – a Leitz/Minolta CL is much shorter lengthwise, but taller. But any way you look at it, a Barnack is really rather small. Small often means light, and often leads to sacrifices in build quality. Barnacks are light, but again, not as light as, say, a CL. A very comfortable and well-balanced weight though, unlike pretty much any SLR ever made. Yet, a Barnack feels incredibly solid, as though no structural compromises were made.

the robert a. taft memorial carillon in dc.

So to me, the IIIf is a great day-to-day user camera. It feels nice in the hand, operates quickly when you’re actually shooting it, and has a wonderful 1.5x rangefinder. Other Barnack style Leicas or clones will handle similarly, but as far as a genuine Leica is concerned, the IIIf was the most popular Barnack, and is likely the easiest to get as a user. The IIIg is the object of my lust, with geometric shutter speeds and 90mm framelines in the finder – paired with a Voigtlander 28/35 minifinder, this would be a very versatile body. But, these were made and sold alongside the far more sophisticated M3, and are now considerably more collectible (read: expensive) than IIIfs. Canon’s Barnack clones are interesting in that they have wedded view/rangefinder windows like more modern cameras, if that’s a major issue.

Recently, in replacing my beloved Pentax MX, I also happened upon a Pentax Super Program. Some might disagree, but I would consider the Super Program to be the last classic camera Pentax ever made. It’s not the last manual focus body they ever made, nor even the last manual advance. But it’s the last with a classic look, a classic heft, and relatively few/simple settings. It’s not a ‘pro’ body by many definitions – indeed, at the time it was released, a fully electronic shutter with no mechanical fallback was a dangerous proposition. But it does have four exposure modes, a solid meter, decent finder readout, and features that creatives yearn for, like DOF preview.

A fully electronic camera with a wealth of automatic modes is not typically what I look for in a camera. Primarily, I shoot fully manual bodies, only because these tend to be tough, fully mechanical bodies as well. In reality, shooting manual based on your camera’s meter is no different than shooting Av or Tv (assuming you have adequate compensation), or Program (assuming you have program shifting). I don’t have a snobbish ‘artists only shoot M’ opposition to automatic cameras, I just don’t own many and therefore don’t use them often. This is all to say that the Pentax Super Program is not really ‘my type’ of camera — and I was shocked at how much I love shooting it.

the main control knob, buttons for changing shutter speed, and shutter speed readout lcd.

My ideal interface to a fully automated camera is a normal shutter speed dial, with the addition of an Auto setting, and exposure compensation right on the dial. My least ideal interface is the PASM dial, with actual settings moved to the background, and likely a handful of extra silly program modes tacked on the knob. The Super Program is somewhere in between. It has a main control knob with Auto and Manual settings — these dictate the shutter operation only. Setting a manual aperture on the lens, or setting the lens to its ‘A’ setting dictates how the aperture operates. So, for fully manual, pick an aperture and a shutter speed (main dial on ‘M’); for aperture priority, pick an aperture and set the main dial to Auto; for shutter priority, pick a shutter speed (main dial on ‘M’) and set the lens to ‘A;’ and for Program mode, set both the lens to ‘A’ and the main control dial to Auto.

The main control dial also has dedicated settings for 125 (TTL flash sync speed), bulb, and shutter lock. Next to the knob are two buttons, used for adjusting the shutter speed in ‘M’ mode. Ask someone if they think you should get a Super Program (or, an older ME Super), and this button interface and lack of a proper knob will inevitably come up. It’s definitely different, and I’m certainly more used to a knob. But, in practice, shutter speeds can be changed quite rapidly with the button interface, and it’s really very usable. The finder has two LCD segments for information. In most modes, one side displays shutter speed and the other aperture. In metered manual mode, however, you lose aperture info for the sake of the meter (±EV readout). If you want to shoot metered manual primarily, you’re better off with an MX — more finder info, and the LED meter is more immediately recognizable.

duck, shot in aperture priority mode with a rikenon 135/2.8 on the pentax super program.

The half-press switch that activates the meter is incredibly flaky on my example. While this is inconvenient, fortunately if the meter is not already on, the camera does meter right before the shot is taken as well. This means that even if I can’t get a readout beforehand, I will get a properly exposed shot if I’m in an automatic mode. Exposure compensation on the right-hand side is not particularly odd, but I definitely prefer it to be built into the main shutter dial. The camera is not particularly small, being somewhere in between a K-series and an M-series. Film loading is convenient, using the Magic Needles take-up spool. While the camera feels overall very sturdy, the film advance is incredibly cheap and plasticky feeling. The electronic shutter (15″ to 1/2000″) makes a beautiful noise when fired. There is a backlight for the finder display, but it’s a bulb, and consumes an enormous amount of power from the 2 SR76 cells.

