Introduced at Photokina (rest in peace) in 2004, the Epson R-D1 can claim several world-firsts. It was the world’s first digital mirror-less interchangeable lens camera. According to DPReview’s original article on the R-D1’s release, it was the world’s first rangefinder digital camera. It was also the world’s first digital camera to natively accept Leica M and L39/M39/LTM screw mount lenses, the latter through means of an adapter.

What is probably most surprising is that all these camera world firsts were achieved by Epson, a company known more for their printing, scanning, and projector products, rather than a company like Leica. Epson even beat Leica, the king of the “Messsucher” (or rangefinder for the non-german speakers like me), in delivering the first ever digital M mount rangefinder camera for the consumer market; the Leica M8 arrived a full two years after the R-D1, in 2006.

Because the Epson R-D1 was the first of its kind, it has the distinct privilege, at least in my book and another for that matter (Camera by Todd Gustavson, pg 347), of standing out in photographic history as a monument to beautiful, classic camera design while simultaneously stepping forward into the burgeoning bloom of the digital age. 

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Specifications of the Epson R-D1

• Camera Type: Rangefinder mirror-less camera
• Sensor: 6 megapixel APS-C CCD (23.7 x 15.6 mm); Max. resolution 3008 x 2000
• Lens Mount: Leica M
• ISO: 200, 400, 800, 1600
• LCD Screen: 2″ 235,000 dots
• Shutter: Max speed 1/2000 second
• Storage: SD card (2GB max)
• Dimensions: 142 x 89 x 40 mm
• Weight: 610 grams (1.37 lb)

Design

As far as outward appearance goes, if we clad the R-D1 in the legit street photographer livery of black electrical tape over all branding or labels, you would be forgiven for thinking it was a film camera. After all, the body design is based on the Voigtlander Bessa R platform. In fact, the R-D1 was developed in partnership with Cosina, the parent company of the modern Voigtlander brand. So, yes, the Epson feels very much like a film camera.

But once we take that imagined electrical tape off, turn the camera on, see the status dials energize to indicate important details like remaining shots and battery life, and flip that flippy screen around (not for live-view, but to review saved images and adjust menu settings), we realize that this is most definitely a machine with digital innards. 

The R-D1 sports a 6.1MP APS-C sized bayer-arrayed CCD sensor, the same sensor found in the Nikon D100. Its sensitivity tops out at ISO 1600. ISO is selected by lifting the collar of the shutter speed dial, just like many film cameras from the past.

Shutter speeds on the R-D1 range from 1 to 1/2000 second, with a bulb mode labeled “B.” Rotating the shutter speed dial to “AE” allows shooting in aperture priority, which is my favorite automatic exposure mode on any camera, and my preferred method of shooting.

Exposure compensation can be set to +2 to -2 EV with the shutter speed dial. There is also an AE lock button at the back of the camera where the photographer’s right thumb naturally falls. This button also locks exposure so we can be more precise with our metering, but I don’t find myself using it all that often, as I simply trust the center-weighted average meter for most of my shooting.

The camera can capture JPEG images in both normal and high quality settings, but it is also able to record in RAW. The .ERF files can be edited in post and still work in Lightroom to this day. All images are saved to an SD card, but the R-D1 will only accept SD cards that have a maximum capacity of 2GB. The R-D1X is an exception to this as that specific model allows the use of 32GB SD-HC cards.

The R-D1X also forgoes the flippy screen and offers only a fixed screen, making it more akin to a traditional digital Leica M or Fuji X-Pro 1 and/or X-Pro 2. Although I’ve never owned or used the R-D1X, I think I personally prefer the R-D1’s screen implementation because I can flip it away when not changing menu settings or reviewing images. And honestly, that is a good thing, because this screen is not an enjoyable viewing experience. It’s actually quite bad, but it’s hard to fault a 20 year old camera for having a low resolution LCD screen (a whopping 235K pixels to be exact).

There are actually two benefits that I see to closing the screen: 1.) closing the screen discourages chimping, and 2.) closing the screen reveals the awesome focal length equivalence table that is reminiscent of the ASA reminder or ISO selection wheel on the back of Leica M film bodies. For an APS-C crop factor table, it’s quite useful while not looking too out of place.

Even with the screen closed, it’s possible to easily adjust and understand our settings. The R-D1 has a cleverly designed interface that utilizes a lever near the user’s right thumb in conjunction with a jog dial on the top left hand side of the body where a film rewind knob would be on a traditional film camera. By using the lever to select either White Balance or Image Quality size, it’s possible to use the jog dial to make those adjustments without having to dive into the menu. Bravo, Epson! It’s these kinds of small yet intuitive details that impress me and make me grin.

The R-D1 is in my mind the perfect amalgamation of three important characteristics that make for an authentically analog experience for enthusiasts who wish to shoot digital: vintage mechanical precision, tactile handling, and digital workflow. 

[Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates at B&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

Shop for your own Epson R-D1on eBay here!

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Vintage Mechanical Precision

The R-D1 feels like a proper camera. It is a “modern” image making tool that embraces a tried-and-true (if not very popular) focusing system which gives reliable results in the field.

To some, the rangefinder may seem like a vestige of a by-gone era, but its continued use in the current Leica M offerings, and even the Pixii camera, shows that there are some photophiles out there who appreciate a more mechanical approach and process to connect them to their photography. For people who have never used one, it may take some time to get used to rangefinder focusing. However, once practiced, this focusing methodology can become a very fun and engaging way of capturing photographs. In a world of phase detect autofocus, computational AI subject detection, and myriad tracking options for both animate and inanimate objects, the rangefinder can serve as a pleasant departure from such state of the art conveniences.

The viewfinder magnification of the R-D1 is notably nice. It uses a 1:1 magnification viewfinder, and although that is not unique in the world of 35mm film rangefinder cameras, it might be the only digital rangefinder camera to have one.

It’s often said by Leica shooters that the best way to use a rangefinder is to look with the right eye in the viewfinder and to keep the left eye open to look out into the world. But if the camera in question has a viewfinder with 0.85x or 0.72x magnification, like so many Leicas, doesn’t that confuse things? We’d be seeing the real world in a normal 1:1 magnification in one eye, and the same scene in a completely different magnification in the other (through the viewfinder).

Call me crazy, but I’m not a chameleon, and two different magnifications is hard for me to even think about without getting optically confused.

If you’re a “proper” right-eye dominant shooter, then the R-D1 will be an optically pleasant experience because both your eyes will be seeing the world in the same magnification! Just think, your rangefinder patch will be floating in the center of your real-life view of the world. It may not be the Apple Vision Pro level of augmented reality you were looking for, but a floating rangefinder patch is still pretty nifty if you ask me.

Just don’t ask me; I’m left-eye dominant.

In addition to the coupled rangefinder mechanism, the analog status dials on the top plate are another area where this camera oozes retro cool. For the watch enthusiasts out there, I think it is worth noting that the full company name of the Epson brand is the Seiko Epson Corporation. Yes, that’s correct. Seiko, as in the timepiece manufacturer. That’s probably why it is so satisfying to watch (no pun intended) the gauges snap to position. It’s like watching movements on a quality wristwatch. The dials actually remind me of those found on the Nikon 28ti and 35ti, which just so happen to be also designed by Seiko. 

There are, however, some parts of the R-D1 that might not feel as precise as, let’s say, a Leica.

