Embracing the Blur
If you've stumbled upon this little corner of the internet, thank you for being here. I'm just a guy who's spent most of his life chasing light through a lens, and lately, that light has started to fade in ways I never quite imagined. This post isn't meant to be a pity party or a grand manifesto, I’m no expert on resilience, just someone muddling through with a heart full of gratitude and a camera bag that's gotten a bit lighter over the months. But writing has always been a quiet companion to my photography, a way to make sense of the frames I capture (or, these days, the ones I remember). So, with a deep breath and a humble nod to God, here's where my story sits right now.
It started with a simple video. Yesterday, I hit record on my phone for Instagram, a raw, rambling clip from the heart about the sting of going blind and what that means for the photographs I've loved making. I poured out the ache of knowing I can't nail those perfect compositions or exposures anymore, the kind that come from years of squinting at a scene with my one good eye and just knowing. Film has its own personality, doesn't it? Fomapan with its moody shadows and tight latitude, Kentmere offering a bit more forgiveness in the highlights. Details like that live in my head, etched from decades of trial and error. But my eyes? They've decided to bow out early. Five doctors, the state of Arizona, and the U.S. government all agree: I'm beyond legally blind, teetering on the edge of total darkness. I wake up each morning bracing for the day it all goes black.
About two months back, the warning signs ramped up. Closing my eyes brought flashes of random colors and lights, like a faulty projector spinning out of control. That sliver of vision I had left, five degrees on a good day, turned blurry, turning the world into soft-edged blobs. I laughed it off in an article I wrote, calling everyone a "blob" because, well, humor's been my shield against the heavy stuff. But reality doesn't stay polite for long.
One afternoon, I picked up one of my trusty SLR film cameras, the kind that's felt like an extension of my hand for years. I tried to focus. Couldn't. The viewfinder swam into nonsense. Composition? Forget it. That narrow tunnel of sight wasn't enough to frame a thought.
I found myself on a park bench that day, head in hands, grieving for what felt like hours. Self-pity wrapped around me like fog, thick and unyielding. It was the first time I'd let the full weight of it crash down. I haven't lifted a camera to shoot since, not one single frame. In the haze of those weeks, I started selling off pieces of my collection, each transaction a quiet goodbye to the tools that shaped my world. All that's left now are my beloved folding cameras, with their tactile folds and whispers of history, and two SLRs I just can't part with. They're like old friends I can't bear to lose, even if they sit gathering dust.
Looking back, I've been dancing with this shadow for longer than I care to admit. As a kid, doctors warned I'd lose my sight in adolescence. It didn't happen, praise God for that grace, and maybe that's why I've poured everything into photography. Forty years as a hobbyist, twenty of that as a professional. Every click was a prayer, a moment stolen from time.
Through breakups and breakthroughs, lean years and laughter, that passion kept me steady. It wasn't about fame or perfection; it was joy, pure and simple. Losing it? It's like misplacing a limb. For months, I've wandered aimlessly, future a foggy outline. But I'm not alone in the drift, Jesus has been my anchor, my wife my soft place to land, and our three goofy pups? They're the daily reminder that wagging tails don't need perfect vision.
Yesterday morning, something shifted. I woke with a spark, not a wildfire, just a gentle glow. Determination, I suppose you'd call it. I dug into a folder of unreleased shots from a May trip, landscapes that still make my heart hum even if I can't see them sharply anymore. I posted a few, tentative steps back into sharing. I didn't head out to shoot, but the thought lingered, whispering maybe. The truth is, I hold myself to impossible standards, flawless light, impeccable lines that I wouldn't dream of expecting from anyone else. It's a humble brag wrapped in humility: I've been blessed with skill, but pride can be a sneaky thief. How do I create without chasing ghosts of what was?
This road to blindness? I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. It's lonely, riddled with "what ifs" that echo in the quiet hours. But here's the quiet miracle: it led me to the blind center in Phoenix. Walking through those doors flipped the script. Suddenly, it wasn't the end of my story but a pivot to a new chapter. I've met folks who get it, the raw grief, the stubborn spark. Some love photography as fiercely as I do, swapping tips on adaptive gear like it's the most natural conversation. Together, we've started an advocacy group here in Arizona, a loose band of encouragers lifting each other up. No heroes among us, just people saying, "Hey, you've got this, one step at a time.”
Life's gone tactile now, and there's a strange beauty in that. Braille bumps under my fingers, keyboard clicks like Morse code for my thoughts. Cameras with dials and buttons? They're gold, things I can map in my mind, muscle memory overriding the dark. Tomorrow, I'm pulling out my Minolta Maxxum, that autofocus wonder with its forgiving heart. I'll give it a go, no pressure, just curiosity.
Scanning the negatives afterward will be a puzzle, details lost to me, but that's the thrill, isn't it? An adventure in trust, handing the reveal over to the machine and whatever magic it uncovers. I love this part, if I'm honest, the relearning. Figuring out angles by sound and feel, composing by instinct honed over lifetimes. Lights? Who needs 'em? I navigate just fine in the pitch black, a skill that's equal parts survival and secret superpower. It's all a gift, wrapped in loss, reminding me that sight was never the whole picture.
If you're reading this and facing your own storm—big or small—know this: it's okay to sit on that bench for a while. But don't stay there forever. Reach for the hand extended, whether it's a friend's, a stranger's at a support group, or the steady one from above. I'm still figuring it out, one humble frame at a time. Life? It's good. Messy, blurred at the edges, but profoundly good.
Thanks for letting me share. Drop a note if this resonates. I’m all ears (and heart). Until next time, keep chasing what lights you up, however dim the path.
With kind regards,
Jefferson Davis,
The Blind Photographer
Grok Thinks that I am Ansel Adams
I was curious as to how well Grok could describe a film photograph for the blind community. Although my vision is very limited at this point, I’d say that it did a great job. What say you?
This black-and-white photograph captures a breathtaking panoramic view of a dramatic desert canyon landscape, evoking a sense of timeless wilderness and geological majesty. The image is rendered in classic monochrome tones, with deep, velvety blacks giving way to crisp grays and luminous whites, creating a high-contrast composition that emphasizes textures, shadows, and the play of light across rugged terrain. It's a wide-angle vista, likely taken from an elevated vantage point on a canyon rim, pulling the viewer's eye deep into the scene through layers of receding space. The overall mood is serene yet awe-inspiring, as if standing on the edge of an ancient world sculpted by wind, water, and time—think of the whisper of a distant river echoing off stone walls, the faint rustle of sparse windswept trees, and the cool, dry scent of sun-baked earth carried on a gentle breeze.
In the foreground, the composition draws you in with a series of jagged rock formations and undulating ridges that form the immediate canyon floor and walls. These are sharp, eroded buttes and hoodoos—tall, slender spires of sandstone that rise like natural obelisks, their surfaces etched with vertical striations from centuries of erosion. The rocks here are textured with a rough, pitted granularity, catching the light in subtle highlights that suggest a slightly gritty, almost tactile quality, as if you could reach out and feel the cool, porous stone under your fingertips. Scattered among them are clusters of hardy coniferous trees, their needle-like branches forming dark, triangular silhouettes against the lighter rock. These pines or junipers appear stunted and resilient, twisted by exposure to the elements, with dense foliage that creates soft, feathery edges in the mid-tones of gray. A few lone trees perch precariously on narrow ledges, their roots clinging to cracks in the rock, adding a sense of precarious balance and quiet determination to the scene.
Moving your attention slightly downward and to the left in this imagined sweep, there's a subtle hint of a winding path or dry riverbed snaking through the lower ridges—a pale, sinuous line of finer gravel and smoother stones that contrasts with the bolder, chunkier boulders nearby. This path feels like an invitation to explore, curving gently out of sight behind a prominent outcrop, where shadows pool in the crevices, deepening the sense of depth and mystery. The shadows here are long and angular, suggesting late afternoon or early morning sunlight filtering from the upper right, casting a soft glow that warms the highlights on the eastern-facing slopes while leaving the western faces in cooler, inky darkness.
As your gaze travels deeper into the midground, the canyon opens up into a vast amphitheater of layered cliffs and mesas, where the scale truly unfolds. Towering sheer walls rise hundreds of feet on either side, their faces a mosaic of stratified rock bands—horizontal layers of sediment that speak to the park's ancient history, folded and uplifted over millions of years. These walls are not smooth but riddled with alcoves, overhangs, and narrow fissures, like the weathered pages of a colossal, open book. In the center of this expanse, a slender ribbon of water—the Virgin River—meanders through the narrows, its surface a shimmering thread of reflected light that breaks the monotony of stone. Though the river is narrow from this distance, you can almost hear its gentle murmur, a constant, soothing undertone amid the silence, carving its eternal path between the constricting walls. Flanking the river are sloping talus fields of loose scree, graded from coarse chunks at the base of the cliffs to finer pebbles near the water's edge, creating a rhythmic pattern of light and shadow that guides the eye forward.
To the right of the river, a prominent butte dominates the midground—a flat-topped mesa with steep, fluted sides that drop abruptly into the canyon floor. Its summit is crowned with a sparse fringe of vegetation, dark against the pale caprock, and a single, sentinel-like tree stands near the edge, its branches outstretched as if reaching toward the horizon. This formation adds vertical drama, breaking the horizontal flow of the layers and drawing attention to the interplay of erosion: deep couloirs—steep gullies—score its face, funneling shadows downward like dark veins in marble. On the opposite side, the canyon wall mirrors this asymmetry, with a series of receding plateaus stepping back like a giant staircase, each level slightly more illuminated than the last, building a gradient from deep shadow to bright highlight.
