The Choice
Lens. Camera. Why?
Photography is a series of choices: the settings we dial-in, the moments we follow, the processing we apply. There’s strobe vs natural light, colour vs black and white… decisions that shape our images, in turn, at every step of the way.
But the journey always begins with two deceptively simple questions:
Which camera?
Which lens?
I received an email on this topic from Ben, a Society member, who was curious to know how and why I picked my gear on any given shoot. It’s the kind of subject I tend to overlook as not-interesting-enough—but that’s likely because I’ve mostly internalized this decision-making process.
In fact, it’s pretty essential.
Context
Not all of us have multiple bodies and lenses to select from (1), but when we do, it can indeed be difficult to figure out the best option. There’s often a nagging fear of getting it wrong and “Missing the Shot™”, which usually leads to overcompensating: we’ll pack two, three, four lenses, just in case, so we’re ready for anything. This can either be the correct call, or it can lead to a crippling paradox of choice in the field, with our mind constantly second-guessing the gear we’re using, killing any ability to truly focus.
In my case, the very first consideration is always context: is this work or personal? At the risk of citing the obvious, yes, I pack a lot more gear for a job than I do when I step out the door for my own enjoyment. Still, unless I’m completely in the dark about what I’ll be shooting, I constantly try to keep things as simple as possible.
Here’s a diagram I’ve created, to illustrate that decision-making process.
Let’s unpack this.
Camera Selection:
Technical (handling+capabilities)
This is about feature set: how important will focusing speed be? Am I shooting video? Will I be using a tripod or going handheld? Is sensor size an issue?
Most of these questions are especially relevant for any work-related project. For instance, I wouldn’t pick the X-Pro3 if I’m working with a tripod, and the X-T3 is my only option for video. A larger sensor means the GFX. But these questions also apply in any situation.Emotional
How does a camera make me feel? This may seem frivolous, but I think it matters. Certainly for personal work (I’d even say crucially when travelling), but the implications are broader: on a documentary shoot I’d pick an X-Pro or any X100, over an X-T. It’s a personal preference that hinges on personal experience, but it’s still very real. Similarly, the GFX 50S is a camera that anchors me, it feels solid, and steady, which makes me shoot differently. More on this in a bit.Presence
An important consideration in any context: do I need to disappear? This may not matter at all (most commercial shoots), or it may greatly impact the images we’ll capture. The obvious case scenario would be street photography, but a portrait session can be dramatically altered by the gear we aim at our subject, how close or far away we are from each other. Our presence is always part of a scene.
Lens Selection:
This, on its face, is a lot simpler, but it does require knowledge of a lens’ visual character—its min/max aperture, how it renders, its field of view etc. The psychology of lenses refers to the way we receive images, as viewers: a wide-angle creates space and introduces distortions that remove us from the reality we see around us; this can quickly transform a subject from banal to heroic, but it also creates a certain disconnect. A normal lens provides a sense of intimacy, closer to our eye, making any subject appear “natural”. The impact of this choice is profound—we’re defining the eye through which we will present the world.
Every field of view has a specific imprint. And of course, again, there are technical considerations, in line with the context: an ultra-wide is downright essential on an interior shoot, for example. Being aware of the type of images we intend to make goes a long way towards informing this decision.
The Ineffable
Outside of specific work requirements, a series of ineffable, less clearly defined elements, come into play: the chrome of a camera, sparkling in the early morning light; or the patina of a vintage lens; or the way dials twist between our fingers. I still get the same quickening of the blood from seeing an X-Pro2 or X-Pro3. I still get a physical kick out of snapping the GFX’s viewfinder on or off, tilting it up or down. These are not easily explained—they exist in the mountains and valleys of our mind, fuelled by longings, personal sensibilities, and experiences. Some photographers may dismiss them entirely, but to me, they’re hugely important.
A tool is an extension and translator; it’s the conduit between reality and our transformation of that reality. I can’t think of a closer, more central relationship with any other object—and this is true of the camera as much as it is of the sculptor’s chisel, or the artist’s paintbrush. I’d even go so far as to say this intangible quality is often powerful enough to become its own starting point.
Shocking the System
When we take all of these factors into account, it becomes clear there are many strategies we can follow. My personal work would probably fall at around 90% ineffable, 5% emotional, and 5% technical : my first thought is always “how do I feel”, followed by “what look do I want” and finally, “how do I want to shoot”. This is basically the entire thought process behind the 1EYE Roaming series: it begins with an emotional impulse, which establishes an inescapable framework.
But there’s a flip side to relying on instinct: we can easily fall into complacency, never straying outside our comfort zone. So there’s one last strategy I like to use, which I call shock frameworks. As in, Bizarro World, choose the opposite, pick the unnatural alternative. Shooting street with an 85 mm or 135 mm equivalent, for instance, or close-up portraits with a wide-angle.
This is the strategy I picked for the #kage202202 project: the GFX, a vintage 50 mm lens, and nothing but portrait-orientation, for an entire month. It’s a bulkier camera, the lens is manual (resolving at around 40 mm in terms of FOV), and portrait-orientation is downright foreign to me. The result is a reset of most of my reflexes, both physical and visual, which was precisely the point. Will it yield my best work? Doubtful. But so far it is, at the very least, shaking things up. And if I’m lucky, I may end up with a whole series of images that are slightly askew, that don’t line up quite as perfectly with the things I’ve done before.
Comfort shouldn’t necessarily be the goal.
…
There you have it. As you can see, I don’t use a single, cut and dry solution, but hopefully this shines some light on the process. Many thanks again for the question, Ben.
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Although, clearly, the phone camera is a possibility many of us will consider, so we’re all faced with at least two choices.
