An Analog Kind of Love: Lomography Champions “Slow Tech” Photography

Those who know me well are already well-versed in my passion for great pre-digital industrial design, those once ubiquitous pieces of “technology” that are now found in either a rubbish heap, a museum, or eBay.

Nevertheless, an increasingly younger generation of enthusiasts are discovering the pleasure and poetry of what I call “slow tech,” and at last week’s opening of San Francisco’s first Lomography gallery, a steady stream of enthusiasts, all under the age of 40, excitedly peered through the toy-like cameras for sale there. Many posed with the cameras while friends snapped pictures — using their smart phones of course. Just as many, though, were converted that night to the world of analog film photography.

Lomo cameras (as well as Holga’s, another Soviet-era camera) have become hot sellers with the Gen-Y crowd at stores like Urban Outfitters, which recently expanded their offer of analog merchandise to include turntables and other vintage-inspired goods.

The story of Lomography begins with the Cold War classic “Lomo” camera, made entirely of plastic, which two backpacking students “discovered” while traveling through the former Soviet Union in 1991. They were immediately smitten with the low-res, highly color saturated images the camera produced. Today, Lomography has become a global phenomenon of analog advocacy, community building, and all-out passion for the richly nuanced quality of conventional film photography.

The somewhat crude simplicity of the Lomo camera is in fact its genius and now an entire generation born without any prior experience with film cameras has discovered the magic and mystery of taking a picture with film. “We’re so used to the immediacy of digital. With film, you don’t know how it’s going to turn out,” said a 24-year old student at the opening event. Who knew delayed gratification could be such fun?

“I think that’s exactly the appeal,” says Tiffany Bukowski, who oversees California and the Pacific Northwest Lomography shop locations. “San Francisco’s unique in that way, they love the DIY quality of lomography. It’s a tech city, but it’s also an art city so this kind of photography fills a large niche.”

The classic Lomo LC-A+ ($280.00) the iconic camera that started it all is an admittedly unsexy looking piece of plastic but the images it creates are dreamy and saturated with color.

The cultish and classically-designed Diana F+ ($89.00), not only looks chic around your neck but allows for all kinds of experimentation with light, focus, and double images, while the 120film allows for large 5.2cm x 5.2cm negatives. It comes with a flash attachment that allows you to add tiny strips of colored gels, which, depending on the color, saturate the entire image in a blast of vivid red, green, or blue.

“The point is less about intention and more about experimentation and serendipity,” says Hans Hendley, U.S. retail manager for Lomography.  “The pendulum is swinging backwards and people are drawn to the imperfections of this kind of imagery. It’s simply more authentic and emotional than digital.” Browse online at any number of the hundreds of sites devoted to Lomography and it’s clear that the most compelling photos were probably completely accidental.

The company’s manifesto extols the virtues of free-spirited photography and includes ten golden rules such as “You don’t have to know beforehand what you captured on film” and “Try the shot from the hip.” They mean that quite literally and it seems most Lomographers have a limited interest whatsoever in framing their subjects. “This kind of camera communicates on a different level,” says Hendley. “It’s about the real moment. It’s like shooting from the heart rather than from your head.”

Alas, digital still trumps analog. To share your arty snaps with the world, you’ll have to use a scanner and then a computer. Or you could simply send a real photograph in the mail — before the U.S. Post decides to shut down for good.

Lomography shops and galleries are in cities around the world. In San Francisco: 309 Sutter Street. ph. (415) 248-0083, www.lomography.com

 My Analog Romance

They may move slower than their modern counterparts, but I believe there is a design integrity and elegance of performance that happens with Slow Tech over digital.

Relatively humble materials — wood, metal, early plastics, and so on — began first as pencil drawings on paper, and then were formed by manual machines. You can see the work of humans, not machines, in their assembly.

My day with Diana — the Lomography Diana F+ — reminded me of shooting with my old East German Praktica 35mm.

Modern — or perhaps I should say, digital – technology is often so sleek and emotionless that it resists an emotional connection. The apple computer is indeed beautiful in its Dieter Rams-inspired simplicity and yet, unlike some of Rams’ own design work (most notably for Braun in the 1960’s and 70’s), there is a coldness that one doesn’t find with say, Ettore Sottsass’ Valentine typewriter (1969). A radio made of wood featuring vacuum tubes (mine is a KLH) has a warmth and depth in tone that a digital radio simply cannot reproduce.

Here then is a short list of some of my design favorites – include the Praktica — that are not only lovely to look at, but also lovely to use.

Olivetti Valentine typewriter (Ettore Sottsass, Italy, 1969)

The Olivetti Valentine is the ne plus ultra of typewriters. It was love-at-first-sight when it was launched on February 14, 1969, and there are some who collect them compulsively. My first “portable” typewriter was an Olivetti Lettera 22, which I hauled everywhere to type term papers — even Denny’s.  Designed by Ettore Sottsass (with Perry King), the goal of the Valentine was to create an “anti-machine machine”: a tool that is sexy enough to be used outside of the office. I had been on the hunt for one for nearly a decade and recently found one in Palm Springs.

KLH Model 21 radio (Henry Kloss, USA, 1965)

This radio is still just as legendary as when it first appeared on the market as the ultimate “hi-fi” radio for lovers of classical music (in particular.) It features a rich, depth of sound that is rare on most tabletop radios. The Henry Kloss radio currently produced is frankly, a pale imitation of the model 21. The first one I bought was from a Salvation Army for $5.00. This one is from eBay and was $50.00.  KLH petered out in the 1980s but the model 21 remains its lasting legacy.

Thorens TD24 turntable (Switzerland, 1957 & 1966)

The Thorens TD24 is arguably the best turntable ever made and continues to be highly sought after. Don’t bother looking at thrift stores or garage sales since these thinks have practically attained unicorn status. Sadly, my father took his and tossed it into the garbage. After nearly fifteen years of looking, I got one thanks to an elderly gentleman who had one tucked away in his house (I was actually answering his craigslist ad for some Olivetti typewriters.) Today a Thorens TD24 in reasonably good working order can fetch up to $3,000. I think this turntable is absolutely gorgeous. It looks handmade (which it basically is), and the heavy steel platter, adjustable speeds, and solid suspension result in unparalled vinyl sound. It has a nerdy, Swiss seriousness about it that’s so cute.

Praktica 35mm film camera (East Germany, c. 1970)

I bought this camera at a gypsy flea market in Poland in the early 1990’s. Praktica cameras are built like a Soviet tank but have one of the best lenses ever produced by Dresden’s Pentacon. I love its heft, and evocative smell — metal shavings, film chemicals, and oil. Long ago, I took some wonderful pictures using the infamous but sadly discontinued East German ORWO film, which resulted in amazingly moody images I took in Berlin after the fall of the Wall. The single-reflex lens gives the most satisfying click.

Click here to read my blog post, The Way We Were: To Create, Some Turn to What’s Been Forgotten.

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