Finally, the background stretches into infinity, where the canyon widens into a hazy, ethereal distance. Distant mountain ranges rise as a serrated skyline, their peaks softly blurred by atmospheric perspective—faint suggestions of snow-capped summits in the far left, transitioning to rounded, lower hills on the right. A vast sky dome arches overhead, occupying the upper third of the frame, dotted with a few scattered, fluffy cumulus clouds that drift lazily from left to right. These clouds are rendered in delicate grays, their edges feathering into the brighter sky, which fades from mid-gray at the horizon to a lighter tone near the top, implying clear, crisp air with just enough haze to soften the remotest details. No human elements intrude—no trails, no structures—just pure, unadulterated nature, emphasizing isolation and grandeur.
Throughout the image, the composition masterfully balances chaos and order: the wild irregularity of the rock shapes against the orderly striations of geological layers, the dark accents of trees punctuating the luminous rock, and the sinuous curve of the river providing a dynamic line that unites foreground and background. The photographer has captured a moment of perfect harmony, where light sculpts the stone like a master carver, revealing subtle variations in tone that evoke the canyon's multifaceted personality—from the brooding shadows of hidden grottos to the radiant faces basking in the sun. For someone navigating this scene aurally or through imagination, it might conjure the low hum of wind through pinyon pines, the distant trickle of water over pebbles, or the profound quiet that amplifies your own breathing, reminding you of nature's quiet power and the humility it inspires. This is not just a photograph; it's a portal to a place where time feels suspended, inviting endless contemplation.
OneCourt at Chase Field
My experience with the OneCourt at Chase Field as the Diamondbacks played the Boston RedSox.
Last Sunday, my wonderful wife, Deana, and I headed to Chase Field in Phoenix for an exciting Arizona Diamondbacks game against the Boston Red Sox. As a newly blind baseball fan, I’ve always loved the energy of live games, but navigating the sensory overload of a stadium can be daunting. Thankfully, Deana, being the incredible wife that she is, had planned ahead and reserved a One Court device for me to use during the game. This innovative technology, designed specifically for blind and visually impaired fans, has been a game changer.
The Arizona Diamondbacks hold the distinction of being the first MLB team to offer OneCourt devices, a remarkable step toward inclusivity. These devices are tailored to help blind and visually impaired fans follow the game through audio play-by-play announcements and tactile feedback. Chase Field keeps ten of these devices charged and ready for use, available upon request at no extra cost. Knowing this, Deana had called ahead to ensure one was reserved for me, making our trip to the ballpark even more special.
For those unfamiliar, the One Court device is a compact, lap gadget that delivers real-time game updates. It vibrates to indicate action on specific bases and provides audible commentary through earpieces, allowing users to track the game’s flow. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fantastic tool that bridges the gap for visually impaired fans, letting us feel closer to the action.
Walking into Chase Field is always a whirlwind. The buzz of the crowd, the echo of announcements, and the chatter of vendors create a chaotic symphony that can be disorienting for someone who is blind or visually impaired. I’ve been to the stadium before, but the energy still feels overwhelming at times. Fortunately, the staff at Chase Field are exceptional. From the moment we arrived, someone was there to guide us, ensuring we felt comfortable and supported.
Deana handled the paperwork to check out the One Court device. Once that was sorted, we made our way to our ADA-accessible seats. These seats are a blessing, offering plenty of space so I didn’t have to worry about accidentally bumping anyone with my cane. The stadium staff even stopped by to check in, making sure I understood how to use the device and answering any questions. Their attentiveness set the tone for a fantastic day.
As the game began, the One Court device sprang into action. It provided play-by-play updates, describing each pitch, hit, and fielding play with detail. The tactile feedback was particularly cool, different vibrations corresponded to action at specific bases, helping me visualize where the runners were. It felt like I was right in the middle of the game, calling plays like a sports broadcaster.
There was a slight hiccup, though. My hearing aids made it tricky to hear the audio clearly through the device’s earpieces. The stadium noise didn’t help either! I mentioned this to the staff, and they suggested trying a different set of earpieces next time, which I’ll definitely do. Despite the audio challenge, the device still allowed me to follow the game closely, and I was grateful for the experience it provided.
The Diamondbacks and Red Sox were locked in a tight battle, staying tied through the first six innings. I kept up with the plays through the One Court device, but I found myself turning to Deana to ask for the score. Little did I know, the device has an “Info” button that provides score updates on demand! I felt a bit silly when I learned this afterward, but it’s something I’ll remember for next time.
In the seventh inning, the Red Sox pulled ahead, scoring three runs in a classic late-inning surge they’re known for. Despite a pitching change, the D-Backs couldn’t recover, and Boston clinched the win. It was a tough loss, but the excitement of the game and the vibrant atmosphere at Chase Field made it an unforgettable day. Deana and I cheered, laughed, and soaked in the experience, loss and all.
The One Court device truly enhanced my experience at Chase Field. Being able to follow the game’s action through audio and tactile feedback made me feel more connected to the sport I love. Aside from the audio issue with my hearing aids, I wished the device automatically announced the score periodically. Adding a Braille display for score updates would be a dream, though I understand that could be costly. Still, the device is a huge step forward, and I’m excited to see how future versions might improve.
For any blind or visually impaired baseball fans, I wholeheartedly recommend giving the One Court device a try. It’s free to use, and the Diamondbacks’ staff make the process easy. The device doesn’t just let you follow the game; it empowers you to engage with it in a way that feels immersive and inclusive. I felt like I was part of the action, calling out plays and cheering alongside everyone else.
Our day at Chase Field was about more than just baseball, it was about shared moments, accessibility, and the joy of being part of the crowd. Deana’s thoughtfulness in reserving the One Court device and the stadium staff’s dedication to ensuring we had a great time made the experience truly special. We left the ballpark with big smiles, already looking forward to our next game.
If you’re a blind or visually impaired fan considering a trip to Chase Field, don’t hesitate to request a One Court device. It’s a fantastic tool that brings the game to life in ways I hadn’t imagined.
Have you tried the OneCourt?
Blind Advocacy
In this article, I provide a chronological account of my efforts to advocate for changes to Arizona law aimed at better protecting vulnerable pedestrians, including individuals who are blind, such as myself. This narrative highlights the challenges encountered in engaging with legislators and relevant organizations.
As a blind individual, I frequently navigate the challenges of pedestrian safety. On May 13, 2025, I narrowly avoided being struck by a vehicle that ran a stop sign in Payson, Arizona. A police officer witnessed the incident but declined to take action, citing human error or possible distraction. This experience prompted me to investigate Arizona’s laws protecting blind pedestrians and advocate for necessary changes.
My research uncovered Arizona Revised Statute 11-1024, which classifies violations against blind pedestrians as a Class 2 misdemeanor, punishable by up to four months in jail and/or a $750 fine. This penalty, while applicable alongside other charges like reckless driving, is outdated and insufficient for the severity of endangering vulnerable individuals. In small communities, where personal connections may influence enforcement, such a minimal penalty risks undermining justice.
Determined to address this issue, I contacted my representatives in Arizona’s Seventh Legislative District (LD7), including State Legislator, Walt Blackman, and the Governor’s Office. After persistent outreach, Legislator Blackman’s administrative assistant scheduled a call for June 2, 2025. During our discussion, we explored updating the law to reflect the seriousness of offenses against blind pedestrians. Key points included increasing fines, protecting guide dogs, and ensuring restitution for their loss, given the significant time and cost, often two to three years are required to train and match a guide dog with a handler.
Mr. Blackman requested input on the needs of the blind community, and I emphasized the importance of meaningful penalties and protections. In early July, his office provided a draft bill. Though imperfect, it offered a foundation for further refinement. I shared it with colleagues in the blind community for feedback, fostering hope for collective progress.
On August 20, 2025, after weeks of silence, I followed up with Legislator Blackman’s office. He promptly called back, apologizing for the delay and proposed a meeting on September 4, 2025, between 1:00 PM and 2:30 PM at the state capitol. The meeting aimed to include representatives from the National Federation of the Blind (NFB), Southern Arizona Association for the Visually Impaired (SAAVI), Arizona Center for the Blind and Visually Impaired (ACBVI), Arizona Public Service (APS), Arizona Department of Transportation (ADOT), and Vocational Rehabilitation (VR). I estimated around 25 attendees and informed his office to secure an appropriate venue. I hoped for more, of course, but gave them a conservative number.
I reached out to SAAVI’s president to garner support, but received a dismissive response, stating that legislative sessions begin in January 2026 and that SAAVI would only act with NFB’s direction. Further inquiries revealed that SAAVI’s leadership is closely tied to the Arizona NFB chapter, with overlapping interests that may prioritize organizational control over collaborative advocacy. Some sources suggested that these organizations might resist the bill if they could not claim credit for its inception, potentially undermining the effort.
On August 28, 2025, while returning from Phoenix, I received an email from Mr. Blackman’s office canceling the September 4 meeting, citing his travel from September 6 to 13, 2025. The explanation was unclear, as the travel dates did not conflict with the scheduled meeting. This cancellation raised concerns about the commitment to this cause. Possible reasons include insufficient attendance projections or external pressures, though no definitive explanation was provided. While the office offered to reschedule, the abrupt cancellation eroded confidence in the process. Mr. Blackman broke his word. It will be hard for him to regainer that trust.
This experience underscores the challenges of advocating for systemic change. Despite setbacks, I remain committed to updating Arizona’s laws to better protect blind and vulnerable pedestrians. I will engage with media outlets to raise awareness and hold elected officials accountable. You do not break your word to the blind community and get away with it. The blind community, inspired by the grassroots activism that led to the Americans with Disabilities Act, will continue to push for meaningful reform.
The substantial resources held by organizations like the NFB, reportedly $17 million in stocks and bonds, raise questions about their priorities in supporting the blind community. These funds could be better utilized to address pressing needs, such as enhanced legal protections, support for guide dog programs, and FOOD for the blind elderly that can’t afford food.
