In the past, the pace of life was much slower — cooking, tending to horses, traveling, all took their time. Even getting a photo developed required a week’s wait.
Outside this small restaurant stand two statues of majestic horses. A server leisurely waters the flowers, giving me a feeling of returning to the countryside, a return to the past.
The sky cleared just after the rain. I went out on my bike to run some errands during this window of time—I had to complete the round trip within half an hour, given the unpredictable weather. Of course, I still brought my camera along.
The croaking of frogs rose from the grass on both sides of the road. I looked up at the wind sweeping fast-moving clouds across the sky, and in the distance, the rumble of thunder echoed.
I had to capture this moment—a gentle rebellion.
Youth is like hurrying under an umbrella — in your own eyes, you’re just trying to stay dry, but in someone else’s view, it becomes a beautiful scene.
Let’s get real: most lenses are like overachieving students—they try too hard to be perfect. The Voigtländer 35mm f/1.2 ASPH II? It’s the cool art teacher of the lens world. It doesn’t care about your pixel-peeping obsessions. It just wants to make beautiful images and maybe smoke a cigarette behind the gym.
I bought this lens for pocket change (well, $350-ish) after it plummeted from its $1099 throne. Why? Because I’m a bargain hunter with a taste for forbidden optical fruit.
Here’s the scandal: This lens is too sharp at f/2. I mean, Nikon-level sharp. The kind of sharp that makes your pores look like craters on the moon. So what did I do? I opened it up to f/1.2 like a rebel without a cause.
The magic happens at f/1.2:
Fun Fact: The designer probably high-fived a ghost when I wrote this.
35mm lenses aren’t supposed to be this fast. It’s like putting a jet engine on a bicycle—thrilling, slightly unnecessary, but oh-so-fun.
Leica’s ASPH lenses are like Swiss watches—precise, consistent, boring. Voigtländer’s ASPH? It’s a punk rock Swiss watch.
Thank you, impatient photographers. Your loss is my gain.
| Information | 1st Generation | 2nd Generation | 3rd Generation |
|---|---|---|---|
| Release Year | 2003 | 2011 | 2020 |
| Initial Release Price | Approximately $899 – $999 | Approximately $999 – $1,099 | Approximately $1,250 |
| Current Price (2025) | Used: $400 – $600 | Used: $400 – $600 | Used: $600 – $800 |
Verdict: If Leica is a tailored suit, Voigtländer is a perfectly broken-in leather jacket.
This lens was made for Sony mirrorless. It’s chunky on a Leica but feels right at home on an A7s.
Voigtländer isn’t trying to be Leica. It’s trying to be Voigtländer—the brand that gave us:
Lesson: Innovation > imitation.
The Voigtländer 35mm f/1.2 ASPH II is for:
Rating: 5/5 stars (minus 0 for anything, because it’s perfect).
Now go shoot wide open. Your pixels will thank you. 📸✨
Back in 2011, a used Leica Summicron 50mm f/2 Rigid in decent condition went for around $770, while the newly released Voigtländer VM 35mm f/1.4 II was priced over $1,300.
I’ve been keeping a sneaky eye on its price over the years—watched it dip to the $900 range, then $600, and now it’s finally down to about $350. The time had come. Big thanks to the friend who held onto it for me all these years… 😁
The Voigtländer has arrived.
When it comes to adapting manual lenses, the Sony A7S is noticeably more friendly than the original A7. Vignetting is hardly noticeable, the color rendering feels more “serious” compared to the classic VM lenses, and sharpness is absolutely perfect wide open on a 12MP sensor—in fact, this lens was practically designed for Sony cameras back in the day. Its size isn’t exactly compact on a Leica M body, but it balances beautifully on a Sony A7.
This isn’t just a lens for fondling—it’s a lens for making images.
Sure, most full-frame cameras boast 14-bit RAW CMOS sensors these days, while the Nikon D200 is “only” a 12-bit CCD. But there’s something special about its out-of-camera JPEGs—especially in the complex, ever-changing light after a rain. Paired with the consistent rendering of a Leica R lens, the look it produces is genuinely distinct.
Back in the day, limited access to information meant many excellent cameras flew under the radar. Nowadays, information is everywhere—yet it’s easier than ever to be swayed by trends. A Ricoh APS-C gets hyped to the skies; a plasticky Fujifilm rangefinder-style camera is talked about as if it outperforms full-frame models (｡ì _ í｡).
That’s why I remind myself never to chase what’s popular.
Take Nikon’s old CCD DSLRs, for example—they have a certain texture that feels strikingly film-like. Even when you push the shadows and noise emerges, there’s a graininess to it that, combined with the subtle rendering of a Leica lens in low light, closely mimics the look of film.
The most delightful moment for a photographer is when you put on a serious face, pretending to be a veteran shooter, and the other person knows you’re just playing the part of a master but doesn’t call you out. But it’s not just photography—how many serious things in life start with stumbling steps and a bit of posturing? That’s what makes street photography so captivating. It’s got a touch of missed focus, a dash of haste, and a sprinkle of solemnity, all coming together to make everything suddenly, beautifully alive.
In a childhood classroom, the teacher asked us, “What’s your favorite color?” It was the first time I’d heard such a question, and I was puzzled. Why would grown-ups care to differentiate colors? In a daze, I picked yellow, but later, as I mulled it over, I realized I didn’t dislike any color. Perhaps that’s how the habit of comparison begins—unintentionally sparked in moments like these.
Now, driven by material desires, I find myself comparing this lens to that camera, testing and reviewing endlessly. It’s overwhelming, cluttered, and exhausting. But I’ve come to believe every piece of gear has its own value. When we let go of comparisons and return to a childlike curiosity, photography becomes pure joy—like being a kid again.