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.
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.
Some things in life don’t require you to know every detail—just believing you’ve got it figured out is enough. Photography is one of those things. Without a spark of confidence, you’re stuck before you even start. Forget about listening to other people’s advice or so-called “wisdom.” The moment you start doubting yourself, thinking you’re not good enough, you’ve already lost. Your past photos, your future shots—they’ll all crumble if you let self-doubt creep in. So, when it comes to photography, you need unwavering confidence in yourself. Whenever someone tries to talk to me about the art of photography, I pivot the conversation to gear. Why? Because the real drive to create, the true passion for photography, has to come from deep within you. It can’t be sparked by external opinions or tips.
Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not here to discuss photography techniques—just talk to me about cameras and lenses. Gear and the art of photography are like oil and water; they don’t mix. When it comes to gear, though, it’s smart to listen to others, especially those who’ve spent years testing and using it. You don’t have to take their word as gospel, but keeping an open mind and learning from their experiences can save you from costly mistakes.
Here’s my personal mantra: Trust your gut when it comes to photography, but when picking gear, check out the reviews. Just don’t get those two mixed up!
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:
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?
Leica Vario – Elmar – R 35 – 70mm f/3.5 E67 with Nikon D700
Some say that Minolta-designed lenses lack a bit of the Leica magic, but looking at this lens – the Leica R 35-70mm f3.5 E67 – I think it still has some Leica characteristics, especially in black and white. Both highlights and shadows retain a remarkable amount of detail and smooth transitions. It still has that Leica magic.
Leica Vario – Elmar – R 35 – 70mm f/3.5 E67 with Nikon D700