I will continue collaborating with blind advocates and other stakeholders to refine the draft bill and prepare for the 2026 legislative session. Updates will be shared as developments arise. Thank you for reading and supporting this effort to ensure safety and justice for vulnerable pedestrians in Arizona.
If you would like to help, please call Legislator Walt Blackman’s office and let him know you support this bill and the blind community. His office number is: 602-926-3043.
UPDATE: Legislator Blackman has decided to have the meeting as we had originally planned. Thank you, Walt Blackman.
Everyone is a Blob
I’ve spent many sleepless nights trying to find the right words to describe what it’s like to go completely blind. It’s not like flipping off a light switch! For most people who are blind, about 90% according to the stats, there’s still something to see. Maybe it’s just light perception, like knowing the sun’s out there doing its thing, or maybe it’s catching a glimpse of colors, like a fuzzy rainbow. But for a few folks I know who’ve been completely blind since birth, sight is just one piece of the sensory puzzle, and they prove you can live a full, vibrant life without it. Me? I’m somewhere near the end, navigating a world of blobs, and let me tell you, it’s a wild ride.
Let’s get one thing straight: life without sight isn’t easy, but it’s absolutely worth living to the fullest. I mean, who needs 20/20 vision when you’ve got stubbornness, a good sense of humor, and a knack for dodging furniture? (I still bump into things, but I’m working on my ninja skills.) The world of blindness is filled with challenges, but it’s also brimming with possibilities. I love chatting with people about the tech that’s out there, like screen readers, smart canes, apps that describe the world like a chatty tour guide. But the real MVP in my life is Braille.
Braille is like the secret handshake of the blind community. It’s tactile, it’s elegant, and it keeps my brain as sharp as a tack. Fun fact: reading braille lights up the same part of your brain as reading with your eyes. So, while I’m running my fingers over those delightful dots, I’m basically doing mental push-ups. Without braille, I’m not sure I’d be as happy as I am today. It’s my bridge to a world of books, notes, and magazines.
I’ve been blind in one eye since I was a day old, thanks to a condition called Septo-Optic Dysplasia, which led to Optic Atrophy. Sounds like a villain from a sci-fi flick, right? Basically, it means my optic nerve cells are slowly checking out, like guests leaving a party early. Back in the 1970s, though, I didn’t let that stop me. I was just another kid, tearing around on bikes and motorcycles, channeling my inner Evel Knievel. Sure, I had more crashes than the average daredevil—my nickname was and still is “Crash”—but I didn’t care. My parents were my biggest cheerleaders, telling me I could do anything. I still believe them.
Fast forward to January 2024, when my doctor dropped a bombshell: “Stop driving.” The next month, another gut-punch: I had about two years of sight left. We hoped it’d stretch longer, but my vision had other plans. Right now, I’m down to five degrees of peripheral vision, and it’s blurry, like looking through a foggy window. Everyone and everything is a blob. My wife, Deana has been my rock through this whole journey, encouraging me to keep going, even when I’m tempted to throw a pity party for one.
Here’s what it’s like to live in Blob City. I can still pick up colors, so I might notice a red hat or a green shirt, but details? Forget it. Reading text is like trying to solve a puzzle in a windstorm. I have to stare at it forever, and it better be in font size “Billboard.” Walking, though, is my jam. It clears my head and usually puts me in a better mood. This morning, I strolled down to Green Valley Park, looped around the lake, and decided to grab Deana a drink from the gas station on the way back. Easy, right? Wrong.
I sauntered up to the cooler, ready to be the hero of hydration, only to remember I couldn’t read the labels. Picture me, squinting like a detective at a crime scene, trying to guess which bottle was Deana’s favorite. I grabbed one that looked vaguely familiar and hoped for the best. Then, a kind stranger piped up: “Need any help?” I could’ve hugged him. He confirmed I’d picked the right drink, then asked, “How’d you figure that out?” I explained my blob-vision situation, and he was surprised. Like most folks, he saw my white cane and dark glasses and assumed I was living in total darkness. Nope, just blob central.
That white cane and dark glasses? It’s like the unofficial “blind uniform.” People see it and assume I can’t see a thing, which is honestly a safe bet. I don’t mind the assumptions, better safe than sorry, right? Most people are just trying to help, and I’m grateful for it. I always say “thank you,” even if I don’t need the assistance. The other day, someone offered to guide me across the street, and I thought, Buddy, I’ve been crossing streets since disco was king. But I smiled, said thanks, and let them feel like a superhero. It’s a win-win.
The truth is, every blind person’s experience is different. Some of us see blobs, some see light, some see nothing at all. What we all share is the ability to adapt, to find joy in the little things, and to keep moving forward. For me, that means laughing at my own misadventures, like the multiple times I called a Mister a Misses or vice versa. That can get dicy really quick.
Losing my sight hasn’t been easy, but it’s taught me to lean into life’s unpredictability. I’m still the kid who rode motorcycles and dreamed big, just with a few more battle scars and a better sense of humor. With Deana by my side, braille to keep me sharp, and the occasional kind stranger to point me toward the right soda, I’m living a life that’s full, messy, and mine. So here’s to the blobs. May they always be colorful, and may I never stop finding the humor in this wild, blurry world.
Download Braille BRF FILE HERE!
The Kodak Retina IIIc Saga Continues…
The Kodak Retina IIIc is not a perfect camera by any means, but its strengths far outweigh its few flaws. Its remarkably compact size, exceptional lens quality, and innovative features combine to make it a standout choice for photographers who truly appreciate the unique charm and subtle challenges of vintage gear. Sure, the infamous cocking rack can be a persistent headache, and tracking down a reliable, well-functioning example can sometimes be a gamble. But when you get it just right—whether through careful, patient selection or, in my case, a little bit of creative parts-swapping—the Retina IIIc becomes a camera that genuinely rewards you with every single shot, making the whole journey well worth it.
The anticipation of receiving a new to me camera in the mail is a feeling that resonates deeply with any photography enthusiast. After the trials and tribulations recounted in my previous article about purchasing a Kodak Retina IIIc on eBay, I was cautiously optimistic when another Retina IIIc arrived in the mail. My last order took a grueling three weeks to arrive, so when this one showed up in just five days, I was nothing short of astonished. The speed of delivery felt like a small victory, a promising start to what I hoped would be a better experience with this iconic folding camera.
There’s something undeniably thrilling about unboxing a vintage camera, especially one as storied as the Kodak Retina IIIc. It’s not just a piece of equipment; it’s a tactile connection to photographic history, a vessel of potential adventures wrapped in a sleek, compact body. As I carefully unwrapped the camera from its packaging and slid it out of its well-worn leather case, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. Life, I’ve come to realize, is not like a box of chocolates, as Forrest Gump famously quipped. It’s more like an eBay order, you truly never know what you’re going to get. Sometimes, that unpredictability leads to a nightmare; other times, it delivers something even better than you’d hoped.
As I held the Retina IIIc in my hands, I noticed something immediately; the previous owner had etched their personal information into the top plate. It was a minor imperfection, a testament to the camera’s trajectory through time and human hands before reaching my possession. My primary concern, however, wasn’t the cosmetic imperfections but the condition of the cocking rack—a notorious weak point in the Retina series, including the IIa, IIc, IIIc, IIIC, and IB models. My previous Retina IIIc had arrived with a faulty cocking rack, rendering it nearly unusable, and I was determined not to repeat that disappointment. If this one’s cocking rack was also defective, I was ready to swear off Kodak Retinas for good.
To my relief, the cocking rack was in mint condition. I spent some time meticulously inspecting the camera, testing its mechanical functions, and familiarizing myself with its quirks. The shutter fired smoothly, the aperture ring clicked with satisfying precision, and the film advance lever, uniquely located on the bottom of the camera, operated as it should. But, as with any vintage purchase, there were imperfections. I noticed a small spot on the front lens element, and the built-in light meter was sluggish, struggling to respond accurately to changes in light. These issues, while not deal breakers, meant the camera wasn’t quite ready for action.
In my previous article, I had mentioned the possibility of using my first Retina IIIc as a parts body if its issues proved insurmountable. That’s exactly what I ended up doing. The first camera, despite its faulty cocking rack, had a pristine front lens element, a fully functional light meter, and an unmarred top plate. With a bit of careful disassembly and some tinkering, I swapped these components onto the new camera. The result? One fully functional, almost perfect Kodak Retina IIIc, albeit with mismatched serial numbers.
For some, mismatched serial numbers might be a dealbreaker, a blemish on the camera’s collectible value. But I’m not a collector, I’m a photographer that uses my cameras. My goal isn’t to display this Retina IIIc on a shelf; it’s to take it out into the world, capture moments, and tell stories through its lens. With the best parts from both cameras combined, I now had a folding camera that was not only functional but also a joy to use.
Last week, I took my newly restored Retina IIIc to green valley park here in Payson, AZ to test its capabilities. As I framed shots and adjusted settings, an older gentleman walking his dog approached me. He watched me for a moment before asking, with genuine curiosity, “How are you able to take pictures if you’re blind?”
It was a question I’ve heard before, and in that moment, a dozen responses flashed through my mind, some witty, some defensive. Instead, I opted for a simple analogy: “If you’d been doing something for 40 years, would you stop just because you couldn’t see anymore?” He paused, nodded thoughtfully, and said, “That’s a great point.” With a smile, he continued on his walk, his dog trotting happily beside him.
That interaction stuck with me. Photography, for me, is more than just seeing through a viewfinder. It’s about muscle memory, intuition, and a deep understanding of the craft honed over decades. The Retina IIIc, with its unique design and tactile controls, complements this approach perfectly.
The Kodak Retina IIIc is a remarkable piece of engineering, a camera that was undeniably ahead of its time when it was introduced in the 1950s. Its compact, folding design made it portable, while its high-quality Schneider-Kreuznach lens delivered sharp, vibrant images. The built-in light meter, a rarity for its era, added a layer of convenience that set it apart from many of its contemporaries. But, like any piece of vintage technology, it has its flaws—chief among them, the infamous cocking rack.