There’s a tendency for the rangefinder patch to fall out of vertical alignment. My copy’s vertical alignment is slightly off, and I’ve lived with happily. But it’s not perfect.

Then there’s the manual frame-line selector switch. It doesn’t feel loose per se, but it doesn’t give me the same kind of clicked-in confidence as when mounting the same M-mount lenses on a Leica M body. Leica M cameras automatically snap to the appropriate frame-lines when different focal lengths are used, but with the Epson, we have to make sure we select the correct focal length for the right frame-lines to show up in the viewfinder. I can be forgetful every now and then, and have been known to leave the frame-line selector switch on 35mm when I actually had a 28mm mounted. I guess it’s not the camera’s fault, since I’m the one who forgot.

And lastly, the battery door can be a little fiddly. It does the job of housing the Fuji NP-80 style lithium ion battery, a battery that’s luckily still available from third party manufacturers on Amazon.

[Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates at B&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

Get your own Epson R-D1 on eBay here!

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Tactile Handling

The R-D1 utilizes true and accurate film-era haptics and movements for user operations that don’t feel gimmicky. If you’ve ever used a 35mm film camera from the latter half of the 20th century, you’ll feel right at home with the stand out feature of this camera – the film advance lever, or rather, as it is more accurately labeled in the user manual, the “shutter charge lever.”

Indeed, if there was one feature to highlight about the R-D1 in this article, it is the shutter charge lever. Although it does not advance any film through a transport system, as this camera does not shoot film, it’s necessary to actuate this lever to cock the vertically traveling focal plane shutter for each exposure.

For me, this lever is what makes the camera so fun. In a word, it’s fantastic! I don’t think there’s another camera like it, and I don’t think there ever will be again. True, there are other options for cameras with digital sensors that incorporate shutter cocking mechanisms, but they are usually in the form of digital backs that are added to film bodies, making them larger and slightly more unwieldy, and not to mention significantly more rare and expensive.

Off the top of my head, the Leica R8/R9 with Leica DMR back and the Hasselblad 500 series with the CFV digital backs come to mind. But to my knowledge, the R-D1 was the only camera designed from the ground up with a manual shutter charge lever integral to the camera’s function and operation.

Let me put it this way: if you’ve ever shot a Leica M film body and craved that tactile experience but in a digital format, then I think the Epson R-D1 is as close as you’re going to get to that film-like shooting experience. At one point in my photography journey I purchased a used Leica M9 (with an updated non-corroded sensor) and it was a wonderful camera to use for the season that I owned it. And even though it had a wonderful full frame 18mp Kodak CCD sensor that produced beautiful files, I ended up selling it to get the R-D1 instead. I made that decision because I wanted that film feeling when shooting digital.

I admit that I haven’t used any of the other digital Leica M offerings, but in my hand the M9 felt, for lack of a better word, chunky. It just didn’t feel like a Leica M film body (I own an M4-P for reference). The M10-D looked pretty cool when it was announced, but to hear about the shutter lever just being a thumb rest was a major let down.

But I digress. Let me get back to the subject camera.

Smaller design details hearken back to the days of analog cameras. The jog dial, which I mentioned earlier, is able to be pulled up to a raised position for accessing secondary directional functions when reviewing images in a magnified view. It’s probably not something you’ll be using very often, but since this camera lacks a directional pad or any command dials, this small decision to have the jog dial work this way is really cool, without being cheesy. It’s something with which a film shooter would be familiar, too,  since this is a movement was commonly used for opening film backs. 

The main point I wanted to make here is that for photo geeks, like me, who really enjoy how a camera feels and operates in the hand, the R-D1 provides a truly unique analog experience in the digital realm. It authentically feels like a film camera.

And yet, in some ways, it feels better than a film camera.

Digital Workflow

As much as I love analog photography and using film cameras, there are times when I simply want to have a digital image immediately.

Sometimes, I just want to have the photograph right away, instant gratification and all, ready to be viewed, enjoyed, consumed, or shared with someone without having to wait for lab processing turnaround times or home development and scanning sessions. And after our fourth child, the dev and scan sessions have definitely decreased in our household. Also, I think my wallet would like me more if I shot just a little less film and a little more digital. Don’t get me wrong, I still really enjoy film photography. But since I am a casual photophile who wants that same analog experience yet with a digital workflow, the R-D1 scratches that itch.

I believe that there is a place in the market for vintage/retro inspired cameras. The recent release and sales success of the Nikon Zf is a testament to that. And over the years, I’ve been blessed to have been able to use some notable models that exuded that same aesthetic.

I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of owning a Fuji X-Pro 2, the aforementioned Leica M9, and even the Olympus Pen-F. Each of these models are all very wonderful and enjoyable cameras in their own right, but I don’t own any of them anymore. And I think this is why I hold the Epson in such high regard. As great as each of those cameras were, the R-D1 is in my opinion the only digital camera that gave me the most authentic feeling of shooting film without having to shoot film. And I think, for that one reason alone, it has remained in my stable.

Final Thoughts on the Epson R-D1

And this is perhaps where I should conclude my rather verbose sentiments on this singular camera.

The Epson R-D1 makes for a user experience unlike any other. For some photographers, the process and experience of capturing the photograph is just as important as the photograph itself. The act of looking through a real optical viewfinder, composing within parallax-corrected frame-lines, triangulating the distance between the lens and subject, pressing the shutter release, and that ever-so-satisfying flick of the thumb to actuate the shutter charge lever for the next frame – it’s all these little things put together that bring me pleasure. And there’s no other camera that does it all quite like the Epson R-D1.

I think it’s the unique nature of the camera’s form and function that lend to its unicorn-like status. Current market value is somewhat reflective of this, with used prices now looking awfully close to the range of a monthly mortgage or rent payment. Thankfully, I was able to buy mine for a good deal from a domestic seller. Though I had to wait a long time for that good deal to come up.

But there really is no other camera like the Epson R-D1, and I don’t think there ever will be again. The R-D1 was born in a time when digital photography was becoming a real feasible alternative to film, and since many photographers of its time were familiar with the mechanical nature of tactile camera operations, I believe Epson made the right move in incorporating these familiar movements and interaction points into the design of the R-D1. It may not have been a commercial success, but it was the perfect camera for a niche community.

As a photo geek, husband, and father (a dad-tographer if you will), the Epson R-D1 is perhaps my quintessential casual photophile camera. For me, it is the camera that most connects me to the act of documenting the moments that will become my family’s memories.

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Our guest author articles are sent in by amazing photographers and writers all over the world. Today’s guest author is…

Nio Gomez is a husband and father of four hailing from the commonwealth of Virginia. His other occupations include audio/visual technician, bottle preparer, diaper changer, freelance DP, wedding photographer, and all around camera geek. But he is at heart a dadtographer.

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The post A Digital Camera for People Who Love Film Cameras – Epson R-D1 Review appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Unless you’re reading this accidentally, it’s safe to say that somewhere along the way your life took a turn and you now find yourself here on CP, eulogizing discontinued film stocks, accessorizing your camera, of all things, and window shopping for gear that costs as much as a modest automobile. 

