What happened to the good old days when taking a photograph demanded careful planning, meticulous setting, and a profound knowledge of light and shadow? Every photograph used to be a masterpiece of patience and perseverance, a painstaking endeavor to capture a unique moment in time. I remember the time when I held my first roll of film; the thrill, the excitement, the anticipation, it was a different world and time entirely.
I’m not against technology, mind you. I respect the convenience offered by digital cameras and smartphones today. But I am of the firm belief, bolstered by years of experience, that the advent of digital photography has allowed the art of photography to become an almost forgotten craft, relegated to the annals of history. Maybe it’s just the Schenectady in me, the stubborn Irishman refusing to abandon his roots, but I still feel that analog photography has a charm and rawness that digital photography can’t match.
I have been living in Schenectady for the past half-century, and over the years, I have tried to capture its growth, its struggles, and its beauty through the lens of my trusty old analog camera. I have seen Main Street transition from a bustling fishing market to a vibrant commercial hub. The city has lost its rustic touch and succumbed to modern blandness. It reminds me of analog photography, which too lost its rustic charm to the digital evolution.
Every picture I snapped took effort and time. There was no instant preview to assist me. I had to study the light, play with the aperture and shutter speed, and subtly tweak the focus. The room for error was minimal; a wrong setting could ruin a shot. But when the perfect shot was taken, the satisfaction, the joy, was unparalleled. Today, I click a hundred snaps on my iPhone with a swipe and a tap, each moment effortlessly captured, the art of photography overlooked.
We have lost appreciation for the drawbacks and limitations of analog photography, which ironically, were its key elements. I remember an incident from the summer of ’68. We had an action-packed cycling race that drew the entire town to the tracks. With my camera slung around my neck, I raced alongside the cyclists, trying to capture the thrill and excitement. Every click had to be calculated, every moment had to be captured perfectly. I ended up using three rolls of film for that race and waited in harrowing suspense for it to develop. The result? Some of the best photos I’ve ever taken. And the suspense, the anticipation, and the final relief added to the joy of it.
I also recall another incident. There was a rare lunar eclipse predicted for one night in ’75. The weather had been on-and-off, but I couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity. With my trusty camera, I camped under the open sky, observing the celestial drama unfold. After spending hours adjusting my camera, trying to capture the perfect shot of the blood moon, I finally felt at peace. The photograph is now one of Schenectady’s prized possessions, displayed at our community center.
These incidents make me recollect and appreciate the simplicity and authenticity of analog photography. Everything about it was real – from setting up the shot to developing the film. Today, with ‘filters’ and ‘effects’, the concept of an ‘authentic photograph’ has blurred. When a viewer looks at a picture that I’ve clicked on my analog camera, they can trust that they’re seeing reality as it was. With digital photography, it’s difficult to say. How much of it is real, and how much of it is digitally manipulated?
I feel analog cameras, and the traditional process of developing film, preserved the essence of an individual and an event. Analog cameras had a heart of their own, a soul, and photography was akin to sketching a portrait with light and time, not mere clicking of buttons. Restoring the art of analog photography is not about discarding digital cameras, but about revisiting our roots, rediscovering the joy and satisfaction of creating art, and realigning photography with its artistic past.
I am not oblivious to the convenience that digital photography provides. But the charm of analog photography, the physicality of dealing with film, the anticipation while developing it, and the gratifying feeling when a photographed scene is captured as hoped is irreplaceable.
No, I am not an opponent of digital progress. I just want the beloved art of photography to be preserved and appreciated, as should all beautiful things that got us to where we are now. And if it takes a grumpy, nostalgic Schenectady citizen to remind us of that, then so be it! I request educators and patrons to continue offering film-based, analog photography courses, encouraging younger generations to discover this remarkable art form, just as I did half a century ago. In an age of digital sameness, analog photography can offer an inimitable sense of authenticity and freedom – a respite that we all crave for and deserve.
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