the state we're in

Over the past few years I’ve slowly been developing a love for vintage cameras.  The first vintage camera I found myself in possession of was a Kodak Autographic—given to me as a Christmas gift in 2004 by Jen.  (I should have proposed then and there.)  Sadly, film for this camera hasn’t been made in nearly 50 years, so I’ll likely never have the chance to shoot with it.

Fast forward to an antique store on S. Congress in Austin sometime in 2006.  Enter the Voigtlander Perkeo II.

Even though I’d never heard of the camera or its manufacturer, I had to pick it up because it was in such fantastic shape: the body was immaculate and the leather bellows were pristine, without any cracking (a problem common to vintage cameras). 

I quickly learned several things about the camera, namely that it’s fully manual—from focus to shutter speed to aperture—and that it uses medium format film (which is less common than 35mm film but still widely available).  It also has an uncoupled rangefinder, which in plain terms means what you see when you look through the camera is only a loose approximation of what the camera will record.  I also learned something about myself: I had no clue how to use this thing… and I was a bit intimidated by the fact that it was 100% manual.

I’ve found a way to test the limitations of the internet, and that is to try to find instructions on how to use a camera manufactured in Germany at least 55 years ago.  After months of on-again-off-again Googling (bookended by frustration and feelings of having wasted money a camera I could never use), I found a kind soul in the midwest who snail mailed me an instruction manual for my camera’s precursor, the Perkeo I.  The pages were stapled together in nearly random order, but it was enough of a start to get the film loaded properly, dial in the settings, and take a few test frames.

Several months ago I was finally lucky enough to stumble on a PDF scan of the Perkeo II’s manual.  There wasn’t really any revelatory information compared to that snail mailed photocopy, but the artfulness of its contents makes me smile.  The typography is mid-century to the max, and its language is just awkward enough to remind the reader that it’s not an American product.  The illustrations are clean, photorealistic, and industrious—just look at the photographer’s furrowed brow and surly hairdo: 

 

I’ve managed to run 3 or 4 rolls of film through the camera and am really impressed with its optical quality.  I’ll share some of the highlights in a separate post.  It’s a bit of a chore to use, but it’s a lot of fun and a challenging way to make photographs.