A Breath of Fresh Air: The Airesflex Model U(T) TLR camera.

Though I have been familiar with their usage for the better part of 25 years, and have owned several, I can't say that TLR cameras have ever really been a mainstay of mine. Instead, these cameras have usually tended to supplement other types of cameras in my collection.  True, I've had occasions where TLR cameras were the ideal choice (at least on my budget) for specific projects such as portraiture and wedding photography, but I could never see where a TLR would be my primary photo taker given their bulk, shutter speed limitations, and the reversing of the image in the viewfinder.

All this negativity stated, did I mention that I love TLR cameras?  When it comes to a camera that delivers superb output and precisionate focusing onto a medium format negative at a modest price, nothing quite beats a TLR camera.

For the past couple of years, I'd been largely content to keep just two TLR cameras in my collection: namely the Seagull 4A-103 and the Yashica 12.  Both have rewarded me with some of my favorite images over the past three years, and are called upon periodically when I want to ensure that I can trust a camera to deliver excellent results.  I did have a little indiscretion last Spring when I picked up the Silverflex Model S, but was quickly dismayed by the results from that camera.

So with my TLR quota largely filled, one might wonder why I elected to purchase this one evening...

The Airesflex offers a basic, yet still somewhat elegant look to it, as an example of a well-built 1950's Japanese TLR camera. 

With a price tag of just $25 compared to a value that is at least three times that, I would think a more apt question would be "Why would I NOT add this camera to my collection.  It took mere seconds to arrive at the decision that the Airesflex would be coming home with me.

Franka's Tower of Portable Power: The Tower 60

It was a purchase decision that took the better part of 2 minutes.  Spotted in a nearby antique mall was what seemed to be THE perfect camera to add to my collection.  A medium format folder with a fast and rather reputable f/2.9 lens AND a rangefinder.  Priced at $40 with a 20% discount, I gleefully raced up to the front desk to ask to see this camera to check its operability.

Shutter: check.  Rangefinder: check.  Folding and unfolding: check.  There was nothing whatsoever that I could detect as being of serious issue with this camera.  It was oddly parallel to several others in my collection, but having the working rangefinder was the perfect incentive to add the Tower 60 to my camera collection.

Franka made models seem to come past me with surprising regularity.  This one was was a very pleasant surprise. 

Though sold by Sears Roebuck, the Tower 60 was a product of Franka, the very same maker who made the Solida camera that is a beloved favorite of mine.  In fact, the Tower 60 is more or less a Solida Variant with different markings.  It is for all intents and purposes identical to the Franka Solida IIIE.  Equipped with the same Schnieder Radionar 80mm f/2.9 lens as my previous Solida cameras that I loved using wide open wherever possible, I wholeheartedly welcomed the ability to add a version with a rangefinder to ensure accurate distance measurement.  I was $32 poorer, but vastly enriched culturally.  

Outside the Box Thinking? The Gevaert Gevabox

Photography is an interesting hobby that is often quite illogical, particularly as it pertains to gear.  For example, why do people willingly shell out 5 times as much for a 50mm f/1.2 lens as they will for the half-stop slower 50mm f/1.4?  As well, why will people expend a hefty premium for a lens or camera in a certain "serial number sweet spot" specific to each model?  

I am certainly guilty of similar behavior, but in much the opposite way.  Though I have a decent assortment of some very capable cameras with fine lenses, I'll often shelve these more advanced models to shoot on something significantly more basic in nature.  One could easily ask why I have my Zeiss Super Ikonta 531/2 sitting at home while I'm out shooting with cameras like this:

These handsome siblings are both variants of the Gevaert Gevabox, a rather snappy line of cameras that were made after World War II by various camera makers in association with film maker Gevaert. On the left in the photo above is the 1955 variant, sporting a fixed focus lens, but an f/11 lens that can be stopped down to f/16, as well as having a shutter than can accomodate two speeds in addition to a time exposure setting.  On the right is the earlier 1951 version, whose features include a zone focusing lens, an f/8 lens with three diaphragm settings to close down to f/16, but only a single shutter speed in addition to the bulb setting. At least one other variant exists of this model, dating to 1950, made by Hermann Wolf, and strongly resembling the "Adox 66" camera of the same time period.    

