I bought a camera

Hey, thanks for visiting! I've actually moved this blog post to my new site, so please go check it out there! 

↓

A Log of Things - I Bought a Camera

The last 21 years of my life have been plagued by a distaste for taking and being apart of pictures. I hated "ruining" the moment to pose and smile like a game show contestant. The act of taking a picture always felt disingenuous to me. I've come to a realization, though: One of my most prized possessions is a tiny 2”x 3” Polaroid of me and three friends on the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s dark and faded, with the shadows of the bridge running unevenly across our faces, but I still love the photo. Holding the picture, I am reminded of that sunny Manhattan day, where we ate pizza, told reminiscent stories, and stood on a bridge for 20 minutes as Julie figured out her camera. And, while I have many photos that remind me of great adventures or stunning vista or hilarious moments, there is something more substantial about having the hard copy photo. It is a physical reminder of that time, a tangible memory. Together with my newfound fondness for recording my life, this idea of saving memories culminated with the conclusion: BUY A CAMERA.

You might be saying, "Thank you, Captain Obvious. Now get with the program." But I couldn't make it that simple. I wanted a film camera, something that fulfilled my desire to capture moments without turning my life into a photo-shoot of retakes and "perfect" lighting. The idea to buy analog was cheap and hipster enough to be viable. There were some considerations, though. To choose not to take digital photos is to choose to wait. Taking a photo on film -- ignoring Polaroids for a minute -- means you can’t instantly share that moment of your life with anyone and everyone. Instead, film demands you finish a whole roll before waiting on development. In total, it could be weeks before you get your pictures back, practically an eternity in today's social media game. However, that stretch of time can be both maddening and rewarding. Picking up your photos – or in Korea’s case, downloading your scanned negatives off the cloud – would be an absolute thrill, regardless of the roll’s quality. As my dad would say, "You don't HAVE to wait, you GET to wait." So, I decided to buy a film camera.

I wanted something manual, something old-school. A gritty, tank of camera that would serve me well for years. I researched furiously for the perfect combination of specifications, price, and availability. Unfortunately, when buying a film camera in Korea, your options are limited. There is only one street in all of Seoul where they are sold. Near Chungmuro station there is a street, aptly named Chungmuro Camera Street, where a series of analog camera shops are frozen in time. The shops are owned by curmudgeonly old men, similarly frozen, with the expertise and haggling skills born only from a lifetime in sales. I got the feeling that any one of the old geezers knew more about film photography than I could ever possibly hope to learn. Their stores are lined wall to wall with old expensive cameras. Canon, Nikon, Fuji, Pentax, Minolta, Mamiya, Olympus, Leica, Contax, medium-format, large-format, lenses, tripods, flashes, film, more film; whatever you want, they have it.

  

Since my Korean has been slow to develop (I can order food, and that’s about it…), I knew buying a camera would be a difficult process. I took the subway after work one day to try my luck at making a deal. Most of my communication with the shop owners was limited to hand gestures and calculators. Instead of dealing with the difficulties of language, salesmen in Seoul use calculators to type out prices. The communication is extremely limited and they don't force anything upon you. In fact, I would say most of them didn't appear all that interested in selling me a camera. A typical interaction would go like this:

    Reality:                                                                                                                                Translation:

Me: "Annyeonghaseo, issniyo Minolta exu-700, exu?" 

        "Hello, do you have a Minolta X-700, yeah an X"

Owner: "Ohhh, exu………."

"Oh X-700" *incomprehensible Korean*

      A few minutes of rummaging around the cameras later

Me: "Ahh, kamsahamnida"

"Ahh, thank you"

        A few minutes of me pretending like I know what the shutter speed should sound like

Me: "Eolmayo?" 

        "How Much?"

        He types a price way above what I want to pay

Me: "Too much, too expensive. Thank you. Annyeonghi gaseyo" 

       "Goodbye"

Over the course of two days, I did this probably 40 times between the 8 or so stores, each time coming back with a cheaper camera in mind or a more flexible budget. By the second night I was frustrated with film, Korea, language as a concept, and the cheeky shop owners. It seemed like I was going to walk away empty handed. I had found a camera I was happy with, but the salesman wouldn’t sell it with the lens I wanted. He was pressuring me to make a deal by threatening to close up shop, which was also parlayed via calculator |730|. I knew it wasn’t what I had come for, so I threw in the towel. Obviously, it wasn’t meant to be...

I decided, against my better judgement, to try one more store on my way back to the subway station. Instead of asking for specific cameras, I simply stated how much I wanted to spend. The shopkeeper gave me a couple of ancient shooters with broken light readers or displays. Those wouldn't do... In a last ditch effort of desperation, I again gave him another price. The “I don’t want to spend but brought anyway” price. He pulled out a Pentax MX. My Pentax MX. The camera I had been looking for without knowing I had been looking for. It’s got an all-black body with tactile dials and a simple exposure meter. It's purely manual, leaving no room for hand-holding or human error. It's heavy (kind of absurdly heavy) and fits my hands like a glove. I was immediately in love.

Yes, I had a photo-shoot with my camera

What followed was weeks of learning the camera and making mistakes. I underexposed half a roll. I lost a whole roll of fill because it wasn’t tracking correctly over the camera’s gears. Finally, though, I got some pictures developed, and I was ecstatic about it. The film photos have a way of presenting moments the way I remember them, like a grainy haze of nostalgia. They are of friends, buildings, moments, and anything I found interesting. The delayed gratification paid off. They’re less than perfect, but for a first go, I’m more than happy.  You’ll certainly be seeing more of my photography in the coming months.

-JCP 

A man selling small motorized dogs on the street

Two of my coworkers out for a photo-shoot

Working at dusk

Everyone knows the bubble guy of Hongdae

The local grocer

The bagel cafe

Capucine, one of my roommates

Selfies in the subway