I’ve been interested in photography my entire life. I think it probably started with cameras rather than pictures. Cameras are fascinating machines—first mechanical, then electronic objects of desire. My childish fascination with them was fuelled by the fact that they were fragile, expensive and “not toys”. Someone must have given me a cheap, plastic Diana-style camera at a very early age, because I remember not only the silvery flash of the real, working shutter, but the taste of its plastic body. I can honestly say that I have photography in my blood, unless my kidneys got rid of it years ago.
I was ten years old when Apollo 11 landed on the moon, and the most important important thing I remember about it is that Neil and Buzz used Hasselblad cameras to document their moonwalks. The images were, of course, remarkable, but I was furious that they abandoned so much valuable equipment on the moon to save weight.
If you don’t know them, the original Hasselblads were modular cameras with interchangeable parts. The lenses were mostly German-made Zeiss products that came with built-in shutters. Hasselblad made the camera bodies, mostly a mirror box with control linkages, and the 120 roll film backs, which permitted changing film emulsions and formats mid-roll.
Hasselblad was a small company based in Sweden with low production and a lot of hand finishing. The cameras were aimed at studio professionals and very expensive, all of which made them very desirable.
As a junior shutterbug, the closest I came to owning a Hasselblad was a genuine sales brochure, until some time in the eighties when I scraped together enough to acquire a 1958 (an excellent year) 500c with the 80mm lens and 12 back. Sadly, we did not bond. I kept it for a couple of years, shot a couple of dozen rolls of film with it, and then sold it for a break-even price. Lesson learned, one would think.
About 10 years ago, I saw a Hasselblad outfit for sale at a preposterously low price and being older and even less wise, I bought it. I worked harder at it this time, and tried to use it regularly. I had some successes, I think, a few of which are posted in “Aspect”.
I conscientiously carried the camera with me on walks, and was surprised one day by a restaurant waiter, who was familiar with Hasselblads, handing me a roll of Fujicolor 120 saying someone left it behind and that he thought I might be able to use it. It was obvious, however, that the roll was already exposed. I knew, of course, that I would have to have it processed. Photographers are, to some extent at least, voyeurs—both figuratively and pathologically—and this was an opportunity to play voyeur on another’s voyeurism. It was unhelpfully pointed out to me that the film could contain pornographic images that might get me into legal trouble, but I was fairly confident that sensible pornographers were early adopters of digital photography and felt sure I had a plausible defence, if I needed one.
The image shown here is the only one compelling enough to scan. The roll had been inexpertly wrapped after exposure, allowing the film to fog. The resulting image shows an attractive young woman astride a police motorcycle. It was almost certainly taken here in Vancouver, because that’s a Vancouver Police motorcycle. She’s probably well-off because I think she’s wearing a Rolex®. Or it could be a fake. She has a kind of Mediterranean look, but this is a city built on immigration, so she could have been born here. I’m no expert, but that looks like an expensive pedicure. I’ve tried to enlarge the lenses of her aviators to see the photographer or anything else on our side of the photograph, but the flash makes it impossible to discern anything.
So it’s a typical photograph: it provokes questions without answering them. A photograph doesn’t tell a story. The viewer makes up the story. The viewer’s story may align with what was actually going on in front of the camera, but it doesn’t have to. It may be more interesting if it doesn’t. To me, this photograph depicts a rich, spoiled debutante in the process of stealing a police motorcycle. While on an acid trip. I don’t know what’s really going on. I don’t want to. If this is you or you know who it is, please keep it to yourself. The picture is enough.
But, I hear you ask, is this a Hasselblad picture? It certainly could be. This is an uncropped scan of a 6x4.5cm negative. The Hasselblad A16 back gives 16 6x4.5cm images on a roll of 120 film. Best I can do.
I still have my Hasselblad film camera, but I made it my New Year’s revolution this year to become more digital and to that end I have adopted the Hasselblad X1D digital system. Sadly, Hasselblad is now owned by a major drone manufacturer, so they no longer make film cameras, but their standards remain very high. The cameras are still Swedish, but the lenses are now all Japanese. The X1D has autofocus, an electronic viewfinder, gps, wi-fi and a host of things I had hitherto written off as fads. Grudgingly, I now concede that they may have their uses.
Before committing to the X1D, I rented one for a weekend to see if I liked it. I was ambivalent until I received a sign. For the first time, after decades of pounding the sidewalk, I was assaulted by a potential subject. In that brief moment of trying to protect my insane damage deposit while trying to get a punch in, I knew it was the camera for me. We’ll see.