Street Beijing Archives - Page 2 of 10

Day 2: When the Photographer Became the Point Guard

Armed with another relic—Nikon’s 58mm f/1.4 “AUTO” lens—I returned to the asphalt court. Fresh off the Afghan Girl lens’ triumph, I wondered: Could this vintage pancake lens, older than my dad’s mixtapes, handle the chaos of pickup basketball?

The f/1.4 Gamble
Let’s get technical (but only for a sentence): Mounting this 58mm on a Sony A7S was like teaching a vinyl turntable to stream TikTok dances. The massive f/1.4 aperture promised buttery bokeh, but manual focusing through an EVF felt like threading a noodle through a keyhole mid-game. Shots were either “Wow, that sweat bead looks like a diamond!” or “Did I accidentally photograph a ghost?” Compared to the 105mm’s surgical precision, this lens rendered scenes like a jazz painting—all mood, no maps.

From Sidelines to Starting Five
Then came the plot twist: The 2v3 underdog team, tired of losing, shouted: “Yo, camera guy—get in here!” I hesitated. My basketball résumé includes:

Accidentally dunking on a 6th-grade hoop (it was 7 feet tall).
Once tripping over my own shadow during a layup.

But pride (and peer pressure) won. I swapped the Nikon for a water bottle and became the world’s most confused sixth man.

The Stat Line That Wouldn’t Impress ChatGPT
Let’s be clear: My game was less LeBron, more “LeBarelyFunctional.” Highlights included:

3 steals: Achieved by wildly flailing at passes like a caffeinated octopus.
2 assists: Both were accidental passes to the opposing team, rebounded by allies.
1 block: A miracle swat that left me sprawled on the concrete, questioning life choices.
6 shots, 1 make: The lone basket? A desperation heave that banked in off a pigeon’s ghost.

Yet somehow, we won. Turns out, hustling like a raccoon at a dumpster party has its merits.

Post-Game Takeaways

Lens Lessons: The 58mm f/1.4? Gorgeous for static drama—think benchside tension, sneaker tread close-ups. For action? Stick to the 105mm.
Athletic Humility: Nothing kills ego faster than airballing a free throw while teens yell “It’s okay, Uncle!”
Photography ≠ Spectating: Stepping into the frame—literally—reminded me why sports photography thrills: it’s about kinetic energy, not just light.

As I limped home, camera strap denting my shoulder, I realized: Manual focus and pickup basketball have the same core rule—embrace the chaos, forgive the misses, and chase the next shot like it’s your last.

Shooting Hoops with a Legend (No, Not Michael Jordan)

Let’s talk about taking a vintage lens to a modern playground.

Why Not the Obvious Choice?
When I decided to photograph a casual half-court basketball game, the “logical” gear choice would’ve been a sleek 70-200mm f/2.8 sports zoom—the kind that whirs like a obedient robot. But here’s the thing: I was literally sitting on the edge of the court. Why lug a telephoto bazooka when an 85mm f/1.8 prime could do the job?

Except… I didn’t own an 85mm f/1.8. Buying one just for this felt like renting a tuxedo to walk my dog. Then I remembered: *Wait, isn’t the “Afghan Girl” lens a 105mm f/2.5?* Yes, that legendary Nikon relic—the one that captured the National Geographic portrait—was gathering dust on my shelf. Sure, f/2.5 isn’t f/1.8, but it’s brighter than f/2.8! Plus, my trusty D700’s ISO performance could handle the rest.

Manual Focus: A Dance, Not a Battle
Let’s address the elephant in the gym: manually tracking basketball players sounds about as practical as threading a needle during an earthquake. But here’s my logic:

Embrace the JPG gamble: I switched from RAW to JPG, trusting quantity over perfection. Missed focus? Delete and move on.
Predict, don’t chase: Manual focus forced me to anticipate movements—leaning into shots, pivots, that split-second hang time. It felt less like photography and more like jazz improvisation.

Black-and-White Grit (Zero Filters Needed)
Surprise MVP? The lens itself. Wide open at f/2.5, it delivered biting sharpness and contrast that made post-processing feel redundant. Converting shots to black-and-white took one click—no tweaking curves or fighting murky shadows. The tonal depth? Like the difference between a vinyl crackle and a Spotify algorithm.

And let’s be real: hauling a DSLR with this chunky 105mm prime still beats fiddling with a rangefinder patch mid-game. Some call it “vintage hassle”; I call it “forced mindfulness.”

The Real Score
Did I miss shots? Absolutely. But the keepers had something no f/1.8 autofocus lens could replicate: texture. Every dribble, every sweat droplet, every strained tendon felt raw—like the images themselves were breathing.

Maybe next time I’ll try that 70-200mm. Or maybe not. Sometimes, “outdated” tools remind us that photography isn’t about control—it’s about conversation.

Beijing’s Hidden Gems: The Warmth of Urban Villages vs. The Hustle of High-Rise Living

Nikon D700 with Leica R 35-70mm f/3.5 E67

Beijing is a fascinating city. While it’s now filled with skyscrapers over 20 stories tall, you can still find pockets of “urban villages” – neighborhoods where humble residents maintain a simple, neighborly lifestyle. I’ve grown fond of these communities where clean alleys echo with friendly greetings, radiating warmth and camaraderie. In contrast, the concrete towers with their constant noise and commotion have left me weary of high-rise living.