All in all, the Super Program is a really fun, easy to use body. I still prefer my MX, but I have no qualms about grabbing for the Super Program. I’ll probably have it cleaned up at some point to get the switches working (not just the half-press switch — my backlight switch isn’t the greatest, and the self-timer switch barely works). But even with incredibly flaky switches, the camera is very usable. I probably won’t bring it out on many night shoots — long bulb exposures will likely take a toll on the batteries. But it’s a great camera to have around, especially for the relatively low prices they demand.

Chinon was never one of the major players in the photography game, their name not as recognizable as Canon, Nikon, or Pentax. But they made some very interesting bodies throughout the years, including the CP-X, CP-5, CP-6, CP-5s, CP-7m, and CP-9AF. All of these have some neat features, and one very interesting trick up their sleeves — the ability to operate in program mode with any K-mount lenses (not just lenses with A settings — in fact, they tend to underexpose with A lenses due to a change in the K mount spec). While I’m still hoping to find a bargain on one of the first four CP cameras in the list above, this write-up will deal with the CP-7m. The CP-9AF is identical, except that it has electrical contacts to communicate with a couple of primitive auto-focus lenses from Chinon. The CP-9AF also provides electronic focus confirmation with manual focus lenses, auto-bracketing, and TTL flash (with dedicated Chinon flash units).

The CP-7m has one feature which I really hate — inbuilt motor drive. I’ve only owned two other SLRs with motor drive, and it annoyed me on both of them as well. I never shoot continuously, and even the quietest of motor drives are far louder and more irritating than a manual advance. Motor driven cameras also require more power, and are generally bulkier. For these reasons, the CP-7m could never be my go-to camera. But, to use a tired cliché, the CP-7m is a bit of a Swiss Army Knife, with plenty of niche features that will have me grabbing for it at the bottom of the camera pile every now and again.

The first neat thing, for a night shooter like myself, is how the camera handles bulb mode. Bulb has its own dedicated mode (there’s a four-way mode switch, much like the typical PASM, but without shutter priority and with bulb we actually have a PABM) which is a nice UI decision. Unlike a lot of cameras from the era of how-many-electronics-can-we-cram-into-this-body, the CP-7m takes a standard, old-fashioned cable release, and thus does not require a costly, hard-to-find, proprietary release — already a good start for long exposures. In the basic bulb mode, the display on the left-hand side keeps a count of the length of the exposure. This is shown in second intervals up until 60 seconds, and then minutes until 90 minutes. In fact, anything related to time follows the same scheme, which will come up several more times in this write-up, so make a mental note — everything time related can be done up to 90 minutes, with one-second precision up to a minute and one-minute precision after. While in minute display, the minute indicator on the display blinks every second. Unfortunately, the display is not backlit, so this counter may not be too incredibly helpful at night (the aforementioned CP-5, etc., beep every five seconds for the first minute, and every minute after in bulb mode, probably handier at night). Still, keeping track of bulb exposures seems like a no-brainer, though many cameras lack it.

Aside from normal, hold-down-the-release bulb mode, the CP-7m also offers what Chinon describes as a time mode. This isn’t the traditional time mode wherein the shutter is hit once to open and again to close. Rather, this is an extended bulb mode where you can tell the camera how long you want the shutter to be left open. This essentially means that if you don’t need to meter, your shutter speeds run from 1/2000 second to 90 minutes. Pretty exciting. While in this mode, the display counts down from your set time, and the exposure is cancelable at any time.

a six minute exposure using the bulb timer built into the cp-7m.

The self-timer has the same time range as the bulb modes. This, by itself, is kind of silly — an hour and a half self-timer has pretty limited utility. But the trick is this — set the motor drive to continuous, add a locking cable release, and you have a rather flexible intervalometer. Interval shooting was the one reason I almost held onto my Pentax PZ-1, though using the feature on the PZ-1 was much more of an ordeal than on the CP-7m. The only real issue with interval shooting on the CP-7m is that since it’s based on a self-timer, there is no initial shot. That is, the first frame to fire fires after the determined interval. For most short intervals this won’t matter, and for most long intervals a shot can simply be fired before switching to interval mode. Still, this could be an issue. Continuous (and therefore interval) mode works with the multiple exposure feature as well, so interval shots can all be performed on a single frame if so desired.