As a consequence of your camera nerdery, you may have acquired a fetish for so called “ultra-fast” prime lenses, such as the Canon “Dream” lens, or one of the most widely lusted after and expensive examples, the Leica Noctilux 50mm 0.95 

The ultra-high cost of ultra-fast primes contributes to their mystique. At $12,000 the Noctilux certainly helps Leica Camera earn their reputation as an inaccessibly-priced status symbol (though perhaps not as effectively as slapping a Red Dot on a Minolta or Panasonic camera and watching what happens to the price).

The freak economics of Leica can seriously skew one’s sense of value. Once you consider that Leica’s “affordable” Summarit line of M lenses still cost four figures, any lens that you can attach to a Leica M for less than $1000 can seem like an outright bargain. 

Enter Chinese lens manufacturer TTArtisan (The Thinking Artisan), who matched the specs of the Noctilux with their own manual focus, metal lens, and brought it to market with two full digits shaved off the price of the competing Leica model. The TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95 is priced so low that it makes this review feel like the confession of a thief. (There, it only took me four paragraphs to get to the actual subject of the review, which is a non-Leica lens that is definitely not a Noctilux… that I lawfully purchased, to be clear).

Mechanics

Despite looking like a straight up knockoff, the TTArtisan lens isn’t simply a reverse engineered “Not”ilux. Compared to the Leica Noctilux, the TTArtisan’s optical formula is made of more elements in more groups, and it has more aperture blades. It also has one fewer aspherical element. With these many differences, how will it directly compare to the Leica? Loan me $12,000 and I’ll tell you. 

The price point of the TTArtisan 50mm F/0.95 makes it easy to dismiss as cheap. This prejudice is immediately challenged from the moment when we prize open the lens’ upscale packaging, and again by the reassuring weight and tight construction of this solid, beautiful hunk of metal and glass. This lens is dense and as heavy as it looks. Maybe heavier.

If your wrist needs some soothing after weightlifting with this lens (I am never unaware that I’m holding it), the aperture ring will provide you with a healthy dose of haptic therapy. The ring rotates with a buttery continuity, coming to rest at each half stop with a subtle and satisfying click. Unusually, the distance between apertures is inconsistent, with the spaces between settings being smaller at each end. This may require a bit of getting used to, maybe not. I hardly noticed it in use.

In Use (Focusing)

The most grueling test of any focusing system is photographing my kids; if I can rangefinder focus on my little moving targets when it’s past their bedtime, I can focus on anything. While I can definitely make it work with the TTArtisan 50mm F/0.95, it doesn’t come easy. The giant barrel of the lens intrudes into the 50mm frame lines of my Leica M (not a consideration with an EVF) presenting a slight challenge to framing, and moving the focus ring is a bit of a chore.

The focus ring itself is dampened and smooth, but I would prefer if it were just a bit looser, if only to make one aspect of this lens less laborious. When first getting accustomed to using it, I would switch to an overhand grip without thinking (blocking the viewfinder), not because it was more effective than underhand, I was just willing to try anything to get the thing to move. 

If focusing a 35mm Summicron-M, with its compact size, focus tab, and smooth, short throw is like parallel parking a MINI Cooper, focusing the TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95, with its massive lens barrel, hefty weight, narrow depth of field, and stiff, long throw, is like parallel parking a dump truck. I can focus the 35mm with a fingertip. To cover the full throw in a rush with the TTArtisan 50mm, I’m actually swinging my elbow.

Calibrating Focus for Rangefinder

The upscale TTArtisan packaging includes an invitation to calibrate the lens in the form of a calibration chart and screwdriver. I had hoped to be able to stick with the factory setting, but while shooting a series of portraits I noticed significant disparity between my viewfinder and the image preview at closer focal distances. It seemed the lens was back focusing, so out came the calibration kit for a quick fix. Or so I had hoped.

My first reading with the calibration chart confirmed the lens was, in fact, back focusing. I adjusted the lens according to the chart reading using the included tool, which I can report was not nearly as nerve-wracking as fiddling with a lens might seem. Once I confirmed a successful result using the chart, I field-tested the lens. Hmmm… still back focusing. After repeating this process several times, I kid you not, I made a completely blind adjustment that seemed to work and retired my screwdriver.

Although TTArtisan have given us the option to self-calibrate, it also seems they have given us an uncalibratable(?) lens. To its credit, it is not prone to focus shift as a consequence of aperture, but there has been some talk over at 35mmc that the TTArtisan 50 f/0.95 is actually closer to a 52mm lens, (Leica rangefinders are calibrated for 51.6mm) making it impossible to perfectly calibrate for rangefinder focusing throughout its full range. The focal plane will always shift when focusing closer than two meters and this effect will be more pronounced at wider apertures. Obviously live-view camera owners need not worry about this, but for rangefinder owners who may not have access to an LCD screen or live view, this means that when focusing closer than two meters, you can either intentionally compensate using the focus ring, or focus then do a little lean away from the subject to make up the difference.

Another trick I use to get a crisp shot in challenging scenarios is to set the drive mode to Continuous and “drag” focus while making multiple exposures in order to hedge my bets. This manual focus version of “spray ‘n’ pray” compensates equally well for focus shift and shallow DoF. 

Image Quality and Performance

The TTArtisan 50mm F/0.95 is neither clinical nor transparent. Just what is this lens? Well, it’s an affordable, ultra-fast, character lens. If you know what you’re getting, it might find a home in your camera bag. 

While I haven’t yet used the TTArtisan with a film camera, I found it played quite well with the Leica M8’s APS-H sensor. The crop sensor uses more of the optical sweet spot of the lens, meaning less vignetting and softness in the corners of the image, both of which are rampant on this lens wide open. (If you’re considering this lens for a full-frame camera, assume that the faults on the edge of my crop sensor shots will be more pronounced, and consult some other reviews that test its performance in this context).

I agree, in principle, with the idea that a lens should serve your vision rather than provide it, but I’m not above using the rendering of this lens at f/0.95 to obfuscate all of the unavoidable visual mess around a subject (i.e. a house full of toys and unfolded laundry). It’s also just exciting to alter reality with an image. Even with the optical compromises at the wide end (softness, low contrast, color shift, and a buffet of chromatic aberration) the mind-bending subject isolation possible with this lens is so tempting to (over)use. 

When the light fades and exposure demands it, the maximum aperture of f/0.95 just shines. Detail, punchy contrast and rich colours are all possible here, but also with a bit of glow (spherical aberration). This makes it ideal for portraits in moody ambient lighting. 

To put things in perspective, there is a slider in Lightroom for almost every optical flaw the TTA is afflicted with at f/0.95, but not one that will give you the 3D rendering that this lens has in spades. Well, nothing that won’t make your photos look like a screen grab from a Zoom call with a simulated background… These days there’s something to be said for a lens which makes images that could never be mistaken for an iPhone photo – even in portrait mode. 

For the best background blurriness this lens has on offer, get closer to your subject. The farther away the subject, the more frantic the bokeh tends to get (thanks to the Focus Shift Blog for figuring this out). Things tend to calm considerably and are quite dreamy at closer focus distances, though I was able to make some wiry looking nonsense by shooting tree branches at MFD. 

You’ll benefit from pairing this lens with a camera with a fast top shutter speed and a Neutral Density filter, as it will allow you to use the lens wide open in brighter conditions, should you so choose. I didn’t use an ND filter with the TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95, and whenever I was walking in the sun and unable to access the magic sauce of wider apertures, I did find myself questioning my life choices.