I first happened upon a listing that included a 1951 version several months ago and was immediately struck by its styling that combined flashier chrome trim with the traditional box camera format to make a box camera very distinctive in appearance.  I would check listings every so often for one of these beauties, but it took months before I stumbled across one priced within reason to snap up!

As luck would have it, I had not even taken delivery of this camera when I happened upon a copy of the 1955 version in a Baltimore store and priced perfectly.  I suddenly had picked up a Gevabox grouping! 

Solida Success! Sorta!

A few years ago, I had the odd (OK, well now typical for me) fortune of having a mercy camera pick-up that I shot with only half-hearted interest, only to have it pleasantly surprise me with its image results.  That camera was none other than the 6x6 folder known as the Franka Solida.  

Of course, as soon as I became more enamored of this camera and its Schneider Radionar lens, the shutter began to get particularly flaky.  It hit the point where I developed a love-hate relationship with the Solida, in which each roll would prove a major pain to shoot, but the good shots from the roll mostly made up for this headache of a camera.  

I kept my eyes open for another cheap Solida with the same specs, particularly the f/2.9 lens.  By the dawn of 2016, I had found one, and elected to more or less retire the cantankerous Solida to focus upon its sibling, whom I'd christened as my "Solida 2.0."  

One roll in this replacement camera and my thoughts began to change.  This Solida seemed to not only suffer from some lens fungus, but it didn't seem to render with any sort of pleasing tonality. Even worse was that the focusing distances didn't seem to match up to the rendering of the lens, indicating a need for a lens collimation. Finally, the film rollers tracked muck onto the film surface, resulting in gritty lines across some exposures.  

While some of its issues could be addressed, this Solida was not one that I was quite ready to putz with.  I briefly considered if I could transfer the lens from the original Solida to the "2.0" version, but the camera essentially sat next to the other one for the better part of a year.

And then a few months ago, I just happened to stumble upon this in a nearby antique store, priced at a very modest $25.  

A Speedy Trip Back to 120: The Ansco Speedex

828: a forgotten format... 

116: a forgotten format... 

127: A forgotten format... 

00: a forgotten format... 

120: a forgotten for..., wait WHAT?!?

I've turned a lot of attention to what is often referred to as "obsolete formats" in the past year, referring to film sizes that are either commercially scarce or completely out of commercial production.  In the process of this interest, I've sort of lost sight of one of the main points of interest in my own film resurgence: the 120 format folding film camera.

In the Fall of 2014, 120 folders were my bread and butter, and I produced many photos with these surprisingly capable compact cameras that I'm still quite proud of, but my use of them had begun to dwindle, as 35mm began to make inroads into my shooting queue for its expanded film selection, while the other mothballed formats began to take more and more of my quirky side's attention. Meanwhile, some of my folding camera favorites began showing signs of their age: the Balda Pontina had an odd light leak, the Ikonta A didn't quite seem to focus properly, and neither my original Franka Solida nor its replacement were working as they should. Further, I'd pretty much stopped looking for additions to my collection of this genre to complement my collection, though I knew I still had some interest in rekindling the time in which my interest in shooting 120 format flourished. 

My budget however was not what it was when I first started shooting.  Where I'd once been OK with spending $60 for a single camera, I now found myself peeking more and more through thrift stores to see what I could snag for under $10.  Times had definitely changed, but indeed for the better, as I became more scrutinizing of spending any money towards new pickups.

The general outcome of these modified shopping habits tended to put most of these deluxe folding cameras out of reach, and yet I still didn't have a 6x6 folder that I could depend upon, but then luck happened upon me.