‘self portrait over the course of an hour’ achieved by leaving the chinon in multiple exposure mode, and shooting six frames at ten minute intervals.

The last thing that I really appreciate about this camera, even if it’s a pretty minor thing, is the power source. If you’re going to make me load a camera up with batteries, it’s nice to have options. And, the CP-7m gives me two options without even needing a stupid external grip —  1 pricy 2CR5 or 4 easy-to-come-by AAs. I tested the body with Sanyo Eneloops, and it does work perfectly fine with the 1.2V nominal output of NiMh cells.

Aside from all the little things that make this camera really stand out, it has some perfectly good specs. Speeds on the vertical-travel shutter range from 1/2000 to 8 seconds, and sync is 1/125. User interface is uncluttered and logical (although the buttons have a mushy feel about them). Tripod thread and lens mount are both metal, despite the camera being overall a bit plasticky. The back is removable in the normal manner, though the manual makes no mention of other available backs. The take-up catch has a similar release, though I haven’t actually found what it does. The camera operates without the back on, which could be useful for some DIY projects, I suppose. The finder is not half-bad, offering shutter speeds and metering through a bar of LEDs, though no display of aperture. Focus aids include a horizontal rangefinder split surrounded by a relatively fine microprism collar. Film speed is set via DX, with manual override available (32-5000 ISO). When DX-coded film is used, the ISO button turned into an EV± button, and the display keeps a persistent warning when anything other than ±0EV is set. The meter is of the wonderfully responsive silicon blue variety, and is center-weighted. Finally, AE lock is available via a small button to the right of the lens.

I loaded my CP-7m up with a half-roll of Kentmere 100, and plan to try some long exposures and interval shots in the coming weeks. Results will be posted here and on flickr.

Check out the Chinon group on Flickr. There’s also a nice group dedicated to K-mount cameras of all sorts.

I have a lot of use for craft sized knives. Aside from my cut paper artwork, I tend to have a lot of day-to-day cutting tasks, and I’m more comfortable with knives than with scissors. I gave up on X-acto blades long ago, and have relied on a #11 scalpel blade in a #3 holder for quite some time now. Recently, I decided to give the world of snap blades a try, and have been pretty impressed so far.

Snap blades are long blades designed to cleanly break in several places. In the case of these 9mm craft blades, each blade breaks into 13 pieces. When your tip gets dull, you break it off, advance the blade a notch further, and carry on cutting. Olfa, whose blades have always impressed me, makes three sizes of snap blades — 9mm craft, 18mm heavy duty, and 25mm extra heavy duty. I recently picked up the SVR-1
9mm blade holder locally, and was so impressed by it that I promptly ordered a package of upgrade (carbon steel) blades
and a model SVR-2
online.

The SVR-1 and SVR-2 are pretty similar. Both have nearly identical stainless steel frames, which are incredibly sturdy and have a nice feel in the hand. Both have a clip that snaps in the back, and is removed to change the blade and also serves a second purpose as a blade snapper. Both have plastic blade holding mechanisms that are simple and don’t really take away from my confidence in the knife. The difference between the two is that the SVR-1 does not lock, while the SVR-2 does. The SVR-1 has what Olfa describes as a ‘slide lock,’ but the bottom line is that a moderate amount of pressure will send the blade back into the body. The SVR-2 has an actual lock, and unlike many knives, the lock is transparent to the user. Sliding the blade in the normal way deactivates the lock, so the blade is secure unless the user is specifically adjusting it. This does make the mechanism a little more complex — while I can’t imagine the SVR-1 ever failing, the SVR-2 has more potential for failure.

Both knives come with a single (13-piece) stainless steel blade. I always think stainless is an odd and, frankly, terrible choice for blade steel. And indeed, the pack-in blades were soft and not particularly sharp. For day-to-day tasks, I suppose they would suffice, but the cost of good blades is fairly low, so I picked up a 50-pack of Olfa’s highest quality 9mm blades. Stainless blades are coded AB-xS while standard carbon steel blades are AB-xB, and the premium quality carbon steel blades are ABB-xB. I have not tried the standard AB carbon steel blades, but the ABB blades are really, really good. I’ve been using them to cut film, open packages (during holiday season — plenty of testing to do), and cut paper. While I have not yet done precision cut paper artwork with them, I do think I will be able to use them for the larger tasks at least. The finest of tasks may still need a scalpel, only time will tell.

