A friend of my wife dropped by to visit last week. That in itself is unremarkable, of course; my wife does have friends and they do drop by to chat from time to time. But this time, said friend also brought along her vintage -- and damaged -- Canon AE-1 that you see here. I asked her if she wanted me to help get it repaired, but no; it's been dropped one time too many, she lamented, and besides, she doesn't need it anymore. It's old, it's useless, it's impractical. Just keep it.
Boy, can I relate to that.
I am by nature a philosophical person, given to introspection fueled by free time and caffeine overload. This is one of those times. Holding this old camera (carefully, I should point out -- the back doesn't stay on anymore) brought forth colorful memories. In general: what good and exciting times we had back when this camera newly arrived; every day was exciting, photography was something new to explore, and from time to time we made a couple bucks as we honed our skills. And in particular: this was a much-coveted camera, an up-and-comer enticing us Nikon owners; sleek, powerful, sexy, and so damn good.
Yes, the Nikon-vs-Canon argument goes back a long way, far pre-dating the digital era where the discussion takes on a whole new dimension. But there were lots and lots of cameras back then, and everyone had a favorite. Nearly all of them are now long gone. Did any of you ever own a Topcon? A Mamiya-Sekor? Google them if you're curious.
But this Canon AE-1 was different. It was delicious, and we knew it was a game-changer. Technology usually doesn't drive creativity, it should be the other way around. Photography, however, has uniquely held this relationship in symbiosis. Our craft is largely (and sometimes unnecessarily) dependent upon its technology, and the AE-1 was one of those wonderful cameras that could grab you by the collar to get out there and look. You can do better, it told us; trust me.
It has walked along with us on an unforgettable journey, but now this one is relegated to paper-weight status on my bookshelf. I guess that's ok, it's just a machine, after all. It was meant to be outgrown. Fond memories are one thing, but nostalgia and sappy sentimentality are off-putting. If this camera could talk, it would likely tell us to pipe down and keep moving ahead. I did my job, it would say, so just keep doing yours. You can always be doing better.
Trust me.
