Holga 120pan – Not Another Holga Story – An Ode to Imperfection

The writer’s block is a real thing – even more so when you are not a writer. But this “not-a-writer” writer had to make a choice about the desire to share his photographic experience, eventually . So, here is the choice.

There is no drama here. At a macro cosmic level, there are far more serious things happening around us. So how does one talk about something one loves—something others may find uninteresting, or may hate or, even worse, are completely indifferent to?

There was a moment in my photographic journey when I used to believe that only uninspired individuals could enjoy or appreciate blurry images. Blame it on the pixels, or rather blame it on the ignorance (mine, of course). That was the time when GLASS was everything—the Alpha and the Omega, the Holy Grail connecting us, the mere mortals, to the Adams, Arbus, and Salgado gods. And, sure, over time, a few honorable mentions in those online photo contests did nothing but compound the folie de grandeur, that almost feeling that the ghost of HCB was peeking over my shoulder.

Then one day, the tiny flash of inspiration dries out. Reality settles in, and suddenly you see how naked you are among the well-dressed photo royalty. You feel it on your skin: it is not about the glass. It was never about the glass, but rather something else—something those gods worked for their entire lives through failure and pain. It is time for your pain now.

One way to pick yourself up is to go back to the basics. To the Camera Obscura, the elemental tool. The simpler, the better: one lens, one aperture, one shutter speed. Attempt to master that, and maybe you will master the rest. But where to find that simple tool?…

Along came Michael Kenna—and Holga was its name. And since this “no-writer” writer loves a good hike, too, a panoramic Holga turned out to be the best fit.

A lot has been written about the Holga style: the vignette, the light leaks, the sharp-to-soft lens. The forgotten lens cap, the falling (or rather failing) back cover, the unreliable shutter speed. The masks, the tasks, the doubles and triples and quadruples. The filters, the flashes, the crashes. The crosses, the tosses, and the losses.

But there seems to be very little out there about the 120 Pan. As a newer member of the family, it just did not catch the eye of the Artist.

Was it the size? The fact that it can produce only six images per roll? I don’t know, really.

My Pano is, by Holga standards, a plain one: it does not leak any light, its back does not fall off unexpectedly, and there are no funny scratches on the film (most of the time). Its shutter is still quite sharp and reliable, and the N/B switch at its bottom does not move freely when no one expects it to. And given its humongous size, when getting it ready to shoot, there is no way to miss that cap on the lens.

It is shinny plastic black and really boring. So far, no good stories or mishaps to tell people at the party…

I love it.

It allows me to use cheaper film, because at this frame size there will be little differences between HP5+ and Arista EDU 400.

It forces me to pull the trigger less and look at my surroundings more. More nature, less viewfinder.

It also makes it easier for me to spend less time with the scanner and the screen, producing fewer digital files. And the 6×12 frames are so much easier to scan: just lay the film on the V600 glass and hit the button. No film carrier, no wet mounting, no ground glass on top.

It’s still a Holga, after all. No one expects it to be crystal clear from one end to the other.

Did I say I love this camera?

It let me discover the harsh realities of the American countryside, the vast fields and skies of Texas, the extinct volcanoes of New Mexico, the rocks and The Rockies of Colorado. It showed me the urban steel towers, the solitary Saguaro cacti, and the skeletal trees of the doomed ocean forests.

It was dropped, kicked, splashed, and nearly forgotten on a bench in the city. It stuck with me and gave back more than I hoped.

It even “convinced” my wife, the Eternal Muse, to pose on a windy day by the lake.

Not a toy anymore, I suppose. The Muse really liked how she looked in that image.

I am no God, nor Master of this plastic box. Every time I take it out of the bag to use it, I tell myself I don’t know what I am doing. I continuously work on my technique and I did my math: at an average of two films week, I produce about 12 frames a week. So, in roughly 15 years, after I finish putting behind me my first 10,000 worst panoramic images, I will be back here my first masterpieces.

Stay tuned!

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