The light-vacuuming ability of the TTArtisan effectively compensates for the rather sad maximum usable ISO of 640 on the Leica M8. If you would like the option of shooting at lower ISO (film or digital), this lens will get you there. I made images with this lens in near darkness that just would not be possible or usable with any other lens, and in these conditions the worst of its characteristics, such as CA, are less of a concern.

Flaring is well controlled, in my experience, but I have been able to wash out large portions of an image by shooting directly into sunlight (see photo).

Closing Thoughts

To use a smattering of lens clichés, the TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95 is an ultra-fast character lens that is able to render dramatic 3D-looking images with a medium-format look. It is sharp (in center), contrasty (when stopped down a bit), and has accurate colors (except at wider aperture, where things cool considerably). 

I find it’s helpful to think of things in terms of their opposite, and my main lens, the 35mm Summicron-M Aspherical provides a strong counterpoint to the TTA.

Whereas the Summicron is near perfect, optically corrected to be flat and neutral, the TTArtisan 50mm F/0.95 has a bold signature. 

Whereas the 35mm is light, compact, and ergonomically superior, the 50mm f/0.95 is a beastly, viewfinder crowding, carpal-tunnel-inducing tank of a lens. 

The Summicron is $3000. The TTArtisan is $750

To use another analogy, the 35mm Summicron is like a set of studio monitors and the TTArtisan is a pair of BEATS headphones. If you want ultimate fidelity, listen on monitors. If you want the bass to rattle your fillings, go with the BEATS. If you want your images to be viewed like there was no lens, use the ‘cron. If you want to filter your photographic vision through a (literal) lens that can seriously bend some light and make things pop, try the TTArtisan.

On the nature of ultra-fast lenses, some will argue that there is little point to investing in one if you’re not going to shoot it full throttle all day and live your best max. ap. life. Bro, the TTA all but eliminates this consideration; you can have an extra stop or two and only use it when your art demands it. 

Of course, there are offerings from TTArtisan, 7Artisans, Zeiss, Voigtlander and others that will be almost as fast and also less expensive and lighter. What it really comes down to is whether or not the TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95 is worth the weight. When I want to shoot by candlelight, this lens says “As long as you have the forearms to hold me, I got you.” 

Buy the TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95 from B&H Photo

Or find one used on eBay

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[Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates at B&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

The post TTArtisan 50mm f/0.95 Lens Review – Ultra-fast, Ultra-affordable appeared first on Casual Photophile.

And how many times have we said that?

Enough times that I probably should.

Right. List it then.

…

Go ahead. Do it.

…

I knew it.

What do you mean you knew it? I was really just about to.

Come on man, we go through this every few months and it’s the same damn thing. It’s been three years since you wrote That Article and here you are, still wringing your hands over your M2. Just make a decision already. Either you’re letting go or you’re holding on.

Okay, fine. We’re figuring this out today then.

And if you don’t?

Then I ship it over to James regardless and have him get rid of it.

That doesn’t sound exciting.

Then I’ll buy us some In-N-Out afterwards.

Now we’re talking. Let’s figure it out then. I know you’re a nerd – you write for a camera website. History might have something to do with it.

Ehhh, maybe? The Leica M2 is definitely one of the big ones. It isn’t the most storied (the Leica II and M3 take those spots), but it’s still an “important” camera. I’ll take James’s point-of-view that the M2 is more important to subsequent M-cameras than even the M3. Whereas the M3 established the basic design, the M2 perfected it. It’s what every subsequent M (save for the M5) has been styled after, and the only one made entirely of metal. Photographically speaking, the M2 has also served countless shooters well, and has earned its keep in the photographic canon. Along with the M3, it set the standard for the 35mm rangefinder, and the standard for 35mm photography at the time. Hell, it even served as the inspiration for my current favorite camera of all time. It’s one of the few cameras that is without question legendary, and more or less deserves its historical status.

Sounds like you like it.

Not exactly. On historical merit alone, it absolutely deserves a place in any camera collection. But then again, I’m not much of a camera collector. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that whenever I shoot it, I’m holding a piece of history and taking part in it, but it doesn’t really get me going. If anything, it scares me away from taking it outside and using it, and it actually scares others who know what it is. Sometimes historical pieces are better left on the shelf, but the thought of leaving a camera on the shelf for the rest of its life doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. So no, it’s not the history that I’m clinging to.

Alright, what about build quality, the cRiSp DeTeNtS and such? You’re a sucker for those kinds of things.

Could be. Many look to the Leica M-series as the benchmark of quality, feel and mechanical precision, and I have to agree with them. Even though my example is a little beat up, the quality shines through. I wouldn’t describe the M2 as a camera with which to be foolhardy, on the order of a Nikon F or F2 which can take the abuse, but it’s still an incredibly precise, beautifully built instrument. It’s a metal camera ready for anything, yet offers a silky smooth feel few cameras possess. One can’t help but appreciate that; I certainly do.

I also don’t currently own a camera that’s built quite like the M2. I love my Olympus Pen FT to death, but I do miss the silky smooth ratchet of my M2’s advance lever. My Nikon FM is a far more practical instrument, but it lacks the refinement of the M2. My Nikon F3 as well as my Rolleiflex 2.8D are the real contenders, but again, neither of those cameras are quite as concise and elegant as the M2. The only camera I’ve ever tried that approaches this quality is the Topcon RE Super and the Leica IIIc, and I’d rather shoot the M2 over those two.

Well that seals it, just keep it. I’m gonna go an-

Wait hold on a second, I wasn’t fini-

For real? Come on dude…

I know I’m being nitpicky, but this is important. I like how smooth and well-built it is, but that’s not why I like taking pictures. If I liked something just based on the way that it felt, then I’d be playing with a toy more than I’d be taking pictures. I love the way the M2 feels, but making good images matters more to me.

So what about that image-making process? If you want to keep it around, you’re going to have to like that part of it.

I gave the M2 a ton of grief on this front in my first article, but I’ve actually come around to it in recent years. I still don’t like how limited the lens selection is, the separation of viewfinder and lens, and the loading system, but I’ve learned to live with them. It’s a smooth, simple camera that makes the photographic process enjoyable if you’re willing to shift your shooting style to fit.

I’m still an SLR guy, but I’ve come to appreciate rangefinders more through this camera, even though I still find them a little strange. And even though I’ve blasphemed by choosing a Nikkor as my M2’s primary lens, I can understand the appeal of the Leica M system after shooting the Summicron V3, even though I still find that system entirely too expensive. They’re truly top of the line lenses, and I don’t begrudge anybody for shooting this system exclusively.

…but?

But, that’s where it all ends for me. I’ve taken quite a few memorable photos with my M2 and enjoy it while I take it out, but the needle hasn’t quite moved far enough. It remains an occasional shoot for me simply because the rangefinder way of shooting doesn’t come naturally to me, not to mention most of my cameras outclass it spec-wise and are quicker on the draw. I love the thing, but I just don’t think I’m built for it.

Well then, let’s go the other way. What do you hate about it?

You know, I really don’t hate the camera in camera terms. I like it. It’s fun to take out on occasion, and when I do I usually enjoy it. Leicas aren’t the most whimsical gadgets out there, but they’re luxurious and certainly capable of the spectacular.

