Lomo is from Heaven

I have a love/hate relationship with film cameras. Don’t get me wrong; in terms of the battle between old school and high tech, I belong to TeamFilm. I am, in fact, weary of the digital camera. It’s too convenient. I know, in fact, that it’s a mortal sin to look ugly in a digital photo. It should not happen. And yet when it really counts, I choose to use my SLR, and torture myself with questions while waiting for the film to get developed. Did I get the exposures right? Were my subjects against the sun, completely forgetting that the sun did exist? Are the people Royal-Tru-Orange orange or Papaya-soap white? Did I waste yet another Kodak film? The answers are usually no, yes or yes, and a scolding yes, respectively. But I keep on trying, especially since I cannot be bothered with Photoshop, unless may project sa school… hah… asa.

The solution for me, it seems, is the Lomo camera. I fervently believe it was invented especially for me. The first time I got hold of one, I thought, “God heard ME.” But when it came time to return the Lomo to its owner, I thought, “God didn’t hear me ENOUGH.” So listen closely, God: I need a Lomo camera, with which I can explore my camera prowess with as few mistakes as possible. I want to produce photographs with awe-inspiring effects with as little effort because, frankly, I can be very sourly impatient. I really just want to enjoy taking pictures and making so-called happy accidents. You see, God, you weren’t generous enough to shower me with some camera discipline, so let me please have my own Lomo so I can finally have some pictures of saturated colors, off-kilter exposure, and fisheye profiles, and finally be content.

He hasn’t answered yet. But I remain hopeful, disregarding the news that a Canon digicam is on sale at Trinoma. Really, those things could drop by 50 percent and I wouldn’t even blink. But if they brought back the Panchromatic film-I’m there in a flash. I like the thrill of anticipating, I guess, of not knowing what happens next. There is a certain type of risk when taking pictures with a film camera. You can never tell how the framed image in your viewfinder will turn out. In a roll of 36 shots, I’m lucky when I get a couple of good pictures, which make them instant classics in my book. Sometimes I don’t even remember that I did take those pictures, but I thank God sincerely for those surprise snapshots. I fall in love with film all over again. And hate it again when not a single shot is good, which normally is the case. You can say, “That bad, huh?” Yes. Don’t rub it in.

The Lomo, for me, is the equivalent of a digital camera in the film world. It’s a mortal sin to have a bad photograph using a Lomo. It cannot happen. It’s an abomination if you ever produce a nasty shot-half closed eyes and other dyahe pics can be forgiven. With a few exceptions already mentioned, Lomo pictures always turn out to be beautiful, often leaving you breathless. That’s what I want to create.

God, ‘you reading this?

//KC