Adventures in Lomoland

I now have several processed and printed rolls of 35mm shot with my Lc-a, and I love it. Lomography is a different world than photography. It requires the same attention to detail that a normal photographer must have, but relies more on happy accidents.

On new years eve, I walked through harbor place and the Pratt street pavilion in Baltimore, shooting random shots into the crowds of people, and a few of them turned out alright. One particular shot is of a few people in a magazine shop. The shot shows the people, but is mostly of the ceiling. I love it. I distinctly remember taking the shot, holding the camera in front of my belly and shooting upward, thinking that I had just wasted a shot on the ceiling.

When I received my camera, I was disappointed that the film counter does not work, but now, the number 36 (where the counter is stuck) is a lucky number that reminds me that I have a constant flow of unlimited shots. Not knowing when the last shot is coming, I will never try to reserve a shot; I will never hold the last exposure for something special. All of my shots will be random and mixed up.

Without the counter problem, I never would have investigated and analyzed the way the camera works, and would not have realized that, by loading the film with as little lead as possible, I can add extra exposures to my roll. I think I knew that this was a possibility with a manual camera, but I never would have put two and two together.

In spite of everything I have learned about my Lc-a and about photography, I must admit to my one unforgivably stupid mistake: judging distance incorrectly.

When I studied the prints from my first three rolls, I was dismayed that all of the close-range shots were blurry. I insisted that the camera must have a problem, because I am not an idiot, I can judge distances well enough to know when something is a foot or three feet from my face.

There in lies the problem: feet. I feel absolutely foolish for not considering that the camera was made in Russia. America is the only place where feet fill in for meters and inches override centimeters. Even as I type, my face is burning red and I am laughing at myself.

The worst part is that I never would have figured it out if Troy had not pointed it out to me over dinner. How humiliating.

But I am still alive, and so is my beautiful, cheaply made, black brick of a little camera. No harm done. Another lesson learned. The rolls were a success.

As soon as I find the time (and stop being perpetually lazy) I want to post some of my shots in my blog. I am even going to open an account on lomography.com and upload my pictures to a home page and compete in the contests and create a lomowall. A brave, new world has opened up to accept me, and I shall enter: camera and meter-stick in hand.