If there’s anything I have an issue with, it’s everything surrounding the camera and the brand. Whether we like it or not, shooting and owning a Leica means something. The script logo and red dot have long been associated with the photographic elite; it implies a higher class, status, even taste when it comes to photography and its processes. Leica has insisted (sometimes to a fault) that their specific, rangefinder oriented way is best, and have preached this over the past century with their nose held firmly in the air. Remember that ad which said automation was for people who don’t know how to focus? And light meters were for those who don’t know how to eyeball it? In recent years they’ve leaned even more heavily into the luxury-oriented, exclusivity-brand part of its identity; one could be forgiven if they thought Leica was more a brand of luxury than a brand of photographic performance, though the performance of these cameras and lenses is admittedly top-notch.

The Leica brand of luxury, opulence, and conspicuousness does come with some strange consequences out in the field. I’ve brought the M2 to social events and it immediately becomes a talking point, both by those who know what it is and those who don’t. But then they tend to want to figure out why I own such a camera, and even assume that I must be at least “good at” or “serious” about photography if I own such a thing. Leicas also tend to raise questions about social status; Leica M’s are naturally flashy cameras, and they make statements about your financial situation the same way wearing expensive designer clothes do, or driving an expensive car. It’s a flex, as the kids say.

But honestly, flexing like that doesn’t appeal to me. Luxury and exclusivity just isn’t my thing. Make me choose between eating sushi at Nobu in Malibu and eating some dollar tacos out of the trunk of my car in a parking lot and I’ll take the tacos every time. Make me choose between some thousand dollar Jordans and some plain white Stan Smiths and I’ll rock the Stans. Make me choose between the Leica and my Nikon FM, and I’ll take the FM because it’s easier for me to shoot, and I won’t be absolutely crushed if it gets stolen. I’ve just never been inclined toward luxury, I guess, or even being public. I tend to keep to myself, and the things I truly enjoy tend to be commonplace. So I guess at heart, Leicas just aren’t me.

Okay, that makes sense. But why did you get the camera in the first place if it’s not in your wheelhouse anyway?

That’s a good question. To review it for the site, probably? I felt like I had to know what the benchmark was in order to get a better perspective on the camera world in general. The M is what everything gets compared to, so I had to get one in order to do my job better.

That seems plausible, but it also sounds like a cop-out, if I’m honest. I know you – there’s gotta be another reason.

Well… I suppose owning one was a bit of a personal goal.

Just a bit of a goal? I remember you used to dream about owning one.

Okay fine, you’re right. I did dream about owning one someday. I remember reading about HCB when I was younger and wanting to imitate his style in part by owning an M-camera. And maybe when I was younger the Leica did represent something to aspire to, something that represented that I was “serious” about photography. I thought that maybe if I finally owned one, I’d finally belong to “the club” or that it would help take my photography to the next level.

So then why are you criticizing that idea at all? You yourself thought and felt all of those things you seem to dislike.

That’s true. I admit, I did get caught up in the mythos of it all. But when I fulfilled that goal, I didn’t notice much change. Even worse, I felt like I wasn’t myself when I finally shot one. It was disappointing, and I don’t think I was prepared for that at all, nor did anybody prepare me for it.

But even though I did buy into the myth, I still think there’s aspects of that myth, and of Leica culture in general, that deserve criticism. Leica has always had a strange way of interpreting the idea that gear makes you shoot differently. The idea is fundamentally true, but I’ve noticed that Leica and their fanbase take that idea to its extreme more often than not.

Leica posture themselves as the Greatest of All Time, the only tool for the real photographer, the only choice for those who just have that “DNA” in them, or whatever, and it just rubs me the wrong way. This kind of branding is beneficial for Leica and their acolytes as it generates desirability through exclusivity, justifies their undeniably high prices realtive to capability, and makes the owners feel all fuzzy. Unfortunately, this also puts aspiring photographers into a very tough situation.

Leicas are just too expensive and too specialized for the majority of those shooters. And yet when we look at the majority of film photography based-media on YouTube and in the blogosphere, Leicas are omnipresent, and painted as an ideal to aspire to. This over-saturation can make some feel as if they’re missing out on the pure photographic experience, and that their photography just won’t have that magic without a Leica, even if they may not consciously think so.

Regardless of whatever marketing brainworms and endless internet prostelytization might suggest, the fact remains that most shooters don’t need Leicas. Pick up a Minolta SRT, a Nikon FM, hell, a Pentax K1000, and you’ll get the same spec as a classic M2/3/4, plus a light meter. If you want a rangefinder which lets you see the entire field of view in focus, go get an Olympus 35 SP or a Canonet QL17. If you want interchangeable lenses, go get a Voigtlander Bessa R or wait around for a fairly priced Minolta CLE. I personally don’t think the quality disparity isn’t big enough to be considered essential, and the extra money saved means more film and development, which means more images. I promise you won’t be missing out on much if your main concern is making images.

This isn’t to say that Leica and their fanbase are the devil incarnate (although the occasionally hyper-aggressive comment sections and emails telling us to kill ourselves over anti-Leica sentiment tempt me to say so). Leicas are totally suitable for a lot of people. Collectors love them because they never lose value (often rising in value over time, in fact), have an illustrious history, and come with a nearly endless list of collectible accessories. Hobbyists and those who tend to admire cameras as objects d’art also tend to love Leicas because of their elegant design, high-quality build, and slick operation. Rightly so! And I won’t begrudge shooters whose styles fit the specific layout of Leica cameras perfectly – that can certainly be the case for some. All these people are right. I just think the popular perception of the Leica M as an end-all be-all perfect product isn’t realistic, nor helpful to the average shooter.

As for me, the Leica M2 didn’t help me shoot anything new, nor did it fit me better than other cameras in my arsenal. The values it appeals to as a camera and as an object just aren’t things I value. I got it because I dreamed of it, but the dream didn’t pan out, and I have to be okay with that.

Nice sermon there, champ. I’m sure the choir will appreciate it – others not so much. You still didn’t explain why you still have it. Judging by your words here you should’ve sold it a long time ago.

That’s what’s so confusing about this. Even though it’s absolutely not my kind of camera, I know deep down that I can’t let it go. At this point, I think it’s personal.

Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Call me crazy, but I think this also has something to do with you dreaming of owning one.

I think you’re right. However I feel about the Leica M2 in the context of camera culture, it nevertheless represents for me a personal milestone as a photographer and writer for this website. I started this journey with quite literally nothing; nobody passed down a camera to me, nobody took photography seriously in the family, and growing up I didn’t know anybody that shared the same deep interest in the art form. I just decided one day to get a Costco pack of Superia and a Nikon FG off eBay, and followed that path all the way to my dream camera – this Leica M2.

I realize this still frames Leicas as aspirational cameras, but I think there’s a difference between aspiring towards Leica as a pass to photographic legitimacy and aspiring towards them to commemorate the journey you’ve taken with photography. I don’t view the M2 as my pass into the Serious Photographer Club, but I do view it as a representation of the years of work I’ve put into being a photographer and a writer for the site. To me it’s more like a trophy, but one that I can use every once in a while. I just wish I could find it in me to use it more often.

But you still use it, right?

Yeah, I do. And I can see myself using the Leica in some capacity for the rest of my life, partly because I know it can outlast me.

So can most of your cameras.

That’s true. But there’s an interesting side-effect of Leica’s obsessive, borderline religious fanbase – there’s always somebody Leica-obsessed enough to know how to fix one. Leica has an unusually strong repair culture, which features repair people whom the Leica faithful actually know by name. These folks know the cameras inside and out, can keep track of the myriad absurdities of the brand, and keep these cameras running in tip-top condition, ensuring their survival for generations to come, perhaps even longer than most camera brands.