The cocking rack is the Achilles’ heel of the Retina series. Models like the IIa, IIc, IIIc, IIIC, and IB are all susceptible to issues with this critical component, which advances the film and cocks the shutter. A faulty cocking rack can render an otherwise excellent camera useless, as I learned the hard way with my first Retina IIIc. For anyone considering purchasing one of these models, my advice is simple. Seek out a camera that has been recently serviced (CLA’d—cleaned, lubricated, and adjusted) or one with a well documented history. If you’re buying on a budget, as I do, be prepared to purchase two cameras to cobble together one fully functional unit. It’s a gamble, but when it pays off, the reward is a camera that’s a joy to shoot with.
One of the standout features of the Retina IIIc, compared to its sibling the IIc, is the inclusion of a light meter. This meter works in conjunction with the camera’s Exposure Value (EV) system, a method of setting exposure that some photographers love and others loathe. For me, it’s a game-changer, especially given my severe visual impairment.
The EV system locks the shutter speed and aperture together based on a single EV number, simplifying the exposure process. Once the EV is set, adjusting one parameter automatically adjusts the other to maintain the correct exposure. For someone like me, who relies heavily on tactile feedback and muscle memory, this system is a blessing. Setting the EV number is straightforward, and from there, it’s just a matter of counting the clicks to dial in the desired shutter speed. What initially seemed like a quirky, outdated system has become one of my favorite features of the Retina IIIc. Like the camera’s bottom-mounted advance lever, it’s a design choice that feels foreign at first but becomes second nature with practice.
The Kodak Retina IIIc is not a perfect camera, but its strengths far outweigh its flaws. Its compact size, exceptional lens, and innovative features make it a standout choice for photographers who appreciate the charm and challenge of vintage gear. Yes, the cocking rack is a persistent issue, and sourcing a reliable example can be a gamble. But when you get it right—whether through careful selection or, in my case, a bit of parts-swapping—the Retina IIIc is a camera that rewards you with every shot.
For me, photography is about more than just capturing images, it’s about the experience, the process, and the stories that unfold along the way. Whether it’s the thrill of unboxing a new-to-me camera, the satisfaction of resurrecting a broken one, or the unexpected conversations sparked by a day at the park, the Retina IIIc has already given me more than I could have hoped for. If you’re willing to embrace its quirks and invest a little patience, this classic camera might just surprise you, too.
What are your thoughts? Are you a Retina skeptic? Let me know what you think in the comments. Photographs are below the article.
Kodak Retina IIIc: A Tale of eBay and Vintage Cameras
The Kodak Retina IIIc is a beautiful piece of photographic history, a folding camera from the 1950s that promises sharp images and a nostalgic shooting experience. With its sleek design, Xenon f/2 lens, and uncoupled light meter, it’s a gem for collectors and film photography enthusiasts like me. However, my journey to acquire a working Retina IIIc has been nothing short of a rollercoaster, filled with anticipation, frustration, and a few hard-learned lessons about buying vintage cameras online that I should have already grasped. Let me take you through my saga, from the thrill of clicking “Bid Now” on eBay to the heartbreak of a broken cocking rack.
The Kodak Retina IIIc is a beautiful piece of photographic history, a folding camera from the 1950s that promises sharp images and a nostalgic shooting experience. With its sleek design, Xenon f/2 lens, and uncoupled light meter, it’s a gem for collectors and film photography enthusiasts like me. However, my journey to acquire a working Retina IIIc has been nothing short of a rollercoaster, filled with anticipation, frustration, and a few hard-learned lessons about buying vintage cameras online that I should have already grasped. Let me take you through my saga, from the thrill of clicking “Bid Now” on eBay to the heartbreak of a broken cocking rack.
It all began about a month ago when I spotted a Kodak Retina IIIc listed on eBay. The listing photos showed a camera in pristine condition, nestled in its original leather case, with a promise of functionality. I was sold. I placed my order and eagerly awaited its arrival, imagining the stunning photographs I’d soon capture with its legendary Xenon f/2 lens, known for its sharpness and beautifully shallow depth of field.
The seller, based in Washington state, opted for USPS’s cheapest ground shipping option. What followed was a logistical nightmare that could only be described as a comedy of errors. The package embarked on a bizarre cross-country journey, starting in Washington, making a pit stop in Portland, Oregon, then heading to Los Angeles, California, before finally landing in Phoenix, Arizona, an hour and a half drive from Payson. Nine days after the order, I was thrilled to see it had arrived in Phoenix. My excitement was short lived.
For reasons unknown, the camera sat in a hot desert distribution center for three days before being inexplicably shipped back to Washington state. I contacted USPS, hoping for clarity, but they were as baffled as I was. “We don’t know why it was sent back,” they told me, offering little comfort. Another week passed before the camera began its return journey to Phoenix. Two more days, and it finally landed in my mailbox three weeks after I’d placed the order. A week’s delay is understandable, but three weeks? That’s enough to test anyone’s patience.
When the package finally arrived, I tore into it with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning. The camera looked impeccable, still snug in its leather case, with no visible scratches or dents. It appeared to be the pristine specimen promised in the eBay listing. Eager to test it, I cocked the shutter and fired it. The satisfying click of the shutter was music to my ears. I tried it again and nothing. The advance lever refused to budge. My heart sank.
Determined to diagnose the issue, I carefully removed the top cover of the camera. What I found was devastating: the cocking rack, a critical component of the Retina IIIc’s film advance mechanism, was damaged beyond repair. For those unfamiliar, the cocking rack is a delicate part that engages the gears to advance the film and cock the shutter. It’s a testament to the brilliance of the Retina’s engineers, but also its Achilles’ heel.
The Kodak Retina line, produced between 1954 and 1957 for the IIIc model, is a marvel of mid-20th-century engineering. These cameras were ahead of their time, offering compact designs, high-quality lenses, and features like the uncoupled light meter on the IIIc, which I was particularly excited about as a tool for manual exposure calculations. However, the cocking rack is a notorious weak point. From my research and discussions with other collectors, I’ve learned that several factors can lead to its failure.
The most common issue is the guide screw that keeps the cocking rack aligned. Over time, this screw can loosen, allowing the rack to shift and misalign with the gears. This slight movement can wreak havoc on the delicate mechanism, causing irreparable damage. Another frequent culprit is old grease in the shutter mechanism. In colder months, this grease can harden, essentially turning to concrete. If someone forces the advance lever when the shutter is stuck, the rack can be pushed over the gears, bending or breaking it in the process.
There’s also the possibility of human error. The Retina IIIc is over 70 years old, and many have been serviced (or “CLA’d”—cleaned, lubricated, and adjusted) over the decades. An inexperienced technician could mishandle the delicate components, leading to issues like the one I encountered. As someone who’s also over 50, I can sympathize with the Retina IIIc—things start to creak and break down around this age, don’t they?
Despite this setback, my affection for the Kodak Retina IIIc remains unshaken. I already own a Retina IIc, which I adore for its compact size and stellar image quality, but the IIIc offers something extra: that uncoupled light meter. For someone like me, having a built-in meter is a godsend. Plus, the Xenon f/2 lens is a dream, delivering tack-sharp images with a creamy bokeh that’s perfect for portraits or low-light shooting.
The Retina IIIc is a folding camera, meaning the lens retracts into the body when not in use, making it surprisingly portable for its era. It’s a blend of form and function that feels like holding a piece of history in your hands. When it works, it’s a joy to shoot with, offering a tactile, deliberate experience that modern digital cameras can’t replicate.
Faced with a broken cocking rack, I weighed my options. A new old stock (NOS) cocking rack on eBay was listed for $40, but there’s no guarantee it would solve all my problems, and installation requires precision I wasn’t confident I could muster. Instead, I took a leap of faith and ordered another Retina IIIc from a different seller, this time for a bit less than the cost of the replacement part. It’s set to arrive in a few days, and I’m cautiously optimistic (fingers crossed) that it won’t suffer from the same issue.
This isn’t my first rodeo with vintage cameras gone wrong. A few years back, I went through a similar ordeal with a Mamiya Six, buying four of them over the course of a year in hopes of finding one that worked decently. Frustration eventually got the better of me, and I sold them all. I’m determined not to let history repeat itself with the Retina IIIc.
Despite the challenges, there’s something magical about shooting with a camera like the Kodak Retina IIIc. These machines were built in an era when craftsmanship was paramount, and every click of the shutter feels like a connection to the past. The Retina IIIc, with its blend of engineering ingenuity and optical excellence, embodies that spirit. Yes, my first attempt at owning one was a bust, but I’m not giving up. The promise of capturing stunning images with that Xenon f/2 lens keeps me hopeful.
As I wait for my second Retina IIIc to arrive, I’m reminded why I love film photography. It’s not just about the final image, it’s about the journey, the quirks, and the stories that come with these vintage treasures. Here’s hoping my next Retina IIIc will be a keeper. In the meantime, I’ll keep my fingers crossed and my eBay alerts on.
If you’ve got your own tale of vintage camera triumphs or disasters, I’d love to hear it. And if you’re eyeing a Retina IIIc, tread carefully but don’t let my misadventure scare you off. When it works, it’s a camera worth chasing.
Understanding Apertures in Photography
Whether you're capturing moments with a vintage film camera or a modern digital setup, understanding the exposure triangle; aperture, shutter speed, and ISO is fundamental to creating stunning photographs. These three elements work together to control how light interacts with your film or digital camera sensor, ultimately shaping the look and feel of your images. In this guide, we’ll focus on the often-misunderstood role of aperture, exploring not only its impact on exposure but also how it influences depth of field and the creative potential of your photography. While many tutorials emphasize aperture’s effect on brightness, we’ll dive deeper into how it shapes the area in focus, offering practical tips to elevate your skills, whether you’re a beginner or a seasoned photographer.
