Kids these days... with their iphones and instagrams. Tumblring and Vine-ing. They've come to usurp our creative ambition. Click by click. They don't have the maturity, the experience, or the insight we possess, but they're way savvier.
Not long ago I was hanging out with a some older friends with kids and noticed their 13-year old son had gotten his hands on his dad's DSLR camera and kit. The dad, encouraging this creative outlet, had all but given his set of prime and zoom lenses and his Nikon D90 to his son, who was experimenting with the DSLR system daily. His son showed me some photos, a couple of which caught my eye, but were mostly standard sunset shots. His enthusiasm for this camera system, and the way he carefully switched lenses to show me his reasoning for using one over the other made me happier than ever to have dumped my own DSLR camera as well as my micro 4/3s camera as well.
I studied filmmaking and a main focus of that major was the camera. At the time (2001-2005), digital cameras barely existed. So I learned the basics of photography on an old Pentax K1000 SLR, which I still have and love to this day. It's a tank—can take a beating and give one too. But, after visiting Japan in 2002, I became enamored with a tiny 2megapixel Cybershot by Sony. The thing took great, vibrant photos with little thought or effort, and due it its tiny size and long wristband, I could hold it out car windows or covertly under a seat and come up with amazing shots from bizarre angles. I loved that little guy, but the photos it produced lacked the soul that my K1000 photos had. This was my personal film vs. digital battle of 2003, and eventually digital won.
It wasn't due to the artistic quality of digital. That was actually the digital's Achilles heal—there was no spirit in the photos, no organic chemistry bring the image to life. But processing film was pricy and finding time to work on photos in a dark room was even more tedious. I first used photoshop in 2001, so by 2003, photoshop was practically second nature. I could crop, burn, dodge, and print a photo in a minute. Of course, great art takes more than a minute, but I wasn't aiming for great art. I was going to poster art. Photos I could proudly tape onto my wall (this is pre-Facebook mind you).
As I gradually used my Pentax less and less, the times I did use it became more significant and well thought out. As a film student, understanding the basics of film photography is important because both cinema and photography are basically ways to use film to capture how light falls onto a scene (random) or how a particular scenen is lit (deliberate). Having those photo basics engrained in my mind made the limitation of my 2mp Cybershot quite apparent. The Cybershot was great with quick, fun, and covert photos, but most images, though not all, lack a captivating depth of field, and the images that did have a great looking depth of field where still captured automatically. There was no focus ring, no way to manually open the apature and speed up the shutter. It was pure auto, and in a way a great supplement to my pure manual film camera, but the juggling between the two got tiresome. Eventually, by the time I was graduating college in 2005, my Cybershot began malfunctioning. It would freeze up after taking a couple photos. Sometimes it just wouldn't turn on. This camera had spent at least two years constantly being on my person, so it had been to Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris, to Costa Rica and Mexico, New York, LA, to many a beach and mountain—just everywhere. It's slow death was sad but inevitable and understandable. And by 2006 there were now plenty of others out there to take its place.
As I gradually used my Pentax less and less, the times I did use it became more significant and well thought out. As a film student, understanding the basics of film photography is important because both cinema and photography are basically ways to use film to capture how light falls onto a scene (random) or how a particular scenen is lit (deliberate). Having those photo basics engrained in my mind made the limitation of my 2mp Cybershot quite apparent. The Cybershot was great with quick, fun, and covert photos, but most images, though not all, lack a captivating depth of field, and the images that did have a great looking depth of field where still captured automatically. There was no focus ring, no way to manually open the apature and speed up the shutter. It was pure auto, and in a way a great supplement to my pure manual film camera, but the juggling between the two got tiresome. Eventually, by the time I was graduating college in 2005, my Cybershot began malfunctioning. It would freeze up after taking a couple photos. Sometimes it just wouldn't turn on. This camera had spent at least two years constantly being on my person, so it had been to Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris, to Costa Rica and Mexico, New York, LA, to many a beach and mountain—just everywhere. It's slow death was sad but inevitable and understandable. And by 2006 there were now plenty of others out there to take its place.