I mention this because there’s a part of me that would like to give my future children (or at least young relatives) something I never got growing up – a nice tool to learn photography on, and an environment to practice in. The Leica probably stands the best chance at survival for future generations – much as I love my F3, its flexible circuit board might die someday suddenly, and there aren’t many obsessive Pen FT specialists around. Sure, most repair people can repair my Nikon FM, but there’s something about passing down a Leica specifically that makes me feel just a little bit more fuzzy inside.

For them, the Leica M2 could mean something different. It could become a family heirloom and help start a brand new legacy of photographers in my family. It would mean the world to me to pass this passion on for generations through a legendary camera like this. And who knows, maybe they’ll learn to love this camera and make it theirs in a way that I couldn’t. It’d be nice to see that happen, someday.

Well then. I think you’ve got your answer right there.

I think so too. Even though I can’t abide by the culture and image that surrounds it, I think I’ve come to my own reasons for keeping the Leica. And I think anybody that looks into getting a Leica, or any hyped up camera, should make sure that they’re taking that leap for their own reasons, and not for some transient notions of what these things are supposed to be.

That took way longer than I expected, but I’m glad we did this.

We? Try “I”. You’ve been arguing with yourself the whole time, you weirdo.

Right. Quarantine’s a hell of a drug.

Tell me about it. I should also remind you that we made a deal. Double-double animal style extra toast, fries well-done, root beer?

You know it.

We bringing the Leica?

…

Nah. Don’t wanna spill sauce on it. Take the Nikon.

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The post Should I Sell My Leica? An Argument With Myself appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Like countless other experiments in the realm of camera gear, this unusual piece of equipment first gained interest on Kickstarter. The inventors and manufacturers based in Guangzhou, China launched their campaign in October of 2019 and shipped the first version a couple of months later, just in time for Christmas. Over the last year the company expanded their product to include various mounts, which makes it an interesting piece of equipment for a wider range of people. 

But being an 18mm f/8 lens with a fixed aperture and focus field, there are significant limitations that you should be aware of before you go out and buy one. First, let us work out what this thing really is.

As implied, defining the Funleader isn’t so simple. With six glass elements in four groups and multi-coating, it seems to be just another pancake lens. But it feels more like an accessory. It “fits” a compact Sony a6000 or a Leica CL, but looks ridiculous on a Sony a7 or a Leica SL. It protrudes about as far from the body as the legendary Zeiss Hologon 16mm f/8 (11mm to be exact) which is less than most camera grips, but comparing it to the Hologon would not be fair. You pay 150 bucks for the Funleader – add a zero at the end of that price and we’re closer to the cost of the classic Zeiss glass. 

Of course, there are reasons for the price difference. One stems from the fact that the Hologon is an excellent lens despite its very unique design, while the Funleader seems indefinable. If it is a lens, then it’s not a very convincing one. The Funleader vignettes heavily and suffers from coma. The Hologon, though a tad wider, handles these problem areas better. 

But maybe this misses the point – Funleader does not even try to be a proper lens in terms of optical performance. The brand’s original Kickstarter proudly describes their product as being “not a lens for high-quality optical performance, but a lens for playful usage.” It goes even further by writing that with this product you can get the same vignette effect as with “Lomo cameras,” with a higher level of detail and better color accuracy – which I guess is true. 

Though it disappoints in regards to certain criteria, the quality of the photographs I get from my Sony’s 24 megapixel sensor is pretty decent. It is not a low-light champion, neither is it a bokeh-master. It is a super-wide angle lens that keeps everything in focus from 0.8 meters to infinity. There is nothing to twist and turn, no adjustments to be made, no settings to be chosen. Testing it thoroughly and pixel-peeping the files is pointless. You will not be bringing this thing to a professional shoot. Well, maybe you will, but not to photograph with it. Which brings me back to the question of what the Funleader cap lens really is. 

If someone asks me whether they should spend money on a new camera body or buy an excellent lens for their system instead, I will always recommend investing into great glass. Especially with digital cameras, the life span of modern technology has shortened year after year. The features from your favorite brand’s newest flagship are outdated by the time the product hits the shelves. Something new is always underway. The only thing that remains consistent is the mathematics of lenses. 

What once worked on an analog camera will in nearly all cases work just as well when adapted to digital. So why should you buy this cheap lens instead of saving for an optically better alternative? Because you can literally throw the Funleader on your camera instead of a body cap and still buy that premium masterpiece of a lens you have been longing for since the day you first stumbled across it.

If you view the Funleader as an alternative to your unspectacular and relatively useless body cap, it suddenly throws all criticism overboard and convinces with its solid metal design and an unrivaled functionality. It is a dumb lens, but a genius body cap. And there lies the joy of using it.

Sure, Funleader did not invent something new here. Olympus has been offering a 9mm f/8 body cap lens long before this product came along. But the Olympus version is a fisheye and has a little lever to focus with. Plus it is made out of plastic. I would argue that Funleader completed what Olympus had begun and made a better product than what the established Japanese brand came up with. Funleader decided not to offer their version for micro-four-thirds cameras, therefore the mentioned cap lenses are not direct competitors, but the Funleader lens does fit most other current camera bodies are – the Funleader cap lens is available for Sony E-, Fuji X-, Leica L-, Canon RF- and Nikon Z-mount cameras.

I own a number of adapters and lenses that I can use on my digital body, but none of those stay on it as much and as often as the Funleader. I went on trips with a bag of beautiful glass but ended up shooting the entirety of my experience with my camera’s body cap. The simplicity and constraints are what makes this product outstanding, and therefore its biggest weaknesses are actually its greatest strengths. On Kickstarter, the product is marketed as a small, light and playful lens. But while it really cannot compete with other small and light pancake lenses out there in terms of quality, the playfulness just makes it an ideal accessory. 

So the next time you misplace your body cap, don’t go out and buy another piece of plastic. Choose something more useful. Treat yourself to the best body cap lens that currently exists. 

Get your Funleader Cap Lens here

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The post Funleader 18mm F/8 Cap Lens Review appeared first on Casual Photophile.

The M6 has such a glorious reputation that the thought of writing about it seems to demean it. “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image” and neither should you judge the supposed pinnacle of German engineering. But occasionally the untouchable has to be examined, without silk gloves. 

In 1984 when the M6 was first introduced, it was especially popular amongst photojournalists and street photographers. Its compact design and the sturdy magnesium alloy body made it a discreet companion for tough environments. It eventually became the longest-produced Leica rangefinder.

In 1998 when the original M6 was discontinued, the Leica M6 TTL stepped in for another four years without introducing major aesthetic changes besides a bigger shutter dial. And still to this day the M6 influences the appearance of Leica’s M-mount rangefinders – even the digital ones. 

The Leica M6 is a fully mechanical masterpiece allowing the user to shoot at any shutter speed from 1/1000 of a second to one second, or bulb mode, all without batteries. The two LR44 batteries hidden beneath a circular cap on the camera’s front are only there to power the internal light meter.

The camera has some weight to it. 560 grams does not sound like a lot, but considering the body’s size it does become a pretty hefty tool to carry around your neck all day. Though the internal mechanisms weren’t as robust as earlier Leicas, nor hand-assembled in the old method, my years shooting the Leica M6 have always felt confident.