In this video, I discuss aperture and how it affects depth of field in your photography.
Whether you're capturing moments with a vintage film camera or a modern digital setup, understanding the exposure triangle; aperture, shutter speed, and ISO is fundamental to creating stunning photographs. These three elements work together to control how light interacts with your film or digital camera sensor, ultimately shaping the look and feel of your images. In this guide, we’ll focus on the often-misunderstood role of aperture, exploring not only its impact on exposure but also how it influences depth of field and the creative potential of your photography. While many tutorials emphasize aperture’s effect on brightness, we’ll dive deeper into how it shapes the area in focus, offering practical tips to elevate your skills, whether you’re a beginner or a seasoned photographer.
What is the Exposure Triangle?
The exposure triangle is the foundation of photography, balancing three critical settings to achieve a well-exposed image:
Aperture: Controls the size of the lens opening, affecting both the amount of light entering the camera and the depth of field.
Shutter Speed: Determines how long the camera’s sensor is exposed to light, influencing motion blur and brightness.
ISO: Adjusts the sensor’s sensitivity to light, impacting image brightness and noise levels.
Mastering these elements allows you to manipulate light creatively, ensuring your photos are neither too dark nor too bright while achieving the desired artistic effect. Let’s zoom in on aperture, as it’s one of the most powerful tools for controlling both technical and creative aspects of your images.
Aperture refers to the adjustable opening in your lens through which light/photons pass to reach the the film or scamera sensor. It’s measured in f-stops (f/1.4, f/2.8, f/8, f/11, f/16), where lower numbers indicate a larger opening and higher numbers indicate a smaller one. Aperture plays a dual role: it regulates the amount of light in your exposure and controls the depth of field, which determines how much of your image is in sharp focus.
A smaller number but larger opening aperture (e.g., f/1.8 or f/2.8) allows more light to enter, brightening your image, which is ideal for low light situations like indoor portraits or night photography. Conversely, a higher number but smaller aperture (e.g., f/11 or f/16) lets in less light, making it suitable for bright environments, such as outdoor landscapes on a sunny day. Balancing aperture with shutter speed and ISO ensures your image achieves the desired brightness without over or underexposure.
While aperture’s effect on exposure is widely discussed, its influence on depth of field is equally important and often not mentioned. Depth of field (DoF) refers to the range within your image that appears sharp and in focus. Aperture settings directly control this range, allowing you to create everything from dreamy, blurred backgrounds to crisp, detailed scenes.
Wide Aperture (Low f-stop, e.g., f/1.4 or f/2.8): A wide aperture creates a shallow depth of field, where only a small portion of the image is in focus, and the background blurs into a creamy bokeh. This is perfect for portrait photography, where you want to isolate your subject from the background, or for macro photography, emphasizing fine details. For example, with a 50mm lens set to f/2.8, the depth of field might be just a few inches when focusing on a subject a few feet away, making the subject’s eyes sharp while the background melts into beautiful bokeh.
Narrow Aperture (High f-stop, e.g., f/11 or f/16): A smaller aperture increases the depth of field, bringing more of the scene into focus. This is ideal for landscape photography, where you want both the foreground and distant mountains to be sharp, or for group shots, where everyone needs to be in focus. However, smaller apertures require more light or adjustments to shutter speed and ISO to maintain proper exposure.
While aperture is the primary driver of depth of field, other factors also play a role:
Focal Length: Longer lenses (e.g., 85mm or 200mm) produce a shallower depth of field compared to shorter lenses (e.g., 24mm or 35mm) at the same aperture. For instance, a 50mm lens at f/2.8 will have a narrower depth of field than a 24mm lens at f/2.8.
Subject Distance: The closer your subject is to the camera, the shallower the depth of field becomes. For example, photographing a flower a few inches away at f/2.8 will result in a very narrow focus plane, while the same aperture used for a subject 10 feet away will yield a slightly deeper focus area.
Lens Design: Different lenses have unique optical characteristics that affect depth of field. Prime lenses with wide maximum apertures (e.g., f/1.4 or f/1.8) are prized for their ability to create dramatic bokeh, while zoom lenses may offer more flexibility but less pronounced background blur.
Practical Tips for Using Aperture Creatively
Experiment with Portraits: Try shooting a portrait at f/1.8 to create a beautifully blurred background that makes your subject pop. Then, switch to f/8 and notice how more of the background comes into focus. Compare the results to understand aperture’s creative impact.
Master Landscape Photography: For sweeping vistas, use a narrow aperture like f/11 or f/16 to ensure both foreground and background details are sharp. Use a tripod if the smaller aperture requires a slower shutter speed to avoid camera shake.
Control Light in Low-Light Settings: In dim environments, a wide aperture (e.g., f/2.8 or lower) can help you capture well-exposed images without relying heavily on high ISO settings, which can introduce noise.
Understand Your Lens: Not all lenses perform equally at every aperture. Some lenses are sharpest at mid-range apertures (e.g., f/5.6 or f/8), while others excel wide open. Test your lens to find its “sweet spot” for optimal sharpness and clarity.
Balance the Exposure Triangle: Adjusting aperture affects the other elements of the exposure triangle. For example, using a wide aperture in bright light may require a faster shutter speed or lower ISO to prevent overexposure. Practice balancing these settings to achieve your desired look.
Mastering aperture is a game-changer for photographers, whether you’re shooting on a vintage film camera or a cutting-edge digital model. By understanding how aperture affects both exposure and depth of field, you can make intentional choices to bring your creative vision to life. Experiment with different f-stops, observe how they transform your images, and practice balancing aperture with shutter speed and ISO. Over time, you’ll develop an intuitive sense of how to use the exposure triangle to capture the perfect shot in any scenario.
For a hands-on demonstration, check out our accompanying instructional video, where we break down aperture settings using a 50mm lens and show real-world examples of how f/2.8 versus f/11 changes your images. Start experimenting today, and watch your photography skills soar!
Kodak Retina IIc
For decades, I dismissed Kodak cameras, associating them with the mass-produced, lowquality designs of the 1970s and 1980s. My career as a professional photographer and enthusiast led me to favor Minolta film cameras and later Sony and Canon digital systems. However, my recent exploration of 35mm folding cameras, driven by the need for a rangefinder-equipped model suitable for my visual impairment, brought me to reconsider Kodak’s Retina line. This article chronicles my journey from skepticism to admiration, culminating in the acquisition and use of a Kodak Retina IIc.
For decades, I dismissed Kodak cameras, associating them with the mass-produced, lowquality designs of the 1970s and 1980s. My career as a professional photographer and enthusiast led me to favor Minolta film cameras and later Sony and Canon digital systems. However, my recent exploration of 35mm folding cameras, driven by the need for a rangefinder-equipped model suitable for my visual impairment, brought me to reconsider Kodak’s Retina line. This article chronicles my journey from skepticism to admiration, culminating in the acquisition and use of a Kodak Retina IIc.
Growing up in the late 1970s and 1980s, I encountered Kodak cameras that epitomized the era’s "plastic fantastic" and Bakelite designs. These cameras, often flimsy and prone to failure, earned a poor reputation among photographers, frequently relegated to the status of gag gifts. While Kodak’s film remained the gold standard, their cameras, in my view, fell short of the quality offered by competitors like Minolta, which I relied on for years. This bias shaped my equipment choices, leading me to overlook Kodak’s offerings for much of my career.
As a legally blind photographer, I sought a compact 35mm folding camera with a rangefinder to simplify focusing, given my inability to judge distances accurately. Initially, I turned to Voigtländer’s Vito series, which I found reliable and well-designed. However, the only Vito model with a built-in rangefinder, the Vito III, was prohibitively expensive. This led me to revisit Kodak’s Retina line, specifically the IIc and IIIc models, which combine portability with rangefinder functionality.
My perspective shifted after discovering Retina Rescue, a website by Chris Sherlock, a renowned expert in vintage camera repair. Sherlock’s detailed insights into the Retina series, coupled with his engaging YouTube channel, provided a wealth of knowledge about the cameras’ engineering and history. His work challenged my assumptions about Kodak and inspired me to seek out a Retina IIc or IIIc.
After a thorough search, I found an eBay auction for a mint-condition Retina IIc, complete with 35mm and 80mm accessory lenses. Winning the auction at a price well below market value felt like a stroke of luck. When the camera arrived, it was pristine, with all components functioning as described. The Retina IIc’s Exposure Value (EV) system, which couples shutter speed and aperture based on a light meter reading, proved intuitive and accessible, particularly for someone with visual limitations.
On Father’s Day, I tested the Retina IIc during an outing to Show Low and Pinetop, Arizona, with a stop at the Mogollon Rim overlook in Payson. The camera’s bottom-mounted film advance lever required some adjustment, but the rangefinder made focusing effortless. Shooting at sunset, I captured images of the valley and winding road below, and the results were striking—sharp, contrasty, and well-exposed across various settings. The Retina’s optical quality and design exceeded my expectations.
The Retina IIc has reshaped my view of Kodak cameras, revealing a level of craftsmanship made in Germany I had not associated with the brand. Its compact design, rangefinder precision, and reliable performance make it an excellent choice for photographers, especially those with visual impairments. I highly recommend exploring Chris Sherlock’s Retina Rescue for anyone interested in vintage cameras. For collectors and enthusiasts, the Retina series offers a unique blend of history and functionality.