Soon after my Cybershot died, I began using my Pentax much more. By this time, I had a full-time job and could afford a monthly visit to CLR (Color Lab Resource) to have my photos processes and scanned, so that I could play with them on photoshop, and then post them on my wall (Facebook this time). Eventually, I missed the convenience of my digital camera, and even though digital cameras were much more ubiquitous by this time, I still wanted my own again. So, going by a review on Wired, I treated myself to Sanyo's VPC-C5 in 2006 and was utterly disappointed by the photo quality. However, part of the reason I settled on this camera was its video capabilities, which existed (a unique feature at the time). The video quality was also miserable, but the camera/camcorder had an interesting handle-type design and was easy to use.
As much (or as little) fun as I had with that disappointing Sanyo camera, I realized it was an innovative video tool, and pretty my gave it to my friend/roommate who had launched a company that recorded video-walkthroughs of apartments for rent in New York City. With this digital debacle out of possession and a pile of 35mm film canisters taking over my dresser space, I decided to purchased the Panasonic DMC-LX2. At the time Panasonic was killing it in the video world with their HVX200, which recorded onto solid state P2 cards, eliminating tapes and moving parts. I believed Panasonic was changing the game, the LX2 had the video capabilities as well as the manual photo features that I wanted. I loved that camera a lot. Even though I hated its low-light capabilities, diffusing its flash with a small book of gels I had (a technique I developed with my old Cybershot) compensated for the LX2's low-light crappiness. The video was a big improvement from my Sanyo C5, but it wouldn't let me zoom while recording, which eliminated most practical uses for filmmaking and videography (something which I hoped I could at least consider). But the photos looked great, and although the bizarre manual design was a way too cumbersome, having the options to focus manually and to adjust the shutter and aperture were exactly what I wanted.
My escapades with the LX2, however, were not meant to last. After just over three months (enough time for my AmEx warranty to expire), the camera was lifted from my jacket pocket at a bar in Brooklyn. It was a sad loss, but mostly for the photos that were on the camera which I'll never see again. As for the camera, having it stolen was shitty, but I already knew the device wasn't cutting it. I wanted a camera with a big fat lens, that I could actually twist in order to refocus. I wanted a camera with a dedicated aperture ring and a shutter control on the body, just like my old-school K1000. Losing the LX2 was the excuse I needed to finally get a DSLR.
I have trouble recalling why I hadn't purchased a DSLR sooner. I had invested in my film SLR kit for a while, and my introduction to digital photography revolved around the simplicity of the point-and-shoot. Turns out, everything I ever wanted existed in a bulky, 5megapixel package: Panasonic's DMC-L1. This DSLR has no video capabilities, but took stunning photos. The 14mm-50mm lens it came with was all I really needed as an enthusiast, and the flash had a special feature that allowed me to prop it back at an angle so that I could bounce the flash off the ceiling rather than directly onto my shot, giving low-light scenes an almost magical luminescence.
I loved that camera. I found it refurbished at B&H in 2008, and when the lens jammed a month after I purchased it, Panasonic replaced the damaged lens for free. This camera traveled the US with me, my dog, and my buddies, going cross country three times in 2008. Then in 2009, I took this and my trusty Pentax K1000 to South America for an extended adventure with my girlfriend. She had a fond appreciation of photography as well, and immediately took to the camera. The L1 wasn't pretty—its boxy body gave it a utilitarian presence. It had only one purpose: to capture an image onto a sizable sensor. Although the sensor was a mere 5megapixels, the physical size of it gave those images a profound scale that I was missing with my past digital cameras. The lens was as wide as a grapefruit and extended quite far. All told, the L1 and its kit lens reignited my passion for photography. I had experimented with Canon and Nikon DSLRs in the past; some clients would ask me to take photos for them or friends would let me play around with their cameras. Up until then, I didn't care much for DSLRs. The images produced were fantastic, but the cameras themselves were too unique—too proprietary. The L1 was a throwback in the best of ways. A throwback to early digital since it wasn't boasting a ridiculous amount of megapixels. And it was a throwback to old-school SLRs with a dedicated aperture ring, the shutter on top of the body, and smooth focus and zoom rings.
All that was missing was video.