Whenever I use a Leica lens, I just can’t help but switch to black and white

Whenever I use a Leica lens, I just can’t help but switch to black and white. For some reason, while with Zeiss lenses, I always feel compelled to preserve their original colors…

The Leica R 35-70mm f/3.5 E67 (often called the Vario-Elmar-R) is a legendary zoom lens from Leica’s R-series, known for its compact design, high optical quality, and distinctive rendering. Paired with the Nikon D700, a 12.1MP full-frame DSLR with excellent dynamic range for its era, this combo likely enhances your inclination toward black-and-white due to the following factors:

Micro-Contrast and Tonal Richness

Leica’s Optical Signature

The D700’s raw files have a robust tonal range

Street Photography: Art or Offense?

Candid shots might feel brash or intrusive, but they capture raw, unfiltered truth. Posed shots seem polite and composed, yet they often hide behind a polished mask. It’s like life’s paradoxes—sometimes what seems “wrong” reveals deeper authenticity, while what’s “right” can feel staged. Could it be that society’s ideas of “proper” or “improper” in photography actually miss the heart of what makes a moment real?

CCD Spring: When Pixels Blush Youth

My Sony A300, with its CCD heart, captures spring like a time traveler stuck in 2008. It doesn’t record light—it whispers it. Those greens? Not emeralds, but fresh chlorophyll still trembling on willow buds. Those pinks? Not petals, but the shyness of first blooms caught mid-sigh.

CCD sensors are digital photography’s adolescence. Their color science stutters like a teenager’s heartbeat—overexposed whites blooming into halos, shadows clinging to blue like denim jackets in March wind. Every image wears a vintage sweater, all soft edges and nostalgic noise. This isn’t imperfection; it’s the raw grammar of beginnings.

CMOS is summer’s sober adult. Precise, efficient, flexing dynamic range like sunbaked muscles. Its colors don’t blush—they declare. Where CCD stumbles into accidental poetry (a blown highlight mimicking overeager laughter), CMOS calculates every photon like a banker counting daylight.

Yet I choose to wander with my CCD relic. These spring frames pulse with what EXIF data can’t quantify—the way morning light spills through Beijing’s hutong cracks like stolen apricot jam, how bicycle baskets overflow with pear blossoms pretending to be snow.

Youth isn’t in the device, but in how it fails. The A300’s blooming highlights? That’s spring refusing to hold its breath. The chromatic aberration around temple eaves? Time itself lens-flaring. When my focus hesitates on a girl’s flying hair instead of her face, the sensor shrugs: “So what? She’s moving, alive—aren’t you?”

Come July, I’ll let CMOS harvest summer’s ripe light. But today, my CCD and I chase adolescent photons—those wild particles that haven’t yet learned to behave.

Zeiss Jena 35mm f2.4 Meets March in Beijing

After the sleet surrendered,
Beijing exhales a sapphire sky—
clouds dissolve into spun sugar,
wind sheds its iron teeth.

This German lens, once sworn
to contrast sharp as Black Forest pines,
to colors steeped in Rhine wine,
hesitates before such tenderness.

In the RAW womb of light,
I knead shadows like dough—
temper the steel-edged gradients,
let pixels breathe chrysanthemum tea.

Now the frame remembers:
how March air hums between ancient eaves,
how dust motes cling to willow’s first yawn.
Zeiss optics, schooled in Teutonic precision,
learn to trace the curvature of time—

a city’s slow blink,
softened by dynasties of thaw.

A Dog’s Take on Street Photography

Hey there, I’m Little White, a clever pup who loves lounging on the couch and watching the world go by. Recently, my owner took me out for a sneaky stroll to the streets, and wow—what a treasure trove of photo opps! Tonight, I squinted out the window, streetlights twinkling, as the night turned those cyclists and motorbike riders into my very own “moving stars.” Check out that pic—folks zooming by on bikes and scooters, racing through the intersection like they’re late for the next big adventure… or maybe just trying to beat the traffic light! I couldn’t help but wonder—humans, with all that speed, would you need me to lick your bruises if you wipe out?

The real laugh, though, is that dinosaur balloon tied to the fence at the crossroad! It’s slouched over like it’s saying, “Hey, pup, I’m lazier than you—wind blows, and I just sway. Pretty cool, huh?” I stared at it, nearly cracking up—clearly the inflatable “roadblock star” is putting on a deep, thoughtful act. The cars whiz by like a shiny river, red and green lights flashing, while people hustle through life—some grinning, some frowning. I come and go here, watching them live, laugh, and worry, and it’s like I’ve picked up a bit of life’s meaning myself. Maybe tomorrow I’ll nudge my owner to get me a camera to snap these street “actors”—though, of course, the real star should be me!

Wearing a mask is a habit.

It’s hard to believe, but two years ago, everyone wore a mask! Now, many people have gotten into the habit of wearing masks, and of course, more people don’t wear masks anymore. Sometimes, what happened two years ago seems like two days ago. Time really does fly!