Ice-tree, Labrador. ©D.Tyler 2004
This week marked the close of a chapter in my photographic life. After much soul-searching and some cold, hard reasoning I finally sold my two leica rangefinders.
I used those leicas in temperatures of -40C in northern Labrador when I had to put tape around the viewfinder to stop my skin sticking to the frozen metal as I shot. They survived sandstorms in the Kalahari and rainstorms in Transylvania and endless bone-jolting rides on Skidoos, rickshaws, motorbikes and 4x4s. They recorded death and new life, through them I saw amazing and terrible things and with them I shot most of my favourite images. I think I could work myself up into sentimental grief over selling them, but otherwise I'm strangely unmoved by their absence. The fact is they were wonderful tools but they were overtaken by the death of film and much as I would have like to buy the new digital Ms I don't have that kind of money to spend on what would always be a second kit after my DSLRs.
Now that I think about it, I will miss the faint, nearly-un-sound of the shutter and the dense weight of all that glass and metal, the huge window of a viewfinder and the ghost-focusing. When I first picked up a leica I remember wondering how anyone could get used to so many idiosyncrasies and then, when I did, I marvelled at how the weaknesses had become strengths and how the camera had made me unlearn so many bad habits. In fact the leicas taught me to shoot in a very different way, a more considered and thoughtful way perhaps, certainly a slower way. Instead of snatching images, with the rangefinders I started to stalk images. I hope all that is still in my brain somewhere and can hold out against the DSLR, double-tap everything and let post-production sort 'em out way of working.
On a positive note the leicas really held their value, I think I might get more than I paid for them and that means new toys, I mean tools, for the new year.
It's what they would have wanted.