Aesthetically it’s gorgeous, the classic Leica design. Ergonomically it’s similarly classic – in ways both good and bad. Holding it in one hand is not all that easy, because we are missing any sort of grip to hold on to. But since the M6 is so coveted, maybe gripping it with all of your fingers is not that bad of an idea. After all, that big red dot is especially visible on the Leica M6 (all previous models where a bit more discreet about their heritage). 

As with most cameras, the top plate of the Leica M6 is where we find most of its controls. The shutter button sits in the middle of the advance lever and allows us to screw in any regular shutter cable release. The film counter lies right next to it and is very clear and easy to read. Once we’ve finished the roll, flipping up a small lever that sits right beneath the bold “LEICA M6” engraving on the front allows us to rewind film using the lever situated at a slight angle on the left of the top plate. This mechanism was first introduced on the Leica M4 and accelerated the rewinding process over the previous M2 and M3. The film counter will reset itself once we unload the film through the bottom plate. Unloading an M6 is easy. Loading, on the other hand, will be foreign to some.

To an SLR shooter, the loading process on a Leica camera can appear a bit cumbersome. You first need to remove the bottom plate by rotating a knob on the opposite end of the tripod mount. Then, once you have removed the entire plate the film strip needs to be expanded to reach the second spool on the opposite side. Unexperienced users will usually waste one or two shots per roll by making sure the spool really catches onto the strip before reattaching the bottom plate. Otherwise you risk getting to 37, 38 and 39 shots on the film counter before realizing the 36 moments you had tried to capture previously are really nothing more but a fading memory. From my own experience I would go as far as to classify this incident as a traumatic event.

Leicas have been loaded this way since the M4 came out in 1967, but I would argue the previous models’ loading mechanism was actually smoother. Though you had to insert the film leader into a separate spool which slowed down the process, chances of not exposing a film at all were very low. So while Leica’s “bottom loading” is not especially convenient, the process has sure been improved over the years – at least concerning speed. 

A less debatable “downgrade” from predecessors is the M6’s ISO dial on the back. While older Leicas like the M3 and M4 were equipped with a beautiful metal plate, newer cameras have a much simpler, plastic dial. Though the M6’s ISO dial – which is coupled with the internal light meter – goes all the way up to 6400, there is something about the little sun and light bulb painting on the back of older models that really conveys the brand’s attention to details. The functionality may have increased (those earlier Leicas with their beautiful ISO dials had no light meter), but the camera back has lost some of its charm.

Talking about purpose: there is no wheel for exposure compensation on any film Leica rangefinder. Therefore pushing or pulling your film requires you to set a lower or higher ISO respectively on this dial instead. The decision to leave out any additional buttons and levers is what makes this camera so simple and reliable.

Looking at the very few changes Leica has made to its cameras since the M6 came out, it seems that Germans feel they’ve found the quintessential formula for rangefinders. The original M6 came in two colors, black and silver. Both were available with three different finders that featured different magnifications and frame lines. Then came the M6 TTL that allowed for through-the-lens flash synchronization, and Leica also introduced countless limited edition specials of this camera to commemorate many things – the discovery of America, the Danish Royal Wedding, or the turn of the millennium, just to name a few.

But the differences in these special editions are pretty frivolous (except to fat-pursed collectors). The changes concerning the finder magnification are probably the most important ones to keep in mind, since they influence the combination of frame lines which the camera displays, which models are best for which lenses, and which are best for certain types of photography.

It is important to note that most of the Leica M6 viewfinders indicate two frame lines simultaneously. If you were to buy an M6 with a 0.72x magnification finder, which is the most common one, shows the following frame line combination: either the 28 and 90mm, 35 and 135mm, or 50 and 75mm focal length frame lines in pairs. With the 0.85x magnification the 28mm focal length cannot be previewed through the finder. On this model the frame line combinations are as follows: 35 and 135mm, 50 and 75mm, plus the 90mm frame line displayed on its own. Last but not least, the 0.58x magnification finder displays the frame line combinations 28 and 90mm, 50 and 75mm, and the 35mm frame line on its own. 

There are a lot of numbers that can to be looked at when buying an M6. Real Leica aficionados will consider the serial number on the top plate, look for special editions produced in limited quantities, or find out which viewfinder is the rarest one just to up the value of their newly acquired treasure. But luckily for less particular shoppers, any Leica M6 is a solid choice that will always deliver on the great user experience that makes Leica cameras so unique. 

Buying a Leica is always an investment, not just because of the price tag or the cult you get to be a part of. A well cared for Leica M6 is simply a reliable tool. It is a camera that does not get in the way of your photographic journey. It can even fit into your pockets. This camera does not try to be great, it simply is. And the engineers at Leica worked hard for it.

If you compare the M6 to its predecessors there are countless ways in which it’s been improved. Though the Leica M5 has its own appeal, back when it was first introduced the general response was quite bad. Leica therefore really had to earn back its reputation after the misstep. Perhaps for this reason, the Leica M6 is humble, and maybe that is why it’s such a good Leica to own. It does feature the red dot more prominantly than the M3, M4 or M5 but not out of pride or pretentiousness. The red dot is a burden. It raises expectations, and the M6 manages to meet those expectations. It convinces professionals, enchants amateurs and leaves a lasting impression on everyone in between. 

Maybe writing about the Leica M6 wasn’t that dangerous after all, even without my silk gloves on. If there’s one takeaway from this review, it might be that trying to temper my everlasting euphoria for Leicas is simply impossible. Maybe because they are just too good. 

Want your own Leica M6?

Get one on eBay here

Browse for one in our shop, F Stop Cameras

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[Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates at B&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

The post Simple But Sophisticated – the Leica M6 appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Nowadays, many professional photographers use zoom lenses (Steve McCurry, for instance, now prefers a 24-70, as does Pulitzer Prize-Winning photojournalist Carol Guzy). But even these zooms stay within fairly standard limits. 

In full-frame equivalent, how many of us have shot with something wider than a 28mm lens? Some pretty large percentage of readers’ hands drop. Okay, how about wider than a 20mm? We’re left with a slim percentage. Wider than 16? Now we’re really down to a rare few. 

This is a review of the Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical lens for the M-mount, version III. 12mm on full-frame is about as wide as it gets, especially when we exclude the non-rectilinear designs known as fisheyes. Among this ultrawide echelon there’s the Fujifilm 8-16mm, which is equivalent to a 12-24mm on full frame and the mind-blowing Voigtlander Heliar Hyper-Wide 10mm for Leica and Canon. This year, James reviewed 7.5mm fisheye for Minolta, which is insanely wide but also extremely silly in that it produces orbs for images.

The truth is that 90% of my photos are in that sweet spot of 35-50mm. My favorite lenses are the Carl Zeiss Contax G 45mm, the Pentax Limited 43mm, The Carl Zeiss ZM 35mm, and the Carl Zeiss Hasselblad 80mm. (Can you tell I like Zeiss?). 

So why shoot something as freaking wide as 12mm? Because it is so freaking wide. 

