I’ve just realised that I’ve called this a review diary. I’m going to stick with it, for consistency, but let’s be honest: this isn’t a review. My last post probably made that apparent. The only way you’re going to get a review out of this is to work out from what I’m writing if you like taking photographs in the way I take photographs, then decipher from my ramblings how I use the camera. Good luck!
Anyway, I was, naturally, talking about how I couldn’t really got on with the camera. Yes, it takes good photographs, but it didn’t give me any sense of inspiration. Until one fateful day, when I decided not to take any photographs. I decided, instead, to take some video.
Alright, Prestney, you go off and humour yourself. Why did this make a difference? Well, to get to the bottom of this, you need to understand the video function of the Olympus. It’s really good. My first day of using it, I manage to produce 7 minutes of footage which all but made my family cry, so well did it capture the innocence of youth. You get selective focus, so it looks like you’re using a much more expensive camera. It works pretty well in low light. It’s a joy to use, although, not being a cinematographer, I would guess that it is risibly simplistic in ways that I can not even begin to understand. Nevertheless, I was smitten. But why, Ben (I hear you ask) had you only just discovered this?
Fine. I’ll take you back still further. I had tried out the video function previously, but it hadn’t worked for me, for two reasons. Firstly, the noise. The microphone in the camera is really very good, but it’s in the camera. The lenses have a clever, odd, focus-by-wire thing, whereby even manual focus involes the movement of motors and cams and screws and, probably, pulleys and winches. This means that any focussing that you do produces a loud ratcheting sound on film, which sounds like, I don’t know, a bag of spanners. Or drum and bass. Unpleasant. The second reason is the focussing itself. As I’m sure you know if you’re interested enough to read this, the focussing speed of the Olympus is slow. There. Said it. Not unusably slow, not slow enough to be a deal breaker, but way too slow for action or moving subjects. In the world of still photography, there are ways round this. In the world of video (so I thought), you need quick, imperceptibly quick, autofocus. And continuous autofocus on the e-p1 is truly horrible – a succession of hunt-back-and-forth single focus sessions, not continuous focus at all. So I gave up on it.
But then I had a thought. I was brought up on manual focus (a Nikon FE). What happens if I put a manual lens on it? A bloody revalation, that’s what. I bought a Nikon to micro 4/3 adapter, threw on a Nikon 50mm 1.8, and away I went. Now we were talking. Continuous focus! And silent, too! Yes, of course it was a bit more work, but just like picking up an all-manual camera, you learn quickly. My focus now wasn’t tied to whatever was in the centre of the frame, I could change the aperture settings on the fly, and, most importantly, depth of field was mine to command. All the things I’ve taken ten years to learn photographically, and I was relearning them in a new medium. Excellent work.
Of course, after a day of this, I realised what I had been missing. My favourite camera, for sentimental reasons as much as anything else, has always been the Nikon FE that got me into serious photography. I have long opined to anyone who would listen that if they made that camera with a digital sensor (I wouldn’t even want a screen! Promise!) I’d use it like no other. I realised that taking an e-p1 and sticking a manual lens on it reproduced 95% of that feeling. I had a Leica 40mm, which suited its diminutive size, so that went on it next (and has hardly come off, I might add). And to top it all, I started using the damn thing on its own terms. In other words, I stared using the screen. I think I have to admit that no-one is going to come up with an eye-level viewfinder that I really want to use outside of the rarified world of the DSLR, so why fight it? The screen is not, as I had assumed it would be, an unusable, second rate method of composition and focus, as a decade of SLR use had trained me to believe it would be. If the only thing that’s standing between you and a m4/3 purchase is the lack or expense of a suitable eye-level viewfinder, this old dog would humbly suggest that you rethink, or at least give it a go. Anyway, most of the time at least, I’ve got a pretty good idea before I even glance down at the screen what I’m going to be getting.
And now I love this camera. Take away the autofocus, judge things by eye, and use the screen as it was meant to be used. The 40mm Leitz is the 35mm equivalent of an 80mm (Oh christ. I don’t think I’m up for explaining that right now. You all know what I mean, right?), which is frankly an odd focal length for me, but I’m getting used to it, and, like any imposed restriction in photography, feeds the creativity. I love seeing things slide in and out of focus. I love the fact that it’s now a superb portrait camera. And yes, I love how it looks, and how people just assume that I’m lugging around an old, if curiously new-looking, 35mm rangefinder. All of these things make me happy.
And most of all, I’m taking pictures again, because it’s always with me. That has to be a good thing? Right?