I always had an assumption that snap blade knives were a bit of a gimmick, but I’ve been pretty well convinced otherwise. In fact, I’m ready to ditch my standard utility knife (a folding Klein model that I truly loathe for its blade release placement), and replace it with an 18mm Olfa snapper. I would even consider one of the 25mm units, but Olfa only makes them in bulky handles that appear more like traditional hobby knives. Maybe I’ll try one some day, but for now I’m looking into the 18mm. Anyway, bottom line — great, sturdy handles with so-so pack-in blades, and excellent blades available. Very pleasant surprise.

I like to travel light, which often means carrying a light camera like my Leitz-Minolta CL. It also means I rarely carry a tripod, which leads to plenty of setting-the-camera-down-and-hoping-for-the-best during 30 second nighttime exposures. For such things, all the stability available to me is helpful, which does not come easy with a lightweight camera. In an effort to add stability, I recently purchased and semi-permanently attached the new Joby Gorillapod Micro 800 to my CL.

Joby makes two Gorillapod Micros — the 250 and the 800, each named after how many grams it can support. I’m not sure why they decided to brand these as Gorillapods, bearing no resemblance to the rest of the bendy, grabby family. The basic idea behind the Micros is that you get convenient fan-open-and-shut operation, and a ball-head with 36º of rotation which allows the shut legs to sit flush with the base of the camera. When shut, the legs barely stick out, but the ball joint does give the base of the camera a curious bump. This also means if you’re generally leaving the tripod on, forget standing it up without first unfolding the legs. While this is not really an issue in and of itself (unfolding is very quick), care must be then be taken to level the camera on the ballhead.

Operation and basic functionality are great. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for fit-and-finish and overall construction. Rather than a thumbscrew, the 800 is tightened to the camera base through use of a coin-sized slot. While this works well for some things, a coin really does not provide enough leverage to properly tighten the tripod — no matter how much I cranked down with a coin, I couldn’t get it tight to the point where trying to rotate the camera on the ball wouldn’t loosen it right off. So, I used a churchkey for extra leverage, and promptly scratched/scraped the paint off of the bottom. I don’t really mind, but the paint on the ‘pod is clearly not that tough. This thing will age quickly.

Additionally, and most concerning, there is just way too much play in the ball head for comfort. Adjusting means wiggling it to the point where it starts mocing on the ball, adjusting, and then letting it settle off the ball again. This gets frustrating quickly, and while long exposures are still easier than with nothing, stability is certainly compromised, and I must be very careful with my cable release.

Overall, the Gorillapod Micro 800 is a pretty handy piece of kit that folds flat and small, and compliments my Leitz-Minolta CL with its tiny collapsible pancake lens perfectly. Very little additional bulk, with plenty of additional utility. If Joby just got the construction quality a little bit better, this little tripod would be an essential piece of gear rather than just a handy trinket.

I recently picked up the Voigtländer Ultron 40/2 (seen left, above) to use as my primary lens on the Pentax MX. Smaller lens to go with a smaller body, naturally. 43mm is the standard focal length for 135 format photography — not 50mm (blame the folks in Wetzlar for that one). My favorite standard range primes have always been in 40-45mm. With this in mind, my options for a small prime were basically the Ultron, the old Pentax 40/2.8 pancake, or the Pentax Limited 43/1.9. The Limited is a beautiful lens, and I still want to get one some day, but it doesn’t seem much smaller than a normal Pentax standard, and I simply can’t afford it. The 40/2.8 pancake demands high prices, but it’s not the sharpest thing in the world… I still want to get one some day, because it’s tiny, but not until I find a good deal.

cosina voigtlander ultron 40/2, pentax mx, fuji neopan acros 100

The Ultron is larger than a pancake, but smaller than a standard Pentax prime. Feel of the focus is the best I have felt on any lens I have ever touched, hands down. Aperture is the same terrible combination of full- and half-stop clicks as a genuine Pentax lens. The aperture ring is a bit smooth, and takes some getting used to. Lens is solid and heavy; heavier than the Pentax 50/2. Image quality is excellent, the lens is insanely sharp edge-to-edge. It does exhibit more distortion than I would expect (at both the focal length and the price point), but this is generally not noticeable, and correctable in post.

