Michael Freeman
Try using an individual lens as an exploration tool
This issue, Michael’s Creative Paths discusses favourite lenses and goes wide angle to draw the viewer into the image
Acouple of months back, when suggesting that devising the look of a photograph during processing or post-production could be considered creative, I had mixed feelings. I’m now a little cautious about pushing the benefits of different lenses. In the creative worlds (from art to movies, and so on), it’s not considered very cool to be deeply inspired by the tools of the trade. Rembrandt didn’t bang on about his brushes.
Photography’s not much different, and most big-name photographers tend to be reticent about their equipment, not to say sometimes downright huffy.
There’s an apocryphal story about when Irving Penn, the great master of studio photography, met Ernest Hemingway. The writer praised his images, asking him what camera he used, and he replied “Your novels are excellent. What typewriter do you use?” And yet, and yet… Love of toys apart, lenses can make a difference to the character and style of an image. They’re not all about angle of view and acutance and chromatic aberration. If you’re open to suggestion, they can deliver a more visceral feeling, and every so often admissions slip through even from the most tight-lipped of photographers (the older ones, that is; nowadays everyone talks without stopping). Famously, Cartier-Bresson was committed to 50mm, saying “it corresponds to a certain vision”, seeing 35mm as “a beautiful lens at times when needed”, but difficult to compose with, “there are too many elements, and something is always in the wrong place.” Mary Ellen Mark thought, “Choice of lens is a matter of personal vision and comfort”.
The danger, all too evident at photography conventions, is loving the equipment more than photography itself, but with that thought held in mind to curb gear acquisition syndrome, the very different optical qualities available can work as a kind of encouragement to just see what happens. And it is, after all, just a creative path, not a highway.
A lens from history
When I was researching for the first article I wrote for N-Photo back in 2014, I boned up on one of the more exotic lenses from my youth, the mirror lens, also known as a catadioptric, or just plain cat. It borrowed the lens-plus-two-mirror design of a Cassegrain telescope to fold a long light path, usually 500mm, into a short, fat body.
It was in vogue briefly in the 1970s, and Art Kane, then one of the most sought-after New York editorial and advertising photographers, said: “That lens influenced me and altered my vision.” Was it optically inferior to monster telephotos like the 600mm f/4 Nikkor that I bought to cover the royal wedding? Yes, but not by much at all, and the vignetting, lower contrast and above all the doughnut-shaped specular reflections (from the front mirror sitting right in the middle of the glass) were distinctive. So if you were less concerned about counting the nostril hairs on a gerbil 50 metres away, it was an interesting lens. And Nikon made two! One at 500mm, the other 1000mm.
Disadvantages? Several. A fixed aperture of f/8 meant it was difficult to focus and needed plenty of light if you were shooting Kodachrome 64, as we all were. And it was so light and small that holding it steady needed a Zen archer’s composure. But, fast-forward to now and digital takes care of the aperture, vignetting and contrast. So I bought one on eBay, unused, inexpensive, and have enjoyed it ever since. I’m not trying to promote this design of lens, and I’m not suggesting you buy one, but I want to communicate my enthusiasm. In order to follow this particular path, you have to be able to feel some level of excitement and enjoyment from the optics, as I do.