I’d love to hear from fellow photographers: Do you collect Kodak Retinas? What are your experiences with these cameras? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
Exploring the Riordan Mansion in Flagstaff, Arizona
Nestled in the heart of Flagstaff, Arizona, amidst towering Ponderosa pines and just steps away from Northern Arizona University, the Riordan Mansion State Historic Park stands as a testament to Capitalism and Ambition of the early 20th century. This sprawling 13,000-square-foot duplex, built in 1904, is not just an architectural marvel but a living time capsule that tells the story of the Riordan family, their contributions to Flagstaff’s growth, and the Arts and Crafts movement that shaped their home. If you’re a history enthusiast, an architecture lover, or simply curious about Arizona’s territorial past, a visit to Riordan Mansion is an unforgettable journey into the heart of Northern Arizona’s heritage.
Nestled in the heart of Flagstaff, Arizona, amidst towering Ponderosa pines and just steps away from Northern Arizona University, the Riordan Mansion State Historic Park stands as a testament to Capitalism and Ambition of the early 20th century. This sprawling 13,000-square-foot duplex, built in 1904, is not just an architectural marvel but a living time capsule that tells the story of the Riordan family, their contributions to Flagstaff’s growth, and the Arts and Crafts movement that shaped their home. If you’re a history enthusiast, an architecture lover, or simply curious about Arizona’s territorial past, a visit to Riordan Mansion is an unforgettable journey into the heart of Northern Arizona’s heritage.
The Riordan family story begins with brothers Timothy and Michael Riordan, sons of Irish immigrants who settled in Chicago before making their way to the Arizona Territory in the 1880s. The Riordans were not just businessmen; they were visionaries who played a pivotal role in transforming Flagstaff from a gritty railroad outpost into a thriving industrial and cultural hub. Their fortunes were built on the Arizona Lumber and Timber Company, a powerhouse that employed a significant portion of the town’s residents and fueled Flagstaff’s economic growth. Beyond lumber, the Riordans were instrumental in bringing electricity to the city, establishing Upper and Lower Lake Mary, named after their daughter, Mary, and supporting the development of educational institutions like the Normal School, which evolved into Northern Arizona University. Their influence extended to banking, railroads, cattle, and even local politics, cementing their status as one of Flagstaff’s most prominent families.
Timothy and Michael married sisters Caroline and Elizabeth Metz, respectively, who were cousins of another influential Flagstaff family, the Babbitts. This close-knit family dynamic is reflected in the unique design of the mansion, which was constructed as a duplex to house both families under one roof while maintaining separate living spaces. The Riordans’ legacy is deeply woven into Flagstaff’s fabric, and their home remains a tangible link to their contributions.
Designed by Charles Whittlesey, the architect behind the iconic El Tovar Hotel at the Grand Canyon, Riordan Mansion is a stunning example of American Arts and Crafts-style architecture. Completed in just nine months between 1903 and 1904, the mansion features a rustic exterior of log-slab siding, volcanic stone arches, and hand-split wooden shingles, blending seamlessly with the natural landscape of Flagstaff’s cool pines. The 40-room estate, spanning over 13,000 square feet, includes two nearly identical 6,000-square-foot wings—one for Timothy and Caroline’s family and one for Michael and Elizabeth’s—connected by a shared “Rendezvous Room” where the families could gather.
The mansion was a marvel of modern technology for its time, boasting indoor plumbing, hot and cold running water, central heating, and electric lights—luxuries that were rare in territorial Arizona. The Arts and Crafts philosophy, which emphasized craftsmanship, natural materials, and simplicity, is evident throughout the home. The interior is adorned with built-in furniture, exposed wooden beams, and native stone, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere that reflects the movement’s celebration of nature and authenticity.
One of the mansion’s most striking features is the set of photographic windows in the Rendezvous Room. These windows, created by photographer John K. Hillers, who accompanied John Wesley Powell on his Grand Canyon expeditions, feature seven black-and-white images set against frosted glass. The photographs, a nod to the Riordans’ connection to the region’s exploration history, add a unique artistic touch to the home’s rustic charm.
To fully experience Riordan Mansion, a guided tour is a must. The interior is accessible only through these hour-long tours, which are offered daily on the hour from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., with reservations highly recommended due to limited capacity. The tour begins in the East House, Timothy and Caroline’s residence, which is furnished as if the family just stepped out, preserving the authenticity of the early 1900s. Visitors are treated to an in-depth look at the Riordan family’s history, the mansion’s architectural details, and its exceptional collection of Craftsman furnishings from renowned makers like Edison, Stickley, Ellis, and Steinway. The tour concludes in the West House, Michael and Elizabeth’s home, where self-guided exhibits delve into the Arts and Crafts movement, Native American pottery, the lumber industry, and a model of historic Flagstaff.
Located at 409 W. Riordan Road, Riordan Mansion is easily accessible, though visitors should note ongoing road construction on Riordan Road through June 20, 2025. The Arizona State Parks website recommends approaching from the east via Northern Arizona University, with the main entrance just west of the Riordan Road and Knoles Drive intersection. The park is open daily from 9:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. during the summer (May 1–October 31), with reduced hours (10:30 a.m.–5:00 p.m., closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays) from November 1 to April 30. The park is closed on Christmas Day.
The visitor center, housed in the former family garage, offers introductory exhibits and a gift shop stocked with books on the Arts and Crafts movement, Flagstaff history, and period-style souvenirs. The grounds, which span five acres, are free to explore and include picnic tables and scenic spots perfect for a relaxing afternoon.
The Riordan Mansion remained in the family until the 1980s, when descendants donated it to Arizona State Parks. Bob Chambers, Timothy’s son-in-law, gifted the East House in 1981, and Blanche, Michael’s eldest daughter, donated the West House in 1985. The park faced closure in 2010 due to state budget cuts, but the Riordan Action Network Group, a dedicated team of volunteers, ensured its survival through fundraising and community support. Today, volunteers continue to play a vital role in maintaining the mansion and offering educational tours, preserving this historic treasure for future generations.
Riordan Mansion is more than just a house; it’s a window into Flagstaff’s evolution from a territorial logging town to a vibrant modern city. The mansion’s architectural beauty, combined with the compelling story of the Riordan family, offers a rich and immersive experience. Whether you’re drawn to the intricate details of Arts and Crafts design, the history of Flagstaff’s pioneer families, or the chance to step back in time, Riordan Mansion delivers. Its proximity to other Flagstaff attractions, like Lowell Observatory, the Museum of Northern Arizona, and the historic Route 66 downtown, makes it an ideal stop on any Northern Arizona itinerary.
Deana and I had an absolutely amazing time exploring the stunning mansion. Our tour guide turned out to be truly exceptional! She not only answered our questions along the way but also captivated us with interesting facts as we made our way through the beautifully furnished East and West Wings of the mansion. I learned so much about the rich history of Northern Arizona and how this large family of first-generation Irish-Americans played a pivotal role in bringing civilization and culture to the unique landscape of Northern Arizona.
Difference between the Voigtlander Vitos
In this engaging YouTube short, we take a closer look at the fascinating differences between the Voigtländer Vito I models from the pre-WWII era, the Vito I models released after WWII, as well as the updated Voigtländer Vito II and Vito IIa versions. Join us as we explore the unique features, design elements, and the historical significance of each camera, providing you with a comprehensive understanding of these classic gems in the world of photography!
Desert Road
This photograph captures a striking, timeless scene, rendered in evocative black and white through the lens of a Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta, a classic medium-format camera renowned for its exceptional optical quality and mechanical precision. This image transports the viewer to a vast, open desert landscape, where a lone road stretches endlessly toward the horizon, flanked by rugged terrain and a dramatic mesa rising on the left. The monochromatic palette enhances the stark beauty of the scene, emphasizing contrasts between the smooth asphalt, the textured earth, and the towering rock formation under a sky dotted with scattered clouds.
This photograph captures a striking, timeless scene, rendered in evocative black and white through the lens of a Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta, a classic medium-format camera renowned for its exceptional optical quality and mechanical precision. This image transports the viewer to a vast, open desert landscape, where a lone road stretches endlessly toward the horizon, flanked by rugged terrain and a dramatic mesa rising on the left. The monochromatic palette enhances the stark beauty of the scene, emphasizing contrasts between the smooth asphalt, the textured earth, and the towering rock formation under a sky dotted with scattered clouds.
The Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta, manufactured in the mid-20th century, is renowned for its Tessar lens, which imparts sharp clarity and a profound tonal spectrum—qualities distinctly evident in this photograph. The selection of black-and-white film harmoniously complements the camera’s capabilities, eliminating color to emphasize form, shadow, and light. The image likely utilizes a slow film, Kentmere100, capturing minute grain and intense contrast, which accentuates the ruggedness of the desert and the gentle curvature of the road. The composition, with the road guiding the viewer’s gaze into the distance, evokes a sense of journey or solitude, a recurring theme in desert photography. The slight tilt of the horizon imparts a dynamic, almost cinematic quality.
The scene itself evokes the American Southwest, with its arid expanses and iconic geological features. The mesa, a flat-topped hill with steep sides, stands as a silent sentinel, its layers of erosion telling a story of millennia. The road, perfectly centered, cuts through the wilderness like a lifeline, hinting at human presence in an otherwise untouched natural world. Sparse vegetation and scattered shrubs dot the landscape, their muted tones blending into the grayscale, while the sky above offers a sense of vastness and freedom, tempered by the soft, drifting clouds.
The Zeiss Ikon’s ability to handle such lighting conditions, with its precise aperture and shutter controls, likely contributed to the image’s balanced exposure, where no detail is lost in the highlights or shadows. The black-and-white format also lends a nostalgic quality, reminiscent of classic road trip photographs from the mid-20th century, when the Super Ikonta was a favored tool among serious amateurs and professionals alike.
The emotional resonance of the image lies in its simplicity and isolation. The empty road invites contemplation—where does it lead? What stories have passed along this path? The mesa, with its imposing presence, adds a sense of permanence, contrasting with the transient nature of the journey. For photographers and enthusiasts, this image serves as a testament to the enduring appeal of film photography, where the deliberate process of shooting with a camera like the Super Ikonta fosters a deeper connection to the subject.
