camera gear
More megapixels doesn't mean better photographs... but in many ways, high resolution sensors can make our lives as photographers much easier, and enable us to do things we couldn't do with fewer pixels.
Fuji is getting a lot of attention thanks to the recently announced GFX100RF. What caught my attention from that camera wasn’t the fixed-lens, the medium format sensor, or the $5,000 price tag. It was the new “aspect ratio dial”.
This seems to be part of a new trend with Fuji cameras. Just a few months earlier, the X-T50 was the first to introduce a dedicated “film simulation dial”.
I celebrate when a manufacturer tries something new, but I can’t help but wonder what these new dials might be revealing about the times we live in.
Are photographers nowadays switching aspect ratios and film simulations so often that they need a dial for quick access?
It feels like a reflection of the modern creative mindset: constantly changing things, never sticking with something long enough to master it. There’s always a new, shiny trick that promises to change the game. Except it never does.
I’m starting to feel old-school when I advocate for consistency: the value of committing to a tool, a format, or an aesthetic for some time.
If one photo is 3:2 and color while the next is 1:1 and black and white, our work might end up feeling cluttered and directionless. It’s not just about cohesion in a portfolio, it’s about developing a personal vision.
A style doesn’t emerge from constantly switching things. It comes from working within some boundaries, constraints that force us to solve problems through creativity, instead of avoiding them.
Experimentation is good. But there’s a difference between thoughtful evolution and constant indecision. Sometimes, we just need to commit to something.
I’m currently reading a photography book where the author lists their settings for every image. Normally, I’m skeptical about sharing that information, but an educational book seems like the one place where it might be justified to do so.
Many photographers seem obsessed with this kind of technical data, though. Not just the settings used but camera, lens, film stock, developing recipe, even the paper used for the final print. It’s not uncommon to see this information attached to photographs on social media; and even worse, in photo books.
The usual argument made for this is that it helps others learn how the image was made. But what do we really gain from knowing that a heavily compressed Instagram photo of a distant mountain was taken at f/7.1 and 1/250s?
If we truly want to offer insight into how an image was made, there are far more useful details we could share instead: Where and when was the image taken? Do those conditions happen often, or was it a rare occurrence? Tell me more about the story behind the shot: Why did you go there? Did you hike for hours, or did you pull over on the side of the road? If it was a hike, was it easy, or hard? What about the crowds? Seeing the original, unedited RAW file alongside the final image would also provide far more value. And most importantly: how did you feel when you were shooting your subject?
If the goal is to teach and inspire, this kind of information is infinitely more valuable than a list of settings.
Don’t get me wrong: settings matter. But most photographs could have been taken with different settings and they’d still look nearly the same. Because what truly shapes an image isn’t the aperture or shutter speed--it’s the light, the conditions, and the story told in the frame.
So why do we fixate on the settings?
I think it comes down to photography’s eternal struggle to be seen as an art. Some photographers might believe that sharing technical choices makes their work look more intentional, more serious, especially to those who don’t even know what they mean. The settings are the “secret ingredients” that the artist came up with to make the final result possible.
But photography isn’t a recipe. Greatness isn’t defined by the choice of ISO or shutter speed. A great photographer is insanely curious about the world. They notice what others overlook. They recognize beauty in front of them and know how to translate it into an image. They anticipate a moment unfolding and are ready to capture it.
You can recognize a great photographer not by what they say about their camera gear or settings, but by the passion in their eyes when they talk about their subjects.
Whenever I have a composition I like framed in my camera, before pressing the shutter I like to either zoom out, or take a step back.
While you can always crop in post (especially with a high-resolution camera), you can never “zoom out” after the fact.
By shooting wider than I need, I give myself room to fine-tune the framing later. Sometimes, I realize the composition needs more negative space; other times, a slight shift left/right, or up/down, makes for a stronger image.
Whenever possible, give your future self some wiggle room to experiment in post. They’ll thank you.
A couple of blocks from where I live, there’s a van built for the outdoors: rugged tires, gas canisters, solar panels... the whole package. I’ve seen the interior a few times as well, and it looks extremely nice. Everything is shiny and brand new.
The van has been sitting on the street since I moved here a year ago.
I’m sure it still has things that need work, but at some point, “it’s not ready yet” becomes an excuse.
Surely, a rig like that would make my photography road trips easier and more comfortable. I can’t afford it, though, so I make it happen with a $45 mattress and a big battery. I spent three months sleeping in my car in Norway, two months in Scotland, and have taken countless trips across the U.S. with that setup. Yes, it is challenging, even miserable at times, but the inconveniences fade over time. What’s left are the memories... and the images.
