A Polaroid
A Simple Camera With Big Teachings
Each press of the shutter echoes a loud click. A blinding light startles my subjects as the flash bulb hisses. The motor whirrs and spits out its rectangular exposure, and I hear the sound of $2.73 leaving my pocket as I rush the photo into the side of my camera bag, safe from light damage.
A Polaroid: an iconic trademark camera that has transcended the bounds of time. I think I might have had one when I was younger, but likely before the resurgence of film so it was never used and then lost in the shuffle of life.
I like to consider this particular camera my first Polaroid, a fated purchase at Penny Lane, a boutique consignment shop on Front Street. As these cameras have become popularized in recent years, the price has gone up for these original relics, as they give a far different experience than the Instax camera popularized in the 2010s. One could pay well over $100 for a working, original Polaroid camera, this one I found for $10.
It’s a One-Step 600, in perfect condition other than a silver sharpie inscription of “S. KAPLAN” on the bottom. Maybe the booth seller, maybe the original owner… same person? An aesthetically pleasing nod to the ambiguous history of my hunk of durable plastic, nonetheless.
“An aesthetically pleasing nod to the ambiguous history of my hunk of durable plastic.”
I tried my hand at film photography in the past, via another iconic camera: a Pentax K1000, along with a healthy handful of lenses purchased from a nice elderly woman some years ago for about $100. After a few youtube tutorials and a roll sent to develop came back completely blank, I put it away and decided I needed a hands-on tutor. It lives in a black leather bag near my window, covered in dust.
Today, as a Sony A7iii-using “film imitator,” I have always wanted to capture grain and lightleaks, other natural imperfections of a moment. I have shied away from overediting my images in the past, dimming my own light and ideas to fit the crispy clear norm of high end mirrorless photography professionals. Today I have rejected these methods entirely in my editing room. My personally created lightroom presets turn everything blue, or extremely overexposed and blurry, or a warm dark brown, one I made called “Hardcore” turns everything black and white and pushes every limit of every slider, turning it almost into a contour image. It took a lot of rewiring to make things how I like them rather than how others do.
“It took a lot of rewiring to make things how I like them rather than how others do.”
My new old camera is special to me, the colors look gorgeous, the contrast is stark and smooth. Every image feels warm without it having to come out yellow. People blur into the background and become a more integral part of the scenery, or stand out boldly with a bright flash ejecting them into the foreground. Each image becomes a delicate reminder to be intentional with my shots, forcing better communication with models, and quick thinking while candid shooting.
“Each image becomes a delicate reminder to be intentional with my shots.”
A Polaroid is a simple thing, producing a type of picture we’ve seen thousands of. Yet it remains a fond connection to the past, to our friends and family. To the life and love of the generations beyond my years, they would remember these images well. It reminds me of images of my mom, in her twenties, carrying around my oldest brother with her long curly hair in an old car, on the road from somewhere to somewhere.
My new creations with this camera feel like a direct tie to that timelessness, they can be something I might remember forever. Whether or not the image exists physically in the future, the beauty of its frame and color, the memorable substance of the moment and each imperfect detail can be engrained in your mind just a little easier.
