Lens Lust and the Psychopsychology of Consumerism

The above is a photograph of some Autumn leaves in front of a pathway leading through a graveyard to a church. Let me emphasise that as a fundamental if somewhat self-evident starting point. Well, it was self-evident to me when I snapped the shot and has been self-evident ever since.

If I might subsequently indulge you in what may appear to be an unrelated anecdote, I recently came across the following plea for help in an online photographic forum:

I'm now dealing with 8MP and I have realised I'm obsessed with sharpness. Im' actually looking at 1:1 crops of images on the web taken with a 500mm L series prime lens and saying "well it's not totally sharp" ... as if somehow that's actually so important it will stop me getting a good image if by some amazing fluke I could actually afford a £5000 lens! It's a bloody nightmare!

On one level this merely struck me as a succinct example of what I've encountered more times than I care to count.

Have you ever found yourself frustrated by the notion that the photographs you take would be better if only you had access to some better kit, in particular a better lens? Have you ever felt yourself distinctly agitated, locked in internal battle with your conscience, fighting the growing urge to purchase a new lens (or indeed some other item of photographic gear)? Have you found yourself in this position knowing in your heart of hearts that it isn't critical to the successful and enjoyable pursuit of your pastime? Having seemingly despatched this urge have you found yourself overcome as it rushes you from the side and holds you in a soft reassuringly warm and fuzzy stranglehold over your computer keyboard obliging you to submit your credit card details? Have you taken receipt of a lens (or other such item) through the post and quickly hidden it from a partner then subsequently produced it from your camera bag in a nonchalant manner as though you've had posession of it for an age? Have you lied when asked how much it cost?

The bad news is, you are ill. The good news is, you can recover. The first step on the path to recovery is to admit to yourself that you are ill.

The seemingly inconsequential yet somewhat intriguing news is that you are male, in all likelihood. Why do cartoons seem to portray women and only women in the guise of pathologically compulsive consumers?

It is also very likely that you are a member of at least one online photographic forum.

Engaging in such online fora is often akin to popping in to one's local hostelry for a relaxing draught of ale and some friendly banter only to have a series of primary alcoholics pressing their faces into your direct field of vision (and scent) and rambling on about how great it is to get drunk on this stuff. Really drunk. Really downright rollicking drunk and bawdy.

Furthermore, if you yourself are prone to alcoholism albeit perhaps in its secondary form, what are you doing in the first instance entering such a place and imbibing of essentially what is a drug you are suffering a burgeoning addiction for?

Additionally beware the fact that online fora have amongst their ranks the employees and agents of camera equipment manufacturers. They are easy to spot. They are the ones that post in the guise of enthusiast and consistently promote the virtues of top quality glass. If they are enjoying their glass so much why are they not out using it and how come they seem to post a great deal more in the way of words promoting such kit than posting images that they supposedly captured with it, and when indeed they do post images, is the content any more interesting than that posted by others with glass of purportedly lesser quality? In fact, what are you looking at when you scrutinise sample images from a lens? Really, break it down. What is it exactly you are looking at? Is this what photography is about?

Those that are not employees and agents of camera equipment manufacturers (the dealers, peddling their wares to innocent kids at the photography school gates) are merely ill (the addicts). Sorely ill. The best you can do is to tell them they are ill and hope that they accept this diagnosis as the first step on the path to their recoveries. Reassure them that you also were once ill, and as have you, they too can recover.

Three step plan to combat lens lust:

1. Stop scrutinising the fringes of your photographs and stick to looking at what the photographs are of.
2. Either avoid online photographic fora or if you can't bring yourself to do so, use them to discuss the content of images, not edge definition, and when tempted by Satan's accolytes into engaging in such discussion, help them to see the error of their ways.
3. Buy a really cheap camera with an objectively appaling lens and set yourself the task of taking some really memorable photographs with it.

On this latter note I always find that a great antidote to pathological lens lust is to buy (and use) a Holga and contemplate, amongst others, the award winning press photography of David Burnett.

As the adage unfurls, if you need to ask how much a Holga costs, you probably don't have any loose change in your pocket.

Preconceived Images

It doubtless requires no justification to claim that this is the single most profound event that can take place in a person's life.

At least, to date, it is the most profound that has been experienced by myself and I cannot entertain any notions of it being overshadowed by anything else.

I now understand a great many things I only felt I understood before, and none of those points of understanding can truly be done justice to through words, on which note: maybe this is what the sharing of images is about.

We'd hoped and planned for a 'natural' birth, with images in mind of the warm embrace of a water pool, soft music and low key lighting, the lot. Maybe moreso I hoped for a natural birth and mother was somewhat more pragmatic in her thinking. Men have the luxury of wishing to see nature follow its course as we are rarely dealt so harsh a hand by mother nature as the female of our species often are, be it the onset of menstrual cycles at puberty or indeed the pain inherent in an otherwise overwhelmingly beautiful process, that of giving birth.

Do, if fate calls for a decision, bear in mind that nature is actually a dispassionate force lacking in volition that can and often will manifest itself cruelly. We should respect nature - truly we must respect her if we are to survive as a species - but we needn't always comply with her unspecified wims. Medical science is driven by all manner of volitions and in the best cases will manifest itself with compassion.

After countless hours of touching upon what I could only describe as a manifestation of Hell on Earth we opted to circumnavigate the wims of nature and took the route of medical science. I might actually forget the screams that emanated from my wife's body for hour on end as we sought to avoid taking a route we, or at least for certain I had felt would be the more cold and sterile. I think I am already forgetting the screams and that's why I feel compelled to write this now, before I forget forever. I will however not forget, ever, how she looked once we changed course, the medical team intervened, and the effects of the epidural came into play. From that point onwards we were able to engage in the concluding process of procreation in a manner we might more likely always feel a warmth for.

Certainly in our case medical science provided a far warmer, compassionate and enjoyable avenue than mother nature could that day.

All of it was worth going through though, the pain and the fear included, for the end result. And that's not something that's solely simple for a man to say, mother feels exactly the same.

She is the hero of this tale and baby is living testament to her bravery.

Originally published 20th January 2006, two days after delivery, at baby.grow

For the occasion I used:

An Olympus XA loaded with Fujicolor Press ISO 800 colour negative film. An Olympus XA2 would probably have suited just as well considering the opportunities for focusing with the XA's rangefinder were limited. The Olympus was chosen for its inobtrusive and relatively silent qualities which proved ideal during the initial several hours of full labour.

My digital SLR with a Zenitar 16mm lens attached. The somewhat more unwieldy and noisy camera bore its own particular strengths which came into their own post-delivery.