Adventures With a 100 Year Old Box Camera

1952 or 1953

Early on a winter morning, when I was aged 9 or 10, I went outside and witnessed a scene that captured my imagination. To the east of our house was a vacant block where our neighbours, the Clarkes, had an almond orchard with enclosures for chickens and ducks. A chicken wire face separated the properties and others enclosed the chooks and ducks. A misty rain had fallen that night and drops of water hung in the still air on the fence wires and every twig and bud.

The sun had recently risen and all the water drops contained a sparkling image of the sun creating a once in a lifetime fairytale scene. I ran to get the family box camera to record the moment.

That may not have been the first photograph I had ever taken, but because of the strong memory and the disappointment that followed, it is the most memorable. The disappointment came after I received the prints from the local chemist. The print was overexposed and showed no trace of the diamond lights that so impressed me.

Fast forward to 2025

I saw a grubby white box while rummaging around in the back of a cupboard. What could be in there? It was the same disappointing box camera. Labels revealed it as a Box Ensign 2¼ B, made in England around 1923 and sold through Harringtons Ltd. in Australia and New Zealand at a cost of about $100 in today's terms. Would it still work? It looked in excellent condition, and after cleaning the body and removing haze from the simple meniscus lens, it could pass as new.

I pondered exposure settings. The shutter release had two settings, Instant and Time. An internet search revealed that the most likely shutter speed was 1/30 second. When set on Time, operating the shutter release would open the shutter and a second operation would close it. So far so good. Next was the f-stop - this is clearly a sophisticated camera because it has two f-stops. By sliding a lever, a black mask can be moved to select either of two holes, but what were their f-values?

I cut a piece of paper into a slightly tapered wedge. I dropped it into each mask hole and marked the paper where it met the hole's edge. By measuring the width of the wedge at the mark and by measuring the distance from the lens to the focal plane, I calculated the f-stops to be f-11 and f-22.

Then there’s the tricky matter of film speed. In the 1920s there was no standard. Different manufacturers and even different batches of film could have variations in speed, so there is no way of knowing the exact ASA number (the precursor to ISO) would have been. Typically films were much slower with ASA in the 12-50 range and likely 25. I used Ilford FP4 Plus ISO 125 black and white film. ISO 125 is 2.25 stops faster than what would have been available in the 20s. By the 1950s, when I first used the camera, film technology had advanced significantly with ASA ranges from 32 or 50 to Tri-X, ASA 200. All of this is interesting but not very helpful. Roll film is a multi-format film designed for use in different cameras. In the Box Ensign, 6 cm x 9 cm negatives are produced.

I set my Sony camera on ISO 125 and 1/30 second. On a sunny day around mid-day, it showed f-20 - perfect - I think. Perfection or otherwise would be revealed after developing and printing. The default f-stop on the box camera is f/22, so with that settled it was time to take photos.

I had the feeling that I was setting myself up for another disappointment.

The Ethics of Recreating Photographs

My post, “People Who Have Inspired Me,” raised questions about the ethics of replicating someone else’s photo of a particular subject. At worst, it could be seen as appropriating another’s creative vision, but it’s more nuanced than that.

There is a long tradition of learning through imitation. Painters have practised this for centuries by replicating masterworks. Photographers go to the same sites repeatedly, usually because of a fascinating subject, which provides a good start to creating an interesting photograph. As National Geographic photographer Jim Richardson said, “If you want to be a better photographer, stand in front of more interesting stuff.” So I think it’s acceptable to photograph something others have photographed before you.

Ethically, the deliberate act of recreating someone else’s photograph at the exact location falls into a grey area. I reason that the practice is acceptable when the original photographer’s inspiration is acknowledged, that the purpose was at least in part to learn by imitation and that your version of the scene isn’t used for commercial purposes.

There is also the sticky question of who was the original photographer. John Hodgson’s photo of the Wanaka tree inspired me, but it’s unlikely that he was the first to photograph it.

Finally, every photo is a unique moment in time. While our photos are similar in composition, the details differ because of camera position, weather and lighting conditions, the water level in the lake, and other details like the health of the poplar trees.

All that can be said is that both images, taken years apart by different people, are similarly good interpretations of the Wanaka tree and better than the scores of others taken before or since.

When it comes to manipulated images, the reasoning is different.

The first image below is a straight photo, cropped, with verticals and horizontals corrected. The building facade reminded me of a Mondrian painting, so I created the second image. Except for providing a memory jog, Mondrian had nothing to do with it. The second image is my creation. It’s unique. If someone replicated it, I would say they had plagiarised it.

Comments are welcome.