In today’s digital age, this photograph stands out as a reminder of the artistry involved in traditional photography. The Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta, with its manual focus and rangefinder system, required skill and patience, qualities that shine through in the meticulous framing and exposure of this desert scene. It’s a powerful blend of technology and nature, capturing a moment that feels both eternal and fleeting.
Barren Expanse
The photograph captures the awe-inspiring expanse of the Grand Canyon, a natural wonder that has captivated millions. Taken in striking black and white with a Voigtlander Vito IIa on Kentmere100, the photograph emphasizes the dramatic contrasts and textures of the canyon’s layered rock formations. The absence of color draws attention to the intricate details of the canyon walls, revealing the subtle variations in the rock layers that tell a story of ancient geological processes.
The photograph captures the awe-inspiring expanse of the Grand Canyon, a natural wonder that has captivated millions. Taken in striking black and white with a Voigtlander Vito IIa on Kentmere100, the photograph emphasizes the dramatic contrasts and textures of the canyon’s layered rock formations. The absence of color draws attention to the intricate details of the canyon walls, revealing the subtle variations in the rock layers that tell a story of ancient geological processes.
In the foreground, a barren tree with twisted, leafless branches frames the scene, adding a touch of stark elegance and a hint of the harsh desert environment that defines this region. The tree's silhouette against the vast canyon and the cloudy sky creates a poignant contrast, symbolizing both resilience and the passage of time. The clouds themselves add depth to the image, casting soft shadows over the rugged terrain and enhancing the sense of scale and majesty that the Grand Canyon embodies.
Situated in Arizona, United States, the Grand Canyon stands as one of the most renowned and iconic landscapes globally. With a length spanning approximately 277 miles, a width reaching up to 18 miles, and a depth exceeding a mile, this natural marvel was sculpted by the Colorado River over an estimated six million years. Notably, the canyon’s rocks possess a geological history dating back nearly two billion years, providing a profound glimpse into Earth’s ancient past. The canyon’s vibrant layers, ranging from the dark Vishnu Schist at its base to the lighter Kaibab Limestone at its rim, collectively constitute a comprehensive record of ancient oceans, deserts, and tectonic upheavals.
The Grand Canyon is not only a visual spectacle but also a place of cultural and ecological importance. It has been home to Native American tribes, including the Havasupai and Hopi, for thousands of years, and their histories are woven into the land. Today, it is protected as a national park, attracting millions of visitors who come to hike, raft, or simply gaze in wonder at its grandeur. The canyon's diverse ecosystems support a variety of wildlife, from bighorn sheep to the elusive California condor, adding to its rich tapestry of life.
This image serves as a powerful reminder of nature's ability to shape the world over eons, offering a moment of reflection on our place within such vastness. Whether viewed as a geological masterpiece or a spiritual haven, the Grand Canyon continues to inspire and humble all who encounter it. I know that I was humbled by its beauty and grandeur.
If you like these articles about photographs and their subjects, leave a comment.
Grandiose Majesty
Taken in May of 2025, this striking black and white photograph captures the awe-inspiring grandiose majesty of the Grand Canyon in a way that feels both timeless and haunting. The image centers on a solitary, gnarled tree standing defiantly on the canyon's edge, its twisted branches reaching out to the harsh Arizona sun against the vast, rugged landscape. The tree, weathered by years of harsh desert conditions, serves as a poignant symbol of resilience amidst the canyon's unrelenting expanse.
The Grand Canyon itself is the true star of this composition, its layered rock formations stretching into the distance, carved over millions of years by the relentless force of the Colorado River. The photograph's perspective highlights the dramatic depth and scale of the canyon, with sheer cliffs dropping away into shadowy depths, revealing the geological history etched into every stratum. This natural wonder is a testament to the power of erosion and time, drawing millions of visitors each year to marvel at its breathtaking vistas. I know that I stood there in awe.
This image evokes a sense of solitude and contemplation, inviting viewers to reflect on the vastness of nature and humanity's small place within it. The Grand Canyon's iconic status is reinforced here, not just as a scenic marvel but as a living record of Earth's ancient past. Whether you're a seasoned photographer or simply an admirer of natural beauty, this photograph encapsulates the raw, untamed spirit of one of the world's most remarkable landmarks. #GrandCanyon #Photography #Nature #BlackAndWhite #Landscape
Enduring Landscape
This black and white photograph captures a timeless scene of resilience and simplicity. An old, weathered grain drill stands proudly in the foreground, its large wheels and sturdy frame a testament to the hard work of generations past. Beyond it, the rugged landscape unfolds—rolling hills and a dramatic, rocky bluff rise against a vast sky, where clouds drift lazily, casting soft shadows over the earth.
There is a quiet strength in this image, a reminder of the enduring connection between humanity and the land. The grain drill, though aged, symbolizes the determination to cultivate and create, even in the harshest conditions. The landscape, with its untamed beauty, whispers of perseverance—nature’s unyielding spirit mirrored in the tools we have built to work alongside it.
This black and white photograph captures a timeless scene of resilience and simplicity. An old, weathered grain drill stands proudly in the foreground, its large wheels and sturdy frame a testament to the hard work of generations past. Beyond it, the rugged landscape unfolds—rolling hills and a dramatic, rocky bluff rise against a vast sky, where clouds drift lazily, casting soft shadows over the earth.
There is a quiet strength in this image, a reminder of the enduring connection between humanity and the land. The grain drill, though aged, symbolizes the determination to cultivate and create, even in the harshest conditions. The landscape, with its untamed beauty, whispers of perseverance—nature’s unyielding spirit mirrored in the tools we have built to work alongside it.
Over the years, I have captured several photographs that I aspire to display on my wall. While not all of my photographs, whether film or digital, resonate with me, this particular one stands out. It exudes a profound sense of endurance and an unwavering determination to never give up.
The camera, akin to the antiquated grain drill depicted in the photograph, exhibits simplicity yet functionality. Contrary to the notion that substantial investment in specialized equipment is prerequisite for capturing photographs that resonate with an audience, this image was captured using a Proud Chrome Six, an inexpensive camera I acquired from a camera lot a few months ago and captured on Kentmere100, a somewhat inexpensive medium format film.
Photographers, including myself, often prioritize acquiring the most advanced equipment. However, the true essence of photography lies not in the gear itself, but in the subjective experience of the photographer. It is the unique perspective, emotions, and composition that transform a simple image into an extraordinary capture. This realization holds profound significance for individuals with visual impairments, as it emphasizes the power of perception and the human spirit in creating remarkable art.
The Vermillion Cliffs
The Vermilion Cliffs, located in northern Arizona near the Utah border, are a geological masterpiece that captivate with their vibrant colors and dramatic landscapes. Stretching across the Colorado Plateau, the second step of five, this 294,000-acre national monument, established in 2000, showcases towering sandstone formations, deep canyons, and intricate rock patterns that have been sculpted by millions of years of erosion and geological activity.
The Vermilion Cliffs, located in northern Arizona near the Utah border, are a geological masterpiece that captivate with their vibrant colors and dramatic landscapes. Stretching across the Colorado Plateau, the second step of five, this 294,000-acre national monument, established in 2000, showcases towering sandstone formations, deep canyons, and intricate rock patterns that have been sculpted by millions of years of erosion and geological activity.
The Cliffs embody raw, untamed beauty, blending geological grandeur with a serene, almost spiritual calm. Their vibrant colors, sculpted forms, and vast scale remind visitors of nature’s power and artistry. Whether viewed from a distance or explored up close, the cliffs leave an indelible impression—a testament to the timeless beauty of Arizona’s wild heart.
I’m sure my beautiful wife could talk extensively about it in scientific terms, diving into the geological forces that shaped these wonders, but for me, it’s all about capturing nature’s beauty. The cliffs do not disappoint! Standing before these towering formations, you feel the weight of time in every curve and hue—reds that blaze at sunrise, purples that deepen at dusk, and textures that beg to be framed. Every angle is a new story, a new moment of awe.
This shot was taken with the legendary #Zeiss #Ikon #SuperIkonta 531/2 on #Kentmere100 #blackandwhite #film, developed in #510Pyro. The monochromatic tones bring out the cliffs’ raw textures, from the smooth undulations of The Wave to the jagged edges of Paria Canyon. There’s something magical about shooting film here—it forces you to slow down, to truly see the landscape, to wait for that perfect interplay of light and shadow. The Vermilion Cliffs demand patience, but they reward it tenfold with views that feel like they belong to another world.
If you’ve ever been to the cliffs or dreamed of visiting, share your stories! What’s your favorite way to capture nature’s beauty? #VermilionCliffs #ArizonaAdventures #FilmPhotography #NatureLovers
The Ravens Call
I heard him before I saw him—a low, guttural croak that sent a shiver down my spine. Turning, I caught a glimpse of glossy black feathers as the raven landed behind me, its eyes glinting like polished obsidian. With a single, mocking call, it took flight, soaring into the endless blue sky, leaving me alone with the echo of its voice. My grandfather, a lost son of the Cherokee nation, used to speak of the raven as if it were more than a bird—a mysterious shape-shifter, a trickster not to be pursued. His stories, told by firelight, wove a tapestry of awe and caution, his voice low as if the raven might overhear.
To the Cherokee, the raven is a messenger, carrying the voices of ancestors across the veil. The Navajo, too, speak of ravens guiding lost souls, but their tales come with a warning: follow a raven too far, and you may cross into the spirit world, where time unravels and the air hums with voices that linger in your bones. One misstep, and you might never return to the living realm. Grandpa once told of a hunter who chased a raven’s call through a foggy woodland, only to find his shadow walking beside him, no longer tethered to his form. That story stayed with me, a quiet chill in the back of my mind.