First Things First

Cosina-Voigtlander (CV) is a popular lens maker for Leica-shooters particularly. Voigtlander offers an extensive M-mount lineup at far more affordable prices than Leica. Having shot a handful of Voigtlander lenses, I can say that contra the crowd, I am not overwhelmingly in love with the build of CV lenses. Oftentimes, I find the aperture and focus rings too loose for my tastes and the finger tabs for the aperture rings are often too thin to inspire awe of their quality. The Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical III lens is a general exception to this feeling, probably owing to the fact that the lens is a hefty chunk of metal. Weighing in at 10 ounces, this lens is what the meme-folk might call “thicc.” 

Everything about the Heliar is oversized, from the beefy focusing ring with its Grand Canyon-esque knurls to the integrated petal-style hood. I think that heft can go a long way toward inspiring confidence in a lens that is not naturally as well finished as a Lecia lens might be. 

The front element is also big, though not as large as the seductive glass of ultrawide fisheyes (seriously, is there anything more beautiful than the front element of the Minolta 16mm?). Surrounding the glass are concentric ridges that remind me of a recessed watch sub-dial. 

In contrast to other M-mount Voigtlander lenses, the 12mm Heliar lacks the slim fin that acts as a finger tab for the aperture ring replacing it with a simple knurled ridge on otherwise smooth aperture ring. For me, this is an unobtrusive replacement for what I feel is not only an obtrusive piece but also an embarrassing one. The fin tab on other Voigtlander lenses reminds me of the flexible, plastic nose pads on wireframe glasses. Though it serves a purpose, it seems flimsy and distracts from the overall design. 

As for the aspect that I am less enthusiastic about, I still take issue with the standard Voigtlander typeface design choices. Leica, I think, is perhaps the pinnacle of distinctive and unique typeface design when it comes to their lenses. In comparison to Leica with its unique orange numbering and its own variation of the standard Deutsches Institut für Normung (DIN) typeface, the Voigtlander seems clearly more boring. 

But even compared to the Zeiss ZM lenses, the Voigtlander just doesn’t have much going for it. The typeface is as plain-Jane as any sans serif, the font is generally small, and the only two colors Voigtlander uses in any capacity are white and red (save for black). 

I know I’m taking issue with something incredibly minor, but if not now, when? If not me, who? All in all, I find Voigtlander lenses to look like a black Hyundai Elantra in lens form.  

Shooting Blind

Elanta or not, any good ride can be pimped out. The same is true for most lenses. In this case, you won’t be adding filters, but the easiest (some may essential) way to sex-up your wide angle lens is to use it in conjunction with an external viewfinder. In this case, any viewfinder with 12mm frame lines will work (though for most cameras, any finder with frame lines under 28mm will help). 

External viewfinders are an undeniably neat photography accoutrement. It’s like having a lens with your lens in true Xzibit fashion. That said, a 12mm external viewfinder will set you back about 200 dollars. Is it worth it? 

In all honesty, I can’t say, because I didn’t use any external viewfinder when shooting with this lens. What I can say, is that shooting blind was not an utter failure. The outer edges of my viewfinder essentially represent 26mm frame lines— a far cry from the 12mm frame lines I should technically have in order to accurately frame my shot. 

Shooting blind is an awkward sensation, no doubt, but not impossible. The key refrain I kept in my mind while shooting was, “Remember, you’re getting so much more than you think.” My viewfinder provided to me what I essentially thought of as the center of my frame, and from there I then forced myself to consider what might be slipping into the periphery of the shot. 

The second and third versions of this lens are rangefinder coupled, meaning that looking through my internal viewfinder did allow me to confirm focus. However, with a lens as wide as 12mm, almost everything is in focus all of the time, particularly since the lens aperture only opens up to f/5.6. 

I cannot imagine using this (or any) lens without any framing whatsoever, but a normal viewfinder will get you enough of the way that you’re somewhere in between slicing sashimi with a splitting axe and slicing it with a yanagi. 

Perspective, perspective, perspective 

I recently moved from Boston to New York City to start a Ph.D. program at Columbia University. There is a total sense of strangeness to that fact not made the least less strange by the raging pandemic. The joke is stale by now, but Ph.D. by Zoom is not exactly what I had in mind in the years spent dreaming about this season of life. 

I can’t say that I’m crushed by any aspect of the situation—I’m exceedingly lucky—but I can say that the walls of my apartment seem so much closer nowadays and that sitting at my desk in class feels increasingly claustrophobic. 

It is hard for anyone to push their sight into frames other than their own. To do so is what we spend years teaching in school, be it seeing, for example, from the perspective of Okonkwo from Things Fall Apart, or, as another example, from the perspectives of Irish living through the Great Famine. 

However, the main vocation each of us must come to intimate terms with is understanding what it means to see from own perspective. This is the task of self-understanding. When I shoot with my 43/45/50 lenses, I am in the mode of seeing naturally. It is through my eye that the image is composed, and that composition is inherently tied to what I see when I’m not looking through a viewfinder, that is, what I see normally. 

With longer and shorter lenses, compression and expansion are introduced to our images and suddenly the images we’re producing are, at some level, unnatural. With a 12mm lens, the images produced are as removed from our eyes as I am removed from the experience of Okonkwo. But to produce an image with obvious difference from my normal images can be as rewarding as taking up Okonkwo’s frame of view through Chinua Achebe’s writing. 

Armed with the expectation that the Heliar would produce images alien to my normal portfolio, I set out to a place that produces in me the sense of distance and awe I hoped the 12mm would: the main campus of Columbia. 

The 32-acre Neoclassical campus is magnificent. I am vastly underqualified to describe it adequately, so I can only say that it is a place for me that is beautiful. I knew, of course, that the wider a lens is the more it is suited to architectural photography, so Columbia made total sense as a photographic destination. 

As it turned out, I do feel that the Heliar captured the place better than my normal lenses had before. There is something so essential to feeling small amid places like Columbia (or inescapable, perhaps, at least for me) and the 121-degree field of view of the Voigtlander Heliar 12mm captures that sense of smallness perfectly. 

In that way, the 12mm lens helped me feel the expanse that really surrounds me as I make this move to Manhattan and begin this particular program at this particular institution. 

To buy or not to buy? 

Sadly, I had to send this lens back to James as it was on loan from the wonderful folks at B&H. In the time since, I have not infrequently pined for its dramatic angles. Somehow, my 25mm Voigtlander doesn’t seem dramatic enough after having tasted the intoxicating substance of the Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical III lens. 

I can say, since this is a review of the lens, that the images I got from it were extremely sharp without problematic flare, and that they were overall optically excellent. After all, the Mark III version of this lens introduces two more elements (in the same number of groups) over its predecessor for a Heliar design that is ultimately cleaner. And, of course, its aspherical element goes a long way in keeping abberations low. 

The Mark I and Mark II versions seem to hover between $400-$500 on eBay, which, in my mind, is a great deal. Even for a new Mark III, you are still well under $1,000. If I had a standard lens I was in love with and had a secondary lens I used often (for me, those are my Zeiss 2/50 Planar and Zeiss 2.8/35 Biogon), I think an ultrawide lens is an easy third choice. 

It’s just straight up wild in a way that is not as gimmicky as a fisheye lens or flat (literally) as an extreme telephoto lens. Throw in the fact that focusing is no biggie and you’ve got an easy to use lens which makes consistent dramatic results. You just have to get closer and closer to your subject until it works. If you can handle the fact that it gives off Hyundai vibes, I think it’s worth owning. I can entirely imagine that the next M-mount lens I’ll own will be this one. 

Get your Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical III lens from B&H Photo

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