People who have inspired me

Oscar Wilde is credited with saying, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness”. As a mediocre photographer, I confess that in the past, I imitated the images of photographers whom I admired. I justified this because it was a means of learning. It taught me how to see, compose, and process a photo.

Several people have guided my growth as a photographer. Their approach to their work has significantly influenced my thinking and development. John Hodgson's work impressed me enormously during my first years at Eastern Suburbs Camera Club. I’ll never forget his image of the Wanaka Tree in New Zealand. It dazzled me. That crazy tree standing in the water with mountains in the background and a row of poplars in riotous autumn colour was overwhelming and inexplicable. How could such an improbable scene exist?

Four years after seeing John’s wonderful print, I attended a PSNZ convention in April 2011. One thing I learned is that the Kiwis put on a good convention. Charlie Waite, the doyen of English landscape photographers, was the keynote speaker. His striving for perfection with a 4x5 view camera was a revelation. I learned from him without imitation!

I had arranged for my wife to join me after the convention to tour the South Island. This was planned before the Christchurch earthquake struck on 22 February 2011. Tragically, 185 people died, and the damage amounted to $NZ77 billion. A massive cost for a small country to bear. It followed the earthquake of 4 September 2010, which severely weakened many buildings, making them especially vulnerable to the second quake. A phone call to our pre-booked accommodation at Christchurch revealed that they were still in business and desperate for us to stay with them. I flew down from Aukland on a plane half full of Australian Police who had come to assist their Kiwi compatriots. Rachel arrived directly from Australia.

Most of Christchurch was closed, a no-go zone, but our hotel was opposite an area between the city and the airport that had been opened the day we arrived. Residents and business owners were allowed to enter to see what remained. The devastation to all manner of buildings was tragic. A Greek restaurant owner dumped revolting-smelling food from his fridges and freezers into a skip. Crews had been through and left sprayed notations on building facades or footpaths. Paper forms advising of dangerous conditions were taped to doors and windows. I wandered with the camera for over two hours in the late afternoon light. Some scenes were of total building collapse. Other buildings appeared to be in good condition but nonetheless had warning notices - “NO ENTRY”. One modern building had some broken windows but looked solid. When we returned nine days later, it had been razed to the ground.

One example of the destruction wrought by the 2011 Christchurch earthquake.

Towards the end of our tour, we were in Queenstown, planning to return to Christchurch to catch a flight home. I realised Wanaka was nearby and could be included in the trip to Christchurch. We set the alarm for 4:00 am to arrive at Wanaka before sunrise. Happily, it was April, and deciduous trees were in full colour.

Arriving at the lake just before sunrise, grey clouds and dull light made it look unfavourable. As time passed, the light increased, the clouds thinned, and the trees and poplars became bathed in warm light. I couldn’t believe it. John’s photo was materialising before my eyes. There was a lot of shutter clicking for five or ten minutes, and then it was over. It was time to find breakfast in Wanaka.

I'm a Judge

I’m a busy photography judge, but I’m not sure how that happened. Clubs just keep asking me to judge their competitions. In many respects, judging is a mysterious process. You look at 100 photos and are required to pick the best. How is that possible? By and large, the photos I judge are of high quality, and each photographer has so much invested in their images, I hate to disappoint. But I am required to be sparing in awarding 9s and 10s. I try to be objective by using technical analysis to help decide what’s good or bad, but that’s of little help when so many photos are technically faultless. It comes down to what moves me emotionally. But that’s intensely personal and, at the end of the day, is just my opinion. I love looking at, analysing and talking about photos. I greatly admire the skills of wildlife photographers, action sportspeople, macro workers, and street photographers and their pursuit of the ‘decisive moment’. How do they do it? I’ve often thought there should be points for the degree of difficulty, but apparently, that’s unacceptable. My personal preference is to photograph stuff that doesn’t move. That’s easy - then I process the hell out of it.

Panel judging can be very rewarding. With two other judges who are not high on ego, good discussion can result. This happened at the Edwardstown Annual judging this year (2023). The other judges pointed out things I had missed. I explained what I liked. We talked. We discussed. I changed my opinion. The Edwardstown president said it was the best judging session they had ever had. I enjoyed it.

Cameras and lenses are so capable these days that there’s no excuse for a poor-quality photo. But I still see faults and make mistakes myself. This is the result of carelessness caused by our automated AI-driven cameras, which make us lazy. In reality, humans are more intelligent than cameras but are prone to taking easy options and letting cameras do the work. That’s when things can go wrong.