The elders say when a raven perches, silent and staring, its gaze heavy with knowing, you must leave an offering—cornmeal, tobacco, a whispered prayer. For the raven does not forget, its memory as long as the rivers that carve the earth. Ignore it, and you risk its wrath. Its wings, they say, can cast a shadow that swallows you whole, drawing you into a realm where light fades and the world feels wrong. My grandfather warned of a woman who scoffed at a raven’s stare, only to vanish into the night, her footprints ending where the bird had perched.
Do I believe these tales? No, not in the way the elders did. I’m a man of reason, more at home with my Sony A7Cii than with spirits and shadows. But standing there, the raven’s croak still ringing in my ears, I felt something—an unease, a pull, like the bird knew more than I ever would. Respect it, I say. Leave it be. Offer a nod to its mystery and walk away. The raven doesn’t need your belief to hold its power; it demands only that you don’t tempt its gaze.
Shot on the Sony A7Cii with a vintage Minolta lens, capturing the fleeting moment that raven pierced the silence. The photograph is raw, like the stories themselves. What do you think? Ever felt a raven’s eyes on you, or heard its call in the quiet? Share your stories below. #Sony #A7Cii #Minolta #Konica #RavenTales
Episode 2 - Blind Photographer
In this episode of Blind Photography, I discuss the intersection between going blind and having a fervent love for photography. As my eyesight dwindles into emptiness, like on old cathode ray tube tv being turned off for the last time.
I also discuss photographing the Grand Canyon and Bryce Canyon on a recent camping trip. And, of course, I talk about the cameras I used on the trip and the lessons I learned along with way. The Vito IIa has become a tool I use to capture the world, not as I see it but as I hope it to look like.
In this episode of Blind Photography, I take some time to discuss what has been happening in our lives here in the stunningly beautiful and vast state of Arizona. I delve deeply into the experience of becoming legally blind and the myriad aftereffects that accompany such a significant life change. The support I have received from my family, friends, and strangers has truly surpassed anything that society itself has offered in terms of assistance and understanding. The fact that I am now legally blind is something that cannot be understated—it has reshaped my entire world. My cane, much like my phone, has become an essential tool that accompanies me everywhere I go, helping me navigate this new chapter in my life.
I want to pose a thought-provoking question to you, my audience: If your family and/or loved ones had to choose three meaningful things to place in a box that truly represent who you are, what do you think they would select?
After catching up on the realities of being blind, I transitioned into an exciting discussion about cameras, film, photography, and our little vacation to the breathtaking Grand Canyon, as well as our visit to the stunning Bryce Canyon in Utah. Of course, I took along the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta with me; that camera chewed through medium format film faster than I could load it! I also brought my Proud Chrome Six, which I will be reviewing soon, and my beloved Voigtlander Vito IIa, an essential tool that has become nearly indispensable for this blind photographer.
I may not need to see the exposure settings, but I can feel the reassuring clicks and know precisely where the shutter speed and aperture settings are. I set it to infinity for most of my work, cock the shutter, and press the button. While it may not boast the best lens in the world, it is indeed fantastic for its time and does a remarkable job for a four-element lens.
In next week's episode, my lovely wife, Deana, will be joining me to answer some funny questions about what life is like with a blind man, or rather, her blind husband. It promises to be a wonderfully entertaining episode. If you have not subscribed to our channel already, I encourage you to do so! We have some incredibly exciting news coming your way soon that you won't want to miss.
Walk by faith, not by sight
In this article, I discuss the trials of using a white cane, i.e. blind cane. I discuss O&M training and adjusting to using the cane in public, the greatest test of all.
Over a year ago, I did Orientation and Mobility training through the state. My O&M instructor and I walked for miles over several sessions, listening to traffic, learning routes, and learning how to navigate large intersections whilst being blind/visually impaired and using a cane. I listening to everything he said, followed his instructions, and advanced quickly. After a while, I could come and go with confidence. Keeping some form of independence is incredibly important. It is not always easy and can be very dangerous, but it is what we do. Blind people walk by faith, not by sight. The anxiety level that makes your heart pound the first time you step off the curb and across the road doesn’t go away. It is faith in God that gets me across a busy intersection.
I was using my cane every day, mainly to traverse rough terrain. When we moved, I stopped using it all the time. My vision has gotten a lot worse since we moved out here. I’ve avoided using the cane, as it implies that I’m completely blind. Roughly only 10% of blind people are completely blind. The rest of us see something. I have been blind in my left eye all of my life due to Septo-Optic Dysplasia. Several years ago, I started going blind in my right eye due to the same reason, but mainly due to Optic Atrophy caused by it. My vision has gotten so bad that I only have around 20 degrees of peripheral vision. Try to cover up your left eye and then try to look through a straw with your right eye. Then, try to do a normal task.
I am now fully embracing the use of the cane full time, and it has become an indispensable companion for navigating my daily adventures. I rely on it to get to work and to explore various spots around town. The great thing about living in Payson, Arizona, is that it’s a charming small town, and nearly everything is conveniently close by. My workplace is situated just a mile away from home, making my daily commute quite manageable. Additionally, my favorite coffee shop is only about half a mile from my doorstep, which I cherish for my morning pick-me-ups. I used to enjoy riding my electric bike, but unfortunately, it became increasingly risky for me to do so.
Speaking of that charming little coffee shop, I genuinely shocked everyone the very first time I walked in with my trusty cane in hand. I could faintly hear people chatting away from outside, all buzzing with conversation, but as soon as I stepped inside, an eerie quietness enveloped the space, as if the world had paused just for me. You could hear a pin drop, and I felt smaller by the second. I quickly ordered my usual coffee and then left, leaving behind the hushed stares. I wanted to use this experience as a notable example of the common person's reaction to my presence. I’m not dead, and I’m certainly not dying…at least not today!
If you “See” someone with a blind cane, don’t say, “I’m Sorry”. It’s OK. I’m walking with a smile. Say, “Hello”.
Don’t cry, please. That helps no one. I’m losing my sight. It sucks, but I’m going to kick blindness’ butt! And, Jesus Loves Me…and You!
Don’t ask me how I’m feeling. How are you feeling today? I’m not depressed. It’s all good. I’m just glad to be here.
A blind cane is a tool. Ask me about the cane. They make hundreds of different canes and tips to go on it. I’m a nerd, it’s true. Just like Voice Over on my iPhone, the cane assist me in getting from point A to point B. It is incredibly simple but incredibly helpful. I can feel every crack, crevice, pot hole, and gradient change. I don’t have depth perception, so when the grade changes, I need to know about it! Otherwise, I go for a tumble. Ask me how I know.
Adjusting to life with a cane takes some time. The O&M instructors teach us how to not get hit by a car, but they don’t teach us how to deal with the day to day interactions and crazy drivers. There are so many great people that offer to give me a ride or offer to get me across the street safely that any bad interactions with people are obliterated by kindness.
As I was on my way home today, I was told in a gut (GOD) sort of way to slow down and stop. So, I was able to see a car pulling out at an intersection. I almost walked around the car and on down the sidewalk. Within a few seconds, the car pulled out and a truck, hauling a trailer behind it, had to slam on its brakes to avoid the car. It almost jackknifed and the trailer ran up onto the sidewalk where I would have been walking. I didn’t see the entire incident, obviously, it was all a blur, once I heard the screeching brakes and turned and managed to focus, it was over with. Luckily, no one got hurt, but if I had not listened, I could’ve been killed or seriously injured. Trust your gut.
This blog will continue to be about photography but also the adventure of going blind.
My wonderful wife, Deana’s Creative Studio, is the reason I am able to get up each morning with a smile and look forward to the day ahead. She truly is such a kind, compassionate, and amazing Christian woman, and I feel incredibly blessed to call her my wife. She is not just my partner; she is also my greatest supporter and helper in all things. I remember jokingly mentioning while we were dating that one day she’d have to lead me around by my arm due to my vision changing. It’s unfortunate that my light-hearted joke is now coming to fruition, but thankfully, she doesn’t have to do it very often at all. Love you so much, Deana! :)
Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2
It is rare these days to find a gem for the price of a rock on eBay. About a month ago, I put in a low bid for a Super Ikonta more for a laugh than anything else. The starting bid was $10 for this beautiful piece of German engineering. I threw out a small bid of $20 just to see what happened. About a week went by and I forgot about it, but by a sheer miracle, I won this beautiful camera that was manufactured in West Germany between 1949 and 1950, according to the serial number.
When the camera arrived, a Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2, it was in amazing condition. The 105mm f/3.5 Tessar lens was clean. The Compur-Rapid shutter operated smoothly and the times were perfect. And amazingly, the focusing lens travelled buttery smooth with the right amount of friction as to be just a tiny bit stiff. I have dreamt for years about having a Super Ikonta. Even though I prefer 6x6 or 6x4.5 frame sizes, I do like the 6x9 format, even though it does eat up a ton of film! One roll of 120 film in this camera will get you 8 shots! With today’s prices on film, that is not a lot. These cameras originally came with a 6x4.5cm mask. If any of you know where I can get one of these for a decent price, please let me know.
Due to this camera arriving so clean, I did some minimal cleaning and took it out for a test shoot. I took it out on the Peach Orchard Loop Trail that I’ve discussed before. It performed flawlessly. It was not the best time of day or season, but the detail captured in the large 6x9cm photograph blew my mind. I had a small issue with an old batch of 510Pyro during development, but the photographs still turned out well.
I look forward to using it again in the future. However, the use case for a wide format medium format camera is limited. I do landscapes, but as expensive as film is, I will have to be picky about when I use it. I still can’t believe I actually have one of these cameras. This model sells regularly on eBay for $249.
Below, you’ll discover photographs of the camera and the photographs it took. When I use it in the future, I will update this blog post.
