Photographs are like stories, music or dreams.
There are some that wash over you. You grasp them as a whole. They produce a mood and you are not aware of how or bothered by this.
Some photographs, however, invite you in. They are rich in detail and promise more. You want to count the trees or people or threads. You want to see into all of the little windows. You want to roam around that distant meadow.
Both of these types of photograph are important. Any camera can take the first type, although these can also be the most difficult and rewarding type of photograph to take. As humans, however, we are ever aware of our limitations. It is this second sort of photograph that taxes equipment and technique. You simply cannot put more in the finished picture than you captured at the vital instant. The traditional answer to this has always been bigger film in bigger cameras.
As such, I am now the owner of a Crown Graphic 4x5 inch press camera. This is the camera that you always see the news photographers in hats shooting in old movies. With more than fifteen times the film area of 35mm you can shoot the equivalent of 300 megapixel images given good modern film and decent scanning. In addition to this you have a more flexible camera which can use movements to bring more of the image into focus at once or to correct perspective.
So what is the flipside of all of this potential and possibility? Complexity. And this is also where the Crown Graphic really sells itself to the artistic photographer. In exchange for less flexibility than most "serious" large format cameras the Crown Graphic gives you a lot of convenience and assistance. For example, the camera can be set up in seconds since it becomes its own carrying case when folded up and has adjustments that allow you to quickly set up the camera "zeroed" and focussed at infinity. After all, this camera was made to be used handheld and often in fast-paced environments.
So how has this camera changed my life and my thinking? It has made me think. It has made me think about exposure. It has made me think about composition. It has made me think longer and harder on the question, "Is this shot worth taking?" It has opened my eyes and mind to the optical magic that lies at the heart of every camera but is usually hidden. The ground glass of a view camera is like a magic window. Through its frosted surface we glimpse dimly the very inner workings of light. All is laid bare, nothing hidden. We see the world backwards and upside down, just as the film sees it. We see at once the effect of every slight shift or tilt or swing.
We learn faith. As we take responsibility for our own film loading and unloading. As we take responsibility for our own exposure settings. As we take responsibility for dark slides, shutter cocking and correct sequences of events we learn the necessity of a certain discipline and of trusting in that discipline to deliver the desired results.
