Thursday, May 12, 2016
I'm loving my Leica R5. I like the way it feels in my hand. I like framing through the viewfinder. I like the silkiness of the shutter. It is my favorite camera right now. I am going to buy a second one. And some more lenses. It is the cheapest of the cameras I own. I don't use any of them, but I've taken to bringing them out on the deck--all of them--and handling them, looking through the viewfinder and framing up things, of once in a while clicking the shutter. There are different cameras for different feelings. This camera is the way I feel right now. It is barely larger and barely heavier than the M7. I like them both, but I feel like an SLR more than a Viewfinder. It limits my vision a bit cutting out the ephemera of the world. I need all the cameras, though. They all do different things. Well, not really, not just now. Currently, they all do the same thing--sit in their bags except for early evenings on the new deck with a glass of wine. But if I were to make pictures, they would have different functions. I have thought of another commonality between them. They are all draining my bank account.
But so do many other things that are not nearly as much fun. Some are. The gardening looks pretty. The deck is nice. But the cameras are caress-able. Maybe that is why we like them so much. Fetishes.
Last night, opening a can of tuna, I cut my right forefinger pretty deeply. Cuts from the lid of a tin can are nasty things, and I have some memory of them being especially dangerous in terms of infection or blood poisoning or something. Perhaps when they were made of real tin. It is the same sort of thing that I remember about cutting yourself with a razor. Dangerous.
My finger bled pretty well, and I encouraged it to for quite some time. This is a way to get the bad stuff out, I remember, much like bleeding a snakebite. When I went to the bathroom to dress it, the blood dripped onto the white tile and into the white porcelain sink. It was especially red, especially bright in a way I didn't remember blood looking. Very strange. I grabbed my phone and photographed it, the blood in the sink, the dripping cut of my finger. "My god," I thought, "what am I doing?"
Maybe I'll print the best picture and frame it. I mean, it is what I have to show for my photographic output of late.
Summer should be fun. Rather, I have work to do. I feel tense. It is time to report to the factory.