Beauty is in the eye of the holder

I fetishize a lot of things. Cars. Women. I look at them with a sense of awe and reverence, telling whomever’s in earshot of their magical potency. Something else that causes a habitual erotic response in me is a camera. And this goes way beyond their ability to steal people’s souls.

When I got a T4 I ran my fingers all over the aluminum shell and then just stared for a long, long time, and not through the viewfinder.



The Polaroid SLR 680, sadly gained at the zenith of Polaroid’s film production, flirted with me over a two year period. By the time I possessed one via eBay it had lost it’s practical use, but the object remains. It’s geometry, symmetry, and curvy billows can entertain for hours.



My Pentax K1000 with it’s nipply and steel shell, custom wide-angle zoom lens, will always be my first unhealthy obsession. The only one I’ve been in a darkroom with. Digis like it with the lights on. Something truly has been lost when you loose the red lit room and glow in the dark arrows that lead you to the exit.



This will not end well. The Ricoh GX R, Leica R8 SLR, and the Canon s90 have taken up hours of my time and burned their features into my retinas. I’m scarred.