Video convinced me to part with my L1. Video and the promise of an innovative, mirrorless digital camera system. Micro Four Thirds was going to revolutionize photography and videography (or so I thought). If anything, this blog post must be evidence of how easy it is to sway consumers (like me) who are constantly seeking something better. As much as I loved my L1, I hated not having a video capabilities. I had majored in filmmaking, not photography, and the year was now 2010, and everyone was using Canon 5Ds for photo and/or video. I wanted one, but didn't want to be like everyone else. I wanted something that recorded into AVCHD, which I had used for an employer and was comfortable with transferring into Final Cut Pro. The GH1 was my answer. It was essentially an upgrade from L1; it was smaller, and the screen swiveled out. Sweet!
The quality of the video was as great as I needed it to be, but the audio was annoying because it didn't have a standard TRS 1/8-inch audio input—blasted! The photos from my GH1 had way more megapixels than those from my old L1, but they didn't look as magnificent. Some looked great, some were crummy. But the size of the L1 sensor and its ginormous lens made each photo pop out. Now, I look back at those photos, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I miss that L1, but I also remember how bulky it was. A 5D would be the best camera for both amazing photos and video, but it's still too big for travel and everyday events. My new mirrorless GH1 was tiny compared to the 5D or my old L1. But of course, two years after buying the GH1, I was annoyed by its bulkiness—and it was smaller than my L1! I had even purchased a pancake lens for my GH1 that opened to a 1.8 aperture. Great for low-light and shallow focus, but no zooming capabilities of course. That tiny lens made the GH1 much more manageable when it came to travelling, but I knew where the technology was heading—I wanted something smaller and more powerful, and in 2012, Sony released just what I wanted:
Sony Cybershot RX100's packs a sizable 1-inch sensor into a compact body. It's low-light capabilities are beyond what I hoped for; the lens opens up to a 1.8 aperture, and photos taken at a high ISO setting have less noise than photos from the GH1 with an ISO of 800. It even has a retractable pop-up flash, so I can bounce the flash off the ceiling just like I used to with my old Panasonic L1. Although the RX100 doesn't have any audio-input, the video quality it produces is stunning. Plus, now I have a Tascam DR-40 audio recorder, so I can always record separate audio and sync it in post.
It's interesting having returned to a Cybershot after all these years, but it goes to show when a manufacturer builds an innovative system, the best way to keep that innovation going is to give enthusiasts professional features in a small package. The RX100 has all the manual features I wanted, accompanied by new auto features I didn't know I wanted, like facial priority tracking. The best part: no lenses to debate on buying, to take meticulous care of, and to lug around. Also, it's a tiny camera—small enough to fit in my pocket, although I've rarely actually done this.
All in all, I'm pleased with my RX100 as it suits my regular photo needs. Yes, DSLRs have better image quality, and yes, this camera is bound to be obsolete when Sony upgrades the model. But for now, I'm over the bulkiness of DSLRs. They're for professionals and, well, kids. Kids with parents who are photo enthusiasts tired of carrying around so much gear when all they need is a dope compact camera with a fast built-in lens, a decent zoom, and easily accessible manual options. For those enthusiasts with money to drop, shortly after releasing the RX100, Sony also released the RX1, a compact-esque camera with a built-in prime lens that's super fast, a high price tag ($2700), and it boasts a full-frame sensor—for anyone who may want to ditch their full-frame Canon or Nikon DSLR for something more akin to the classic Leica ranger-finder—but digital.
Any kid nowadays wanting to experiment with photography beyond smartphone snapchats and digital filters—kids who want to delve into the process of capturing an image with the control of an artist will use DSLRs to bring their vision to fruition. I still appreciate DSLRs, and if I didn't have student loan bills and had some cash to spare, I'd have a Canon 60D collecting dust in my closet. Not because I didn't love it, but because it's not as convenient as my RX100. However, for video shoots and the occasional event photography gig, the RX100 doesn't cut it with clients. Clients want the bulk. It makes them feel secure because the bigger the equipment, the more obvious the work they're paying for appears to be. In reality though, smaller sensors are becoming more powerful.
I'm looking forward to learning what the next incarnation of the RX100 will boast. I'm guessing Sony will call it the RX200, and am hoping it'll have a screen that swivels out, an even faster lens, and hopefully, an even fatter sensor. And hopeful, this upgrade will have enough credibility to compete with mid-range (APS-C sensor) DSLRs. That would be sweet, and it would have to be mine.
