Saying Goodbye To Some Old Cameras

Recently, I dusted my cameras and almost got buried in a camera avalanche as some of the neck straps got tangled on the shelf. In the narrow escape, I noticed that some of the cameras seemed mournful. Occasionally, it is my habit to personify objects, particularly ones I love and use frequently, so it made sense that some of these cameras looked a bit sad. Lately, the percentage of cameras in frequent use has been a much smaller portion of my actual collection, and I haven’t even bought anything in well over a year.

Collecting and having collections can be a loaded topic. We could get into economics, pyschology, privilege, use versus admiration, GAS (gear acquisition syndrome, just in case, because I didn’t know what it meant for a long time, and thought a lot of photographers must have digestive issues), but I will not be addressing those topics today. I have long collected things, including rocks and stickers as a kid. As an adult, I have a post card collection, savoring ones sent to me by friends and family and picking them up as cheap souvenirs. I always have lots of books and my walls are covered with art that means something to me. Collections of things I love make me feel at home. My thoughts on my personal collections is that they are gatherings of things I love, objects I get to treasure. The value to me is in the use and pleasure of them. I do not want to have something I am afraid to use and I do not want something so valuable that has to stay in a case or a box for fear it will get ruined. I like my belongings used often, loved, visible, and in reach.

While I enjoy collecting things, the thrill of camera collecting is fairly new to me. Since I was 10 or 11, I have always had a camera, usually of the point and shoot variety, and while it changed over the years, I stuck to just one and it was enough. If I bought or was given a new camera, I would donate the old one, if it still worked. Five years ago I started playing around on the resale sites, finding bargains and well, a collection began to grow. I tend to be attracted to quirky, small, and cheap cameras. I don’t care if they are rare. I am sure I could learn to love a Leica, but I am already in a relationship with some Holgas, a dear Nikon, a couple of Olympus models (Olympi?), Minoltas, some fun stuff from Lomography, and a few Vivitars make my heart go pitter-patter. I am also not devoted to only one photographic medium. I am fast and loose in my affection for instant, digital, and film, both 35mm and 120. I am quite fond of cameras that others might politely call “crap-tastic” on a good day. Long before I knew about the XPan and its related hype, I remembered a college friend who bought a panorama disposable camera for a hike and I lusted after the panorama shots she taped to her dorm wall; they have been firmly stuck in my memory ever since. In the summer of 2020, I was home with extra time and did some internet searching to see if there was still such a disposable camera with similar capabilities. It was only then that I realized that tons of 90s cameras possessed a similar effect with frame-masking gates, and then I discovered the popularity for the elusive and expensive panoramic cameras. I bought a new-in-box Vivitar IC101 on “the bay” (the term I see often on 35mmc that makes me giggle) and I think that’s when the camera collection began in earnest. I know it’s not a true panorama, with the film being cropped, but it suits me with cheap, small, and quirky. Then I discovered some of Lomography’s gems with full panoramic options, the ability to show expose the film sprockets, and a couple models of truly toy-camera splendor. Over the years I have played with a lot of cute cameras, but my desire for collecting them has waned as it has become more difficult to use them all in a regular, loving, and revolving manner.

At the end of my dusting, I also considered my move on the horizon. While there is no definitive date, I will surely relocate in less than a year. I would much rather take stock of my belongings now in leisure, rather than frantically trying to downsize by a deadline or haphazardly packing up unwanted objects. I don’t want to be stuck carrying around excess weight, baggage, and difficulty to my next home. Been there, done that.

I glanced back at the cameras that looked forlorn. I gently scooped up some, placed them on the table, and quickly gathered a few more. I was surprised at the swiftness and what I was chose to part with, but as I looked at the little assembly I felt a bit lighter.

I have played with being a camera reseller, but I find it cumbersome, and I don’t own anything especially valuable or unique that might guarantee a quick sale. Luckily, there is a camera reseller nearby that regularly purchases from estate sales and big collections. I plopped down at the table with my laptop and punched in the camera shop’s website. I found the contact form and typed a quick message asking if they would take certain cameras and then doggedly listed all the cameras I had put on the table. I numbered them and it came to 22. I clicked send and let out the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. I was on a roll, clicked on two more camera seller websites, and typed in the names for a couple of my digital lenses. I left the cameras and lenses on the table and then returned to my housekeeping.

By the next day, I received adjusted quotes for the digital lenses and a long response to part of my crap-tastic camera museum. Some of my collection had become exactly what I didn’t want–a museum–sitting on the shelf, admired, but unused. While the offer wasn’t a huge amount of money, the reseller assured me they would probably take everything upon examination, even the ones with little to no market value. I also trust this reseller. I appreciate it isn’t a low-ball offer, and they will be able to sell a lot of the cameras much easier than I possess the patience or desire to do so. In the next week, I’ll make an appointment and spend a morning taking the box of cameras to their shop. In addition to a prompt payment, I won’t need to find packaging material, list a bunch of items on resale sites, respond to all the questions that come with reselling, or schlep tons of boxes to the post office.

I looked up with joy at the empty spaces between the remaining cameras. I looked in the box of the cameras that are leaving my collection. I feel relief that they will be going to a reseller who repairs and sells many cameras. Those neglected cameras will soon have purpose and will get into the hands of someone who can use them. While quite a few cameras remain, I feel lighter and even more determined to use what my shelves hold.

Part of the fun of photography is learning about some of the many cameras that are out there, and part of the joy, at least for me, has been in the collecting. I don’t mind having multiple cameras within reach. I have never been a minimalist and the thought makes me shudder (or shutter, silly photography pun), but I also want to get these other cameras used and loved by others. Does this mean I am done collecting cameras? Probably not. I enjoy buying a used-but-new-to-me camera and getting to know its quirks and strengths, and discovering how we will play together in adventures. Right now, though, I am getting pleasure in what I already own. I feel less overwhelmed when I look at my shelves and it’s easier to grab one for a walk with the dog or to throw in my bag for a hike, and I remember which ones contain a roll of film to finish and how they work. A week ago, I would have told you that my entire camera collection contents were non-negotiable, but now my affections are deeper and my attention is less scattered. Who knows what’s next in terms of camera collecting or releasing? What I do know is that as fun as cameras are, it’s using them in the act of photography that matters the most: taking photos and making images.

I think collecting is a personal matter and I have no advice or admonition. If you enjoy them, I think that’s all that matters, whether you have one or one hundred. Two cameras or too many cameras is a pleasure that many don’t get to experience. I feel lucky that I got to have some of those cameras in my collection and that I am getting some of them back out into the world. I wonder who will use them next, and if they will become long-term staples for someone else, the cameras reached for out of habit, desire, and passion. I also feel excited for the cameras that remain on my shelves, to be in my hands, strung around my neck, my eyes squinting, waiting to find the next image.

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