When a Polaroid camera nails the focus and exposure, the results can be compelling.
This exposure shows that the camera is capable of getting genuinely sharp focus. More importantly, it shows what the film can do.
It’s still not an accurate record of the scene in the way that shooting with a digital camera might be.
But perhaps that’s precisely the point.
It’s more interesting than that.
There is something quite extraordinary about the way Polaroid i-Type film renders a scene.
It isn't an absolutely faithful recreation of a moment.
It's more like a half-remembered dream.
The colours are exaggerated. The whole thing has the feeling that an artist must have painted it rather than a camera captured it.
It's a unique recollection of a place that you can't quite put your finger on. You know you've been there, but you can't quite remember where it was.
It reminds me of Roger Waters lyrics:
When I was a child
I had a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
Perhaps that's what I like about instant film.
It doesn't necessarily show you what was there.
Sometimes it shows you what you remember.
This photo was taken by me in Bristol on my Holga 120 GN.
I used Kentmere Pan 400.
It has all the elements of a classic Holga frame. The weird out-of-focus areas and the inexplicably sharp centre of the photograph where the old cargo ship is moored, contrasting with the ultra-modern building behind it.
The picture looks less like a photograph of Bristol and more like somewhere you’ve half remembered.
It’s really satisfying.
When you're out in the rain, you have no option but to look for scenes that show how the weather is affecting people.
In this photo, a group of people huddle under their umbrellas while the street is slick with rainwater.
If you look you'll see this everywhere.
Rain, when you're out in it, can add something to a photograph.
The wet sheen on the pavement, people sheltering under a brolly, all of it helps tell a tale.
This photograph was taken as a snapshot on a vintage 1980s camera, the Ricoh FF3-AF.
Perhaps there is something to be said for embracing the weather, whatever nature happens to throw at you.
A friend of mine, Dave Whenham, read my blog post extolling the virtues of a P&S camera, and especially the one I used to have in the 1990s.
I was waxing lyrical about the camera and how much I missed it.
Dave had a Ricoh FF3-AF from the same era and said that he was happy to give the camera to me as a gift.
It took a bit of jiggery pokery, but needless to say I drove 250 miles round trip to have a cup of coffee and a natter with Dave, as well as collect the camera.
Some might say the economics of such a trip don't stack up.
But time spent with a friend is never wasted.
Last weekend I had the opportunity to try the camera out. Dave had loaded a roll of FP4 Plus into it before handing it over, so I had a new camera and a new roll of film to try.
Saturday was a bright morning, and I was hopeful of a good day out.
By the time the train arrived in Bristol, it was lashing it down.
What is it with these train trips and poor weather?
Anyway, I was out. This time wearing my winter wax jacket and waterproof shoes, so onwards to shoot the film.
I chose Bristol because I know it really well, and that meant I could target different areas, all within easy walking distance.
The Ricoh is a Point & Shoot and, as such, it doesn't have all the dials and controls of an SLR.
But that's OK.
Sometimes you just want to shoot the camera and make pictures.
I relied on the fact that by the 1980s and 1990s, film cameras, especially point-and-shoot cameras, had become remarkably reliable when it came to metering and focusing.
Shooting the first frame, I was surprised to see a red light appear in the viewfinder.
Upon closer inspection, the red light turned out to be an icon showing a mountain.
That'll be infinity then.
The viewfinder is large enough for this type of camera and really usable.
The shutter button allows a half press to lock focus and exposure, but over 36 frames I didn't manage to half press it once.
I simply ended up with an exposure.
A bit of a hair trigger then.
I'd dialled in 200 on the ISO setting. Unusually for a camera of this era, the Ricoh doesn't rely on DX encoding on the film cartridge.
That's good news, as it means I don't have to worry about the camera choosing the film speed for me or having to calculate exposure compensation around it.
The lens cover is easy to slide open when you want to take a photograph, and there are no false-open positions where it looks open but the camera won't actually take a picture, like the LC-A.
The camera also has a tripod mount and a self-timer, so tripod-mounted excursions in, say, a church could be accommodated, although I didn't try that on this occasion.
Auto wind is another feature of this camera.
I know this because there is no wind-on lever or knob, and because the high-pitched scream that ensues when a frame has been exposed is a little alarming when you first hear it.
The mechanism also takes an inordinate amount of time, considering the thing is winding on a single 35mm frame.
Never mind.
No films were harmed in this experiment.
When you reach the final frame, a light appears on top of the camera to tell you so. The camera, however, appears to operate normally until you notice the light.
Some cameras can get 37 or 38 frames out of a 36-exposure film, so I wondered if that might be the case here.
It wasn't.
Rewinding the exposed film back into the cartridge is achieved using a slider on the bottom of the camera.
The motor screams in protest and takes considerably longer than it should to rewind the film.
Once the camera has completed the rewind, another high-pitched noise is emitted over the already screaming motor to tell you.
Nice.
Simply stopping the rewind motor wasn't a design choice then?
There is a flash onboard, but I didn't use it.
So there we are.
A new-to-me Ricoh FF3-AF, courtesy of a good friend and 250 miles of driving for a cup of coffee, a natter and a camera.
I'd say that's a pretty good deal.
