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Notes on Analog and Losing Shit

I have this terrible habit of collecting cameras only for them to sit decoratively on my shelves like trophies I haven't earned. They sit lined up, facing away from the wall as if they've seen decades of use and finally get to rest their bones (gears) in a retirement well-earned. But their history doesn't exist, at least not with me. I've somehow collected them through friends, family and odd jobs here and there where the currency was some old camera the guy had no use for anymore. They sit up there to serve as visual reminders that "I am a photographer!" but that's it. 

I think that I've felt somehow too daunted to play around with them; that they were too delicate, that I wasn't unsure how the photos would turn out; that X, Y or Z yadda yadda yadda. Just excuses. 

If I'm to start using and appreciating any of the cameras in my collection, I think it must be my Olympus OM-2. This was my parents camera (sort of). In January of 2020,  I was invited by a friend and former supervisor to Rough Trade NYC to check out an intimate concert for Your Smith ahead of her tour (I believe). So I went, and brought along the dusty Olympus OM-2 that seemed perennially perched on my mom's dresser. I barely remember the night because I left the camera sitting atop a standpipe in the chilly Brooklyn air and it was gone forever. I was devastated. Materially, it was just a camera. Sure. But emotionally I felt as if I had carelessly thrown away a piece of my parents history. Of my own history. Not an insignificant amount of photos that filled the family photo albums were very likely taken with that camera. The following shot, one of the only photographs I have with my grandfather, was taken with it: 

Myself and my grandfather (Keith) c. 1995 or 1996

So I felt like shit. A few weeks later, my mom got a package in the mail and asked me to open it up. As I picked through the peanut packaging, I pulled out a nearly identical camera, one she bought me from eBay. She noticed that I was so upset about losing hers, and wanted to replace it. Naturally, this camera was now deeply precious. 

But I still haven't used it, and maybe the reason is that I'm afraid of losing it again.   

Don't ever leave me again 

I'm excited to figure this bad boy out. I feel like the failure of taking a bad shot or breaking something can only be preventing me from getting a great shot or (also likely) a very okay shot. Square one is learning how to even use the camera, so that brings me here: 

if you're following along at home, you can learn here. 

I've made two horrifying discoveries: firstly is that there was usable film inside the camera until I popped the back open (therefore rendering it not usable), and secondly that the batteries have likely corroded. That makes sense, because this thing has been sitting in my own museum of moving image for years at this point. It'll take a bit of elbow grease to get it moving again. Call it the de-museumification of my own hobby. 

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