If the traditional ‘straight’ photo is both commonplace and excellent, so how does one rise above the pack? Does the answer lie in artistic interpretation? A unique personal style, whatever that may be? [For more on this, see Thoughts on Difference]. However, clubs are deeply conservative, and such approaches are outside tradition. Rules, limitations and conventions are everywhere in amateur photography. As they say, art is in the eye of the beholder. There’s no right or wrong—just opinions. But I sense a change. They say that painters add to the canvas while photographers subtract from the frame. Take the subtraction to an extreme, and you get minimalism. I often notice that the top images are minimalist - just the essence of something. Minimalism. It fits with my design ethic, but minimalist images have little emotional content.

Discussion of photos in small groups is a good idea. Lay your print down and explain it. Learn how to talk about photos. Listen to considered feedback from friends. Years ago, a friend and I initiated the idea of peer review. I want to think it was a first. I’ve noticed other clubs have taken up the idea. It works best with a small group of about four people looking at prints. There’s less chance for one opinion to dominate—projection before the whole audience doesn’t work. You get someone like me talking all the time. Not good.

Back to judging. Recently, a judge stood up and, with little commentary, shouted out numbers. Not good form. In my possibly misguided view, judging should be an educational opportunity. Not that there’s any reason for me to think I’m qualified in that area, but I have opinions, so I do it anyway. It probably produces grumbled complaints when I’m out of earshot. Judges are required to judge an image as presented. I fall into the trap of talking about other possibilities. After all, a good photo is all about composition - primarily about composition. If I feel that the camera should have been rotated right or left to create a different composition, I’ll say so. But then it’s a different image, and people get upset if that approach is taken too far. Occasionally, I will offer an off-the-cuff comment, but when stated briefly, without explanation because of limited time, that can be more confusing than helpful—trouble for me.

Rules. What about the so-called rules of composition? Very famous photographers have rubbished the idea of rules. I don’t have to repeat that. Nothing brilliant was ever achieved by following a recipe. Dull competence, perhaps. But I’m conflicted. In my field of architecture, Modernism, with its ‘rules’ and aphorisms, was dominant in the 1960s. Admittedly, it had become boringly predictable. Sterile even. Too many rules? But then came Post-Modernism with its rejection of everything good and a baby-out-with-the-bathwater approach. The post-truth era had arrived. I felt sick. While there’s no place in design for rigid rules, general design principles still apply. They are amorphous and open to interpretation. Make of them what you will. Just read thoughtful authors and practice, practice, practice. Reading books is good. Stay away from YouTube. It’s full of people trying to outcompete each other by being ever more controversial. Confusion reigns there.

Sony A7600 first impressions

Since 2017, the Sony A6500 has been my go-to camera. I have enjoyed using it, but I watched with increasing annoyance as superb new technology was added to the full-frame cameras with no signs of a new model APS-C camera. Sony abandoned the A-Mount they inherited from Minolta, so I wasn’t alone in wondering if their crop sensor camera line would be dropped. Admittedly, the A6600 was released four years ago, and more recently, the ZV series vlogging cameras. Tracking focus was a new feature in the A6600 that attracted many, but with my main interest in architecture and landscape, it wasn’t enough to make me upgrade. We finally have the A6700 with the Exmor backlit illuminated sensor, a Bionz RX processor and a new AI processor dedicated to subject recognition and eye autofocus. It’s visibly more chunky than the A6500, no doubt to accommodate the flippy screen, the larger battery, the additional AI chip, and to assist with heat dissipation.

I was surprised by how small the box was.

Contents of the box.

Comments on the A6700 are made with reference to my A6500 camera. The first impression when picking it up is the bigger grip which feels good in the hand. The fully articulated screen is wonderful and would almost be worth having without the other features. Looking more closely, the addition of a front dial wheel will be a great convenience. On the back of the camera, the dial wheel has a much firmer feel. Previously, it was difficult to rotate without accidentally selecting one of the four modes. The new menu layout (not new for the more recent FF cameras) is welcome. The addition of a sub-dial for the selection of still, movie and S&Q functions under the main selector has made space for the addition of three memory recall settings. That will enable me to take advantage of Mark Galer’s PAL workflow. The three memory recalls can be set for each of the still, movie and S&Q functions, 9 recalls in all. The AF-AF/MF switch and button have gone, replaced by an AF-ON button, which I expect will be more useful for many.

On the negative side, the ON-Off switch has been rotated about 45 degrees clockwise, making it less convenient unless you have a double-jointed index finger. I suppose my muscle memory will eventually be retrained, but this is an unnecessary change. Finally, the shoulder strap is more grippy on the inner surface. I carry the camera on my shoulder rather than the more goofy position around the neck. The improved grip will give greater assurance that it won’t slide off. The outside surface has bolder Sony logos which tells the world how wise I am in choosing the Sony camera system. [Grin].

