My step-grandpa sent me his old Zeiss Ikon camera, complete with all the manual settings I never properly learnt to use and a screw-on case and cover that smells so leathery and sturdy.
I'm still getting the hang of setting aperture and manual focusing, and I almost wrecked the whole film by trying to take it out without reading the manual first... I ended up sitting on the bathroom floor at 4am -- trying for a makeshift darkroom -- taking the film out without rewinding it, and stashing it in a few envelopes, because I didn't use the rewind release button. Always something to learn.
But anyway, these are the images that survived.
And it's such a cool thing. Not knowing if you've actually captured that image right. Knowing that there's a finite shot, that you can't just shoot ten of the same thing and hope one is right (which is my default move with digital cameras). Having to quietly, steadily, think about what you're doing. It's really reminded me to concentrate, go steady, appreciate the practice of art. To be patient sometimes, and to -- at other times -- just go ahead hope for a lucky light-leak.
