Monday 02 September 2024
Even as an amateur photographer, I’m self-critical of my creative work. Not only do I question whether what I create is any good, I treat photography as seriously as my written work. When I write, I nitpick over a word or phrase to capture precisely my thoughts or moods; similarly, I fuss over my photographs to record similar ideas or feelings, anxious about how I have captured my subject.
Recently I returned from a trip to Iceland, bringing with me over one thousand digital photographs. Photography is a passion, more than just a hobby. It’s spiritual and mental therapy, providing deep satisfaction. The photographs I took on my smartphone camera were mostly excellent ones; nonetheless, I couldn’t resolve a dilemma I was wrestling with: should I have used an actual digital camera—meaning, why didn’t I buy a replacement for the one that died on me? —or should I have learned how to use the features on my smartphone’s camera to replicate the photographs I once created through my Canon camera?
During the return flight, I reminisced about when I was a novice photographer, taking pictures with a 35mm film camera. I remembered how I waited a full week to receive the prints once the film developers processed the film; later, I waited three days… eventually a day. Sometimes the prints were out-of-focus; other prints had misaligned subjects: the dreaded “floating head,” and people too far off in the distance or too close in. What was I trying to capture? Other times the composition or framing of the images were flat, boring, unappealing. Back then, I was disappointed with many of my pictures, but I didn’t know how to correct my mistakes.
As an adult, and after reflecting upon what made those past pictures so unsatisfactory and studying what made the occasional successful ones so satisfying, I gradually improved as a photographer. As an undergraduate college student, I took art history classes, taking notice of how painters composed their subjects. I began to understand that paintings and photographs were similar; therefore, I tried to follow the lessons I learned in art history classes: lighting; perspective; symmetry; “the rule of thirds,” and other guidelines while creating pictures with my camera.
My photographs eventually improved. I soon turned in my 35mm cameras and upgraded to affordable digital cameras. When I refined my camera skills, I then began experimenting with professional-grade digital camera gear. My fancy digital camera gradually malfunctioned, thereby rendering it irreparable. I was conflicted whether I should purchase another, expensive digital camera, or begrudgingly rely upon my smartphone’s camera.
I hadn’t purchased a new digital camera for a trip my family and I took to Greece two summers ago. I used my smartphone’s camera exclusively. Uncomfortable with using my smartphone camera, I struggled taking pictures with it. I missed the weight and feel of an actual camera. When composing my photo through the smartphone screen, I would fumble zooming in or out. If the sunlight was too bright, I sometimes couldn’t see the image on the smartphone screen. What was I taking a picture of? Frustration.
During my recent Iceland trip, I only noticed four avid photographers who shot pictures with digital cameras, using powerful zoom lenses. During the entire week my family and I travelled through the country, I only saw four… four… camera users. Everyone else used their smartphones. Were those four camera-photographers omens that came to life, indicating to me that using camera gear was a dying artform, soon to go the way of other apparently old-fashioned technologies? Before you scold me about the resurgence of vinyl records to counter-argue my self-pitying argument of obsolescence, I haven’t yet entirely given up on the idea of buying a replacement Canon camera.
In the meantime, I’m stuck (am I?) with my smartphone camera. Is using a smartphone camera really that bad? Hence, my personal dilemma.
Sure, using a smartphone camera is convenient and lightweight. It doesn’t take up additional space. The smartphone has more than enough memory so that I can take thousands of pictures; if I run out of memory, I can back up my digital photos easily and immediately to the cloud. And if I were to learn how to utilize all the fancy buttons on my smartphone’s camera, and download additional photography apps to enhance my pictures, I could probably exceed the quality of my Canon photographs. OMG, did I say that? After all, knowing how to use light and shadow; how to position your subject; how to engage the viewer… I still need to rely upon those creative skills to take pictures, regardless of whether I take them on a smartphone camera or a traditional camera.
So, what’s the problem? Can I resolve my dilemma concerning using my smartphone’s camera instead of a traditional camera? What exactly is my dilemma? I do have rewards points, and so I could quickly redeem them and snap up a new Canon digital camera body. What’s holding me from doing so?
I could use those rewards points to get something else, not a new camera; however, my hesitation about buying a new camera doesn’t hinge on cashing in my points. Sometimes, I am new-tech phobic, and becoming proficient in my smartphone’s “bells and whistles” apps and buttons is daunting. Even newer digital cameras are more complicated than previous generations.
Composing a photograph using my traditional digital camera was easy; I didn’t need to think about this drop-down menu or other tech gimmick to find the feature or app to activate so that I could finally capture my image. Is this reason the source of my predicament?
What I missed most about taking photographs with my Canon camera was the very act of taking pictures. Holding a camera, nestling it against my face, squinting my eye to see through the viewfinder, adjusting the lens…. I’m unable to perform this ritual of photography in that exact way with a smartphone camera. When I took pictures with my digital camera, I flattered myself, imagining I was an old-time photographer using a bellows camera with a heavy drape and tripod. I felt as though I was having a mystical experience, taking a picture with a traditional camera. Even the etymology of “camera obscura” heightens for me this mystical experience: “vaulted, dark chamber.” This “chamber” is another level of being. The camera brings me to this “dark chamber,” and in that darkness, my eyes need to readjust to the low levels of light so I can see… really to see what is beneath the surface of what I’m looking at. I’m disconnecting myself from the conscious world, even for a moment, and integrating myself with the metaphysical world. What can I see in nature that I missed? Can I photographically capture the scene that I am now seeing with my camera?
I can’t experience this metaphysical and artistic state when I use my smartphone camera. Could I? I’m not sure. When I use a smartphone camera, I’m arm’s length away from its screen/viewfinder. There’s no intimacy of composing the shot. There’s no “dark chamber” ritual, no stepping into another world, another level of consciousness. Sun glare and light’s reflective properties sometimes render the smartphone’s screen nearly impossible to see and then difficult to enter another realm, thereby preventing any “dark room” experience I could have.
At this point, the argument sounds like I have convinced myself to get a new digital camera. On the other hand, I’m still unsure. Why? I can’t figure it out. For the past week, I have watched several YouTube tutorial videos on how to use my smartphone camera more effectively. These seminars are helpful and… convincing. Learning a new skill would be exciting. Learning the features of my smartphone camera might become a dynamic, ever-evolving skill.
Am I changing my mind? You might also think that given that I haven’t replaced my out-of-service digital camera that I have decided to resume using my smartphone camera. Reader, you’ll also remind me that, I have said it twice here, over three summers have passed, and I haven’t purchased a new digital camera. Yes, I’m using my smartphone camera as my primary (only) means of taking pictures. Therefore, the logic seems to suggest that I won’t be buying a digital camera. Is this apparent decision a resignation, a settlement with the present, or is it an invitation, a cooperation with the future?