When I took delivery, the small size of the box was a surprise. It seems Sony is borrowing from Apple’s minimalist philosophy. Inside was the A6700 camera with a body cap, an FZ100 battery, an eye cup for the viewfinder, a shoulder strap and the usual paperwork. I asked the Camera House manager, “Where’s the charger and cable”? The answer was that charging is in the camera via a USC-C cable. Sony has responded to the EU mandate that requires USB-C to be a universal standard. That’s a good thing. I have the cables, and it’s much simpler than messing with a battery charger and plugging it into a power outlet.

The magic at the heart of the camera lies in the Exmor R CMOS sensor. Originally developed in 2008 for phones, it made images captured by Apple phone cameras of usable quality. Iterations of scaled-up versions have been used in various Sony cameras. Fifteen years later we now see the Exmor sensor in a crop sensor camera for the first time. One benefit is improved high ISO performance.

Graphic © Mark Galer.

The graphic above shows another significant benefit, the AI-driven subject recognition processor. It is dedicated to recognising a variety of subjects. It is reputed to have a very ‘sticky’ eye-AF that snaps onto and holds the eye of a rapidly moving subject. Great for action shots and portraits. I’ll be interested to try this out.

Black and White photos are for Art

I’m old enough to remember the time when newspapers, magazines and books only had black and white photos. The architectural journals I read while at university were illustrated with beautiful black and white images frequently taken by the famous Australian photographer Max Dupain.

Framed

Historically, photography was black and white except for hand-coloured photos. Today, colour is the default, and many people think of black and white as a filter that an image can be treated with. A print of a well-crafted black-and-white image has a magical quality of abstraction that clarifies and sometimes mystifies. This YouTube video, “9 Quick Tips for Better Black and White Photos,” by Jamie Windsor, explains the why and how.

Thoughts on difference

The photographer's way of seeing is special. Photographers see things that mere mortals never notice. The photographer is always on duty, seeing subjects that are waiting to be captured and rendered artistically. László Moholy-Nagy said seeing as a photographer meant “the training of the eye”. It is a learned skill. It reflects the photographer’s life experience, professional life, and the study of famous photographers.

There’s a danger that looking at others’ photographs for inspiration can lead to derivative images, a problem that is difficult to escape. Originality in any artistic pursuit implies the taking of risks by moving you away from popularly accepted styles. This leads to the idea of a kind of trademark, “personal style”, that is evident in the work of most accomplished photographers. The question is, just how far should you push this idea of originality in the quest for a truly distinctive style? One answer is–all the way!

New Zealand photographer Tony Bridge meditates on the risks and rewards of escaping the “mansion” of image makers who create the same style of image over and over.

… what do you do, when making an accurate likeness of what is before you is simply … not enough? When your equipment makes it so infernally easy? When you begin to realise that you are saying the same thing as everybody else? When you finally come to trust your own voice and heart and journey and, well, nothing else really matters?  You really don’t give a shit, because you are deep into a conversation that only you seem to be aware of. You realise there isn’t a room in the mansion for you, that there is no one to talk to. As a result, you will have to talk to yourself. Or build your own mansion.

So, you set sail and eventually end up walking the gangplank you were always seeking.

Then it dawns on you, some way out, that in fact, the gangplank has no end, and that although you can’t see the end, it doesn’t really matter.

Over the years, I realised that a worthy goal is to develop a personal style, voice or expression. Exploring that path means that many of the conventional ideas and rules of “good” photography are only limitations. That thought inevitably leads to the realisation that all the “good” photos look the same.

Look the same? How can that be? Clearly, they are all different!

OK, so you have made a technically perfect photo of a mountain in great golden light with a wonderful foreground and fantastic composition, and you’re ecstatic about it. But really, it’s just another beautiful picture of a mountain. It’s not fundamentally different to thousands of other beautiful pictures of mountains. You might have enjoyed the experience of being out in nature, advanced your skills and felt a thrill of success, that’s important. It’s part of the reason we take photographs. But the fact is, most of the work was done by Mother Nature and a hi-tech camera. Sure, you turned up at the right time and composed the shot, but there is nothing original about that. Every day, more than 100 million people do a similar thing and post the results on Instagram. The competition is fierce. The only way to be noticed is by being different. Once one’s ego lets one accept that reality, a troubling malaise sets in, the only escape from which is to venture out alone, down Tony’s scary gangplank leading to … who knows where?

