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film info slot (the real purpose of)


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I used to despise those ugly things. I much preferred the little window. However, I now know the real reason for them. They're perfect picture frames for commemorative stamps. The slots are about the right size for most commemoratives, and there's no shortage of themes to choose from.

 

As for film info, that's what masking tape, a sharpie pen and the bottom of a camera body are for.

 

The one shown below is apt, since on the other side of the camera is a shift lens.

 

1820479602_filminfoslot.thumb.JPG.d1265884d3cf3f6611e3171aaec8d2d4.JPG

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Heheh. That works if you shoot only one camera and/or one type of film at a time. I've recently had five cameras in mid-roll, and three of them lacked meters. So, knowing what's inside them at any given time can be important, especially when it can take months to finish shooting a roll.
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How much paint is left on the bottom of your camera after you've ripped the masking tape off a few dozen times.

 

The frame on the camera back is just the right size for the lid ripped from a film box, or could be used for a square of card, paper or 'ivorine' that's just as easy to write on as a strip of masking tape.

 

Why do some people insist on making life more complicated than necessary?

 

"I much preferred the little window."

 

- How much will you prefer it when its foam seal decays and your film gets completely fogged?

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I do not believe anyone designing cameras in the 50's - late 60's period had a clue to this little do-dad camera addition. With 6 cameras & 3 film types floating around my apartment, small semi-permanent sticky1233613649_DSCF0217ces5.JPG.d662e91466c6e71f16e44e57fb495ac2.JPG labels are used to keep my aging brain on the right track. Aloha, Bill
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Or, for Millenials, they could print one of their gazillion selfies and slot it in there, to enhance the beauty of the camera. ;) Of course, they'd probably need to ask a Boomer how to print a hardcopy of a photo. :rolleyes:

 

Leica M-3, Nikon F mid 50's, mid '60's respectively

[ATTACH]1243994[/ATTACH] [ATTACH]1243995[/ATTACH]

I have a couple of cameras that have similar doodads. I suppose they're useful, but I always worry that they may have been accidentally moved to the wrong speed or emulsion (B&W vs. color).

 

They're also so non-standardized that they're almost more work than they're worth. I'd much rather take a quick glance at a box top and know exactly what's inside than have to figure out what the doodad is telling me, and whether it matches up with my recollection, or not.

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Why do some people insist on making life more complicated than necessary?

 

"I much preferred the little window."

 

- How much will you prefer it when its foam seal decays and your film gets completely fogged?

 

 

I had to replace a foam seal the other day. With an exacto knife, I took me less than 5 minutes.

Edited by evan_bedford|2
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Or, for Millenials, they could print one of their gazillion selfies and slot it in there, to enhance the beauty of the camera. ;) Of course, they'd probably need to ask a Boomer how to print a hardcopy of a photo. :rolleyes:

 

Or perhaps a boomer who thinks that film isn't made anymore could ask a millenial like me to make a print in his darkroom...

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Abuse by writing on the bottom of the camera. When I put my camera down it's on a mat to protect its bottom.

 

Nothing is written on the camera. It's written on a small square of masking tape. Please read the post. And relax (life is short).

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I've heard that some people like to look at them. Other than that...hmm...I'm not quite sure, now that you mention it.[ATTACH=full]1244024[/ATTACH]

And there's a great example of why Karsh is considered one of the great portrait photographers.

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And there's a great example of why Karsh is considered one of the great portrait photographers.

 

My favorite punching bag, A. D. Coleman, gave Karsh this review

 

A D Coleman in "Shows We've Seen" Popular Photography 1973-08

 

Yousuf Karsh, at the Albright-Knox Museum,

Buffalo, N.Y. (March 27-May 6).

 

Since the work of Yousuf Karsh has evidenced neither change nor growth over the past quarter-century, a retrospective exhibit like this-whose usual function is to demonstrate the development of an artist's lines of inquiry-only serves to point up the limitation arid monotony of Karsh's

uninventive style. The triviality of his body of work is manifest in the fact that there is little to be said about it now that could not easily have been said 20 years ago. Karsh seems to me perhaps the most overrated photographer of our century, one whose reputation is based on an entirely sterile, repetitive, and banal accumulation of images. His output reminds me of nothing so much as the countless changes rung by those hack painters who frequent summertime outdoor art festivals on the theme of the sad-eyed kitten or the clown on velvet. Overstylized, stilted, utterly without life or insight, Karsh's portraits apparently fill some continuing cultural need for kitsch caricatures of the world's superstars. Karsh, as a cultural phenomenon incarnate, functions as an equalizer of sorts, reducing everyone who comes before his lens to a depersonalized gargoyle. The resulting grotesqueries display-I presume unintentionally-Karsh's inability to relegate his acclaimed lighting technique to its proper place. Its total domination of virtually every image in this show points up just how much a slave Karsh is to his style and his equipment-a sad and sorry sight.

The only reason, in fact, that I bother to write about this exhibit at all is that it is the largest photographic show mounted at the prestigious Albright-Knox since that institution's courageous presentation of a controversial Photo-Secession exhibit back in 1910. Granted, the Albright-Knox has coasted on that early venturesomeness far too long. Nevertheless, to mar that unblemished record by making this ghastly travesty of photography its second major plunge into the medium was, from an historical and esthetic standpoint, the very worst kind of curatorial irresponsibility.

 

This seemed another good reason (aside from his championing of Mortensen) for not respecting Coleman all that much.

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My favorite punching bag, A. D. Coleman, gave Karsh this review

 

A D Coleman in "Shows We've Seen" Popular Photography 1973-08

 

Yousuf Karsh, at the Albright-Knox Museum,

Buffalo, N.Y. (March 27-May 6).

 

Since the work of Yousuf Karsh has evidenced neither change nor growth over the past quarter-century, a retrospective exhibit like this-whose usual function is to demonstrate the development of an artist's lines of inquiry-only serves to point up the limitation arid monotony of Karsh's

uninventive style. The triviality of his body of work is manifest in the fact that there is little to be said about it now that could not easily have been said 20 years ago. Karsh seems to me perhaps the most overrated photographer of our century, one whose reputation is based on an entirely sterile, repetitive, and banal accumulation of images. His output reminds me of nothing so much as the countless changes rung by those hack painters who frequent summertime outdoor art festivals on the theme of the sad-eyed kitten or the clown on velvet. Overstylized, stilted, utterly without life or insight, Karsh's portraits apparently fill some continuing cultural need for kitsch caricatures of the world's superstars. Karsh, as a cultural phenomenon incarnate, functions as an equalizer of sorts, reducing everyone who comes before his lens to a depersonalized gargoyle. The resulting grotesqueries display-I presume unintentionally-Karsh's inability to relegate his acclaimed lighting technique to its proper place. Its total domination of virtually every image in this show points up just how much a slave Karsh is to his style and his equipment-a sad and sorry sight.

The only reason, in fact, that I bother to write about this exhibit at all is that it is the largest photographic show mounted at the prestigious Albright-Knox since that institution's courageous presentation of a controversial Photo-Secession exhibit back in 1910. Granted, the Albright-Knox has coasted on that early venturesomeness far too long. Nevertheless, to mar that unblemished record by making this ghastly travesty of photography its second major plunge into the medium was, from an historical and esthetic standpoint, the very worst kind of curatorial irresponsibility.

 

This seemed another good reason (aside from his championing of Mortensen) for not respecting Coleman all that much.

 

 

Gee, I wish Coleman had told us how he REALLY felt. (wow)

 

Karsh certainly didn't depersonalize Churchill. He intentionally got him p___ed off during the shoot, in order to get the iconic growl.

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