cosina voigtlander ultron 40/2, pentax mx, kodak panatomic-x 32

A few final observations: The CV uses aspheric elements… I do not know if these are plastic, hybrid, or glass. I doubt glass, due to cost. I doubt plastic due to weight. So, I have to guess hybrid. CV only includes a Leica-sized lens cap, to go on the hood. This cap is incredibly thick, plus the addition of the hood, and your small lens just got considerably beefier. I use a slim Pentax (F?) edge-squeeze type cap instead. The CV has 9 curved aperture blades, which results in round bokeh at any setting. If you value sunstars over decent bokeh, I guess this lens isn’t for you — personally, I’ll take the bokeh. Speaking of bokeh, while it won’t look horrifically polygonal on this lens, it does get a little ringy and is not necessarily my favorite. Optical design is 6 elements (one aspheric) in 5 groups on the Ultron, 5 in 5 on the 50/2, 5 in 4 on the 40/2.8 pancake, and 7 in 6 on the 43/1.9 Limited.

This here is a Canon Dial 35 2. Mine was distributed by Bell & Howell, and is branded as a Bell & Howell Dial 35. Before the Dial 35 2, Canon released the Dial 35, which Bell & Howell branded as the Bell & Howell / Canon Dial 35. So that’s what they’re called, but what are they?

Well, they’re half-frame 135 cameras with shutter priority or metered manual operation. They have wind-up clockwork motors for film advance and rewind. Plenty of other half-frame cameras exist, but most stick to the traditional camera layout that everyone is used to. Depending on how you shoot, this is a good or a bad thing — because it means that your standard orientation is going to be portrait. The Dial 35, with its odd layout shoots landscape when oriented ‘normally,’ which is my main draw to the camera.

canon dial 35 2, ilford panf+, hc-110

The camera has decent ergonomics. Zone-focusing is achieved with a lever running along the top of the lens. Surrounding the lens is the shutter speed adjustment, with speeds from 1/30-1/250. Shutter release is on the lower right (from the user’s perspective) of the lens. Above the release is a small knob for aperture setting. Push the knob into the body, and the camera operates in Tv automatic mode. Pull it out, and turn it to adjust the aperture (f/2.8-22), metering inside the finder. Oddly, the shutter speeds are visible only outside the finder on the shutter speed dial, and aperture numbers are visible only inside the finder, with no representation on the knob itself.

canon dial 35 2, ilford panf+, hc-110

While the camera feels really solid and has decent optics, it also has one fatal flaw: the clockwork advance mechanism. I ran one roll of film through mine, and it started acting very sticky when I went to rewind it. I thought it was done, but opened the back prematurely and fogged the roll. And then, after that, the mechanism stopped working altogether. This is a common issue, and the mechanism is not simple to get to, and less simple to repair. Some people have reported success merely by slipping penetrating lubricants inside — I plan to try this, but it’s low priority. For now, I have a neat, useless camera which I at least got to shoot one roll of film through.

When I was looking to move from a Pentax KM to a Pentax MX, I was unable to find any good photos comparing the sizes of the two series of bodies. So, after I received my MX and before I gave my KM to a friend, I shot them side-by-side at some straightforward angles in case this information is ever valuable to anybody else.

As far as other layout differences between the K-series and the MX (other M-series have even different layouts, being Av bodies), few are notable. K-series bodies either have no indicator (K1000), or a spin wheel to describe what sort of film is in the body. I prefer either of these to the memo holder of the MX, wherein one slides part of the box the film came in. I’ve never used these memo holders, I think they’re ugly and I think they’re awkward. Depth of field preview has been merged into the self-timer lever on the MX, which is a nice UI simplification. The ISO adjustment wheel (outer ring of shutter speed dial) on K-series bodies is of the sort that one lifts and rotates to adjust. On the MX, a tiny button on the shutter speed dial must be depressed, and then the outer ring turned to adjust the ISO. Which, unfortunately, only goes to 1600. Setting it is a real pain, though, compared to the old method… and I have tiny fingers! Finally, one of the biggest differences is match diode in the MX vs. match needle in the K-series. Personally, I choose diodes… Less precise, but also less fragile. Love the finder on that camera, and the LEDs are the icing on the cake.

Check out the Pentax MX group on Flickr.