At that point, we’ve changed gears mentally and have become artists.

How to do that? Everyone will have a different answer - a unique answer. And that’s the point. For me, the answer is contained in the way I see and frame the subject matter, how I post-process it and how I present the image. Even that statement can be dismissed as prosaic, but it’s the thinking behind it, the process and the outcome that counts.

Tony Bridge has updated a famous Ansel Adams quote for the digital era. He says, “The capture is the score, and the post-production is the performance.”

If you would like to read Tony Bridge’s full article, it’s here.

personal style in photography

My last two posts mulled over the idea that photography can be (needs to be?) more than what I would call subject, composition, and technical excellence. While that combination yields excellent images, the fact is, the world is awash with excellent images.

Some years ago I was viewing an exhibition of prints. The images were all excellent in accordance with the criteria of arresting subject matter, faultless composition, and technical excellence. I enjoyed sporadic conversation with another person as we viewed the images when suddenly I said, “you know, the problem with these is, they are all the same.” That ended our brief encounter with neither able to figure out how to continue the conversation.

I didn’t know why my subconscious had generated that poorly expressed thought, so I looked at the photos again. Of course, they weren’t all the same. The subject matter and treatment was diverse. For a long time, I pondered what had prompted my comment and finally decided that it had nothing to do with the subject matter but with the uniformly “correct” compositional arrangement together with technical perfection all styled to suit a judge. The irony is, I value those qualities in my work. So what was my subconscious problem with uniformity of technical and compositional perfection?

Since then, having viewed hundreds of photos created by accomplished photographers, it dawned on me that each had a personal style. Whether it’s subtle or jarring, it is there be seen by the keen observer. Of course, the same applies in the art world where, for multiple reasons, individual styles are more obvious.

A highly developed personal style will focus on a particular genre. An example is Melbourne street photographer and photojournalist, Jesse Marlow. He said that for years while doing his street photography, he used the same film, the same lens and the same camera with the shutter speed set at 1/500 second. Extreme perhaps, but the best way to develop consistency and polish your craft.

A personal style is worth striving towards but should never reach finality. If it does, then learning and growth have stopped. Some won’t accept that your work doesn’t conform with their view of normal but take that as a sign that you have achieved a point of difference - a personal style.

Going full cycle

There’s nothing like looking at the best images in a competition for inspiration and to get an understanding of current judging fashions.

The results of the 2018 Focus awards have been published, and in looking at the Photographer of the Year section, it seems that many images have been manipulated in a creative way, that moves them into the fine art genre. The photographic basics of great light and colour and a clearly articulated subject presented with simplicity still apply, but there are two more factors; technical excellence and creative interpretation.

Perhaps the latter is controversial for those who claim a traditional approach to photography. ‘Interpretation’ harks back to Pictorialism which was the dominant photographic style in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in which images were often softened and manipulated to make them appear more painterly and more readily acceptable to the arts community of the time. But then around 1930 the f/64 Group, lead by Ansel Adams, put an emphatic end to that approach with their Modernist tradition that accepts the photographic image for what it is – a sharp, detailed and contrasty black and white rendition of a subject caught in a moment in time. Manipulation was confined to ensuring that those qualities were shown to best advantage. Most of the images we see today are in colour but are still in that mould. But with the help of powerful editing software, photographers are exploring the possibility of "making" an image, not with the motivation of the Pictorialists, but in a contemporary, interpretive way.

What does that Look like? In art, there are no limits, the possibilities are endless, but you don’t have to go beyond the six images of Photographer Of The Year, Timothy Moon, in the 2018 Focus Awards. (See link above). The images follow the values of the f/64 group, but subtle editing has imbued them with an emotive content that transcends technical excellence. This is what Les Walking was talking about in his article discussed in the Understanding Pictures post.

APSCON WORKSHOP 2018

APSCON is the annual convention of the Australian Photographic Society. In 2007 I attended my first APSCON in Albury. As a guileless beginner I was impressed by the images on display and enraptured by some of the speakers. Not for a moment did I think I would ever be on the stage as a speaker and workshop presenter.

It happened this year at the convention in Surfers Paradise, Queensland. I had been asked to give a talk on architectural photography and then lead the group in a practical workshop. Earlier I led a photo walk around Surfers Paradise where high rise buildings are literally lined up along the beach and the photographic opportunities are endless.

Thanks to Phillipa Frederiksen for making this possible and Judith Bear, a local resident, who showed me some of the hot photographic spots.

A briefing in the bus. Photo © Judith Bear.

Watch out for trams! © Judith Bear.