When I fall into the trap of over-preparation, it’s usually in areas of my life I’m less excited about. Procrastination becomes a way to avoid doing something I don’t really want to do. It’s easy to convince myself that one more thing needs to be done before I start.
But we need to ask ourselves: do we actually want to do it, or do we just like the idea of becoming that person who does things like these?
If we spend more time shopping for hiking gear than looking at maps -and actually hiking-, maybe we don’t love this activity as much as we think. Perhaps we just like imagining ourselves as hikers.
If we spend more time reading about cameras and lenses than exploring or looking for new subjects, maybe we don’t love taking photos as much as we think. Perhaps we just like the idea of being photographers.
The best way to know what we truly want is to start. Start small, with whatever you have now. Build momentum. Buy new gear as you need it, when your current equipment is really holding you back. Only by taking action do we discover what truly drives us, rather than chasing what others say should.
A few years ago, my in-laws were doing some repairs on their house. Their yard was littered with signs from all the construction companies involved in the project. Half-joking, I asked if they were getting a discount for the free advertising. I was surprised to learn from one of the contractors that this common practice is actually part of the contract.
I've always disliked how companies treat us like walking billboards. Look around, and you’ll see logos everywhere: from cars to clothes to most everyday objects. As I write this, I can easily spot over a dozen logos on my desk: my water bottle, notebooks, pens, hard drives, desk fan, phone charger, monitor, laptop, keyboard, and even the desk itself. There's so much visual clutter everywhere.
As you might have guessed from my photography work, I appreciate minimalist design, and I believe that most logos cheapen an otherwise well designed object. The best designs are probably those that are immediately recognizable without the need of a logo.
Bringing it back to photography: my Sony camera has 3 logos on it; plus at least a couple more on whatever lens I might be using. This is on top of other clutter like the model name, or things like "4k steadyshot inside". The tripod will have at least another two, one of the legs and another one on the plate. And so on.
I personally like to cover much of my camera gear with tape. I can't tape over everything, for example tape on the tripod will eventually start to slide and leave sticky residue everywhere. Still, I think cameras look better when they're as simple as possible.
I know, I know. This all might sound silly to most of you, but I find it incredibly distracting. I'm far from living a logo-free life, but I'm trying my best here.
The Tamron 28-200mm is, without a doubt,my all-time favorite lens. It’s rarely left my camera since I bought it 4 years ago, coming with me to several countries and through all kinds of conditions -- from the heat of the desert to bitterly cold blizzards. It’s never let me down, and I’ve take thousands of photographs I truly love with it.
I was perfectly happy with this lens... until I made the mistake of watching an old review of it. The reviewer found it soft at certain focal lengths, too slow, lacking optical stabilization, incapable of resolving detail for high-res sensors, and more. Their tests were clear and convincing, too.
What followed were a couple of days of unnecessary self-doubt. I’m dramatizing a bit here, but I wondered whether there was something wrong with me, how come I can’t see the flaws they were talking about in my photos?
To find out, I compared the Tamron to another one I own, the Sony 35mm GM, a lens that had gotten glowing reviews. The results were clear: the Tamron was soft.
And yet, that was not noticeable in the actual images or the prints I made of them. You have to zoom in to 200%, or beyond, to spot that softness in certain parts of the frame. If anything, the 35mm was too sharp.
After wasting a few hours running silly tests at home, I’m happy to report that I love my lens again, perhaps even more than before.
Take gear reviews with a big grain of salt. There’s nothing wrong with researching and understanding what is that you are getting for your money, especially when you are trying to decide between two similar lenses. But don’t forget to consider your unique needs.
That shiny prime lens might be sharper than the zoom, but will it help you get the shots you want? That big, fast zoom might be technically superior, but will the added weight leave you exhausted after an hour of shooting?
After all, photography is not a science.
After years of sharing my work online -my images, my workflow, my opinions, my successes and my mistakes- it still surprises me that most of the little “hate” I’ve received has been about how I treat my cameras.
This happens less now that I’ve switched to digital -apparently, no one seems to care about the fate of a soulless Sony camera. But it was a different story when I used to shoot film with my beloved Bronica SQ-Ai. You’d think I was committing some kind of crime whenever I showed that camera getting rained on. I probably caused some panic attacks the day I dropped it on a sandy beach.
And because the work I created with that beauty is still out there, every once in a while I get another message along those lines.
Whenever I get one of these messages, I think of something I read a while ago about books, which I’ve adapted to cameras: “buying books and reading books are two completely different hobbies”.
There’s nothing wrong with appreciating and loving the design of a beautifully crafted camera, even if it only serves as decoration on a shelf. Just don’t expect everyone to feel the same way towards devices that were meant to take photos out in the field, in the real world.
I didn't follow the rules I've set up for myself... and I missed a couple of good shots.
For the past five years, I’ve been using high-resolution full-frame cameras for my photography -- starting with the A7Rii, and now the A7Riv. This choice might seem surprising, especially given the type of images I create.
The reason is very simple: cropping.
I crop every single photograph I take, even when I get the perfect framing in-camera. Creating square images means I “discard” a third of the pixels, every single time.
A7Riv’s 61MP let me crop even further, and I often do. Switching to APS-C mode gives that extra reach I sometimes need, effectively turning my 28-200mm superzoom into a 28-300mm, while still producing large, detailed files.
In fact, in APS-C mode, the A7Riv matches the 26MP of a dedicated crop-sensor camera like the a6700. This means I can mount a lens like the 70-350mm and get an equivalent 525mm focal length in a compact setup -- much smaller than the full-frame counterparts. Or mount a prime like the 35mm 1.4 and "switch" to 50mm with the press of a button.
So, it’s not about having 61MP images; I couldn’t care less about that. It's about the flexibility those megapixels give me: I don't have to carry as much gear; or I can shoot in bad weather and not have to worry about switching lenses to get the focal length I need. I like camera gear that gets out of the way, because I can focus on what really matters: subject and composition.
I've used all kind of cameras over the years, from medium format film monsters to smartphones. All of them taught some valuable lessons about this art, but the camera that changed my photography forever was a tiny compact one. I lost it years ago on a beach in Oregon, but now, we are reunited again!
After years of doing this, one thing is pretty clear to me: more gear, more problems. A lesson I should’ve learned a long time ago, and yet, here we are.
During my most recent road trip across the US, despite lugging around 8-9 lenses, I did most of my photography and video work with just 2 of them. Add a couple of primes and the telephoto for those rare images that needed them, and the math tells me I’ve got 4-5 too many lenses.
But it gets worse, because of all the accessories and other gadgets cluttering up my bag: from the neglected 360 camera to the wireless mic that my phone could easily replace. It’s all excess baggage.
So, it’s time for a spring cleaning. I went through my bag (and closet) and decided to part ways with a bunch of stuff. Letting go is the easy part, though. The real challenge will be to resist the temptation to fill those now-empty spaces back up with new and shiny objects. To stay light.
Because out there, when the hike gets tough, when the weather takes a turn for the worse, when you are tired and exhausted after hours of chasing the shot... less is more. Always.
I’ve talked about the scars of war before. How cameras and lenses are meant to be used rather than left on a shelf.
This belief of mine was put to the test during my latest road trip across the West. I got snow, heavy rain, intense winds, and storms. I shot along the coast, in the rainforest, in the high desert, amidst the red landscapes of Utah, and on sand dunes. It was exhilarating at times, frustrating at others.
Twice, I dropped my cameras.
The first incident happened at the Painted Hills in Oregon. My video camera (a7iv) took a bad fall while I was recording myself on a windy late afternoon. I was rushing everything and failed to properly secure the tripod.
My heart skipped a few beats when I turned around and saw the destruction. I feared I’d lost the camera. Fortunately, it was “just” the 17-28mm lens that broke on the mount.
Now, that lens lives in my a7iv as I use it all the time for my videos. So hastily, I purchased another copy (a used one) on eBay. It turns out that was another bad, rushed decision on my part. Because once I got home a few days later, I managed to put the “broken” lens back together, and it seems to work just fine! So now, I own two 17-28mm lenses.
That wasn’t the end of my gear related accidents, though. A couple of weeks later, in the Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado, I dropped my stills camera in the sand.
This was a rare accident. I don’t remember what I was doing with my video camera, but I thought that holding the a7riv between my legs was a good idea. I often do it without any trouble. However, this was a very, very windy day. I lost a bit of balance at some point and I instinctively tried to correct myself by shifting one of my legs, which made the camera fall into the sand. Thankfully, these cameras are well sealed and nothing bad happened. I cleaned it with the air blower, and that was it.
We are all one road trip older now -- my cameras and I. They bear new scars, and I probably grew some new gray hairs. We stumbled, we fell, but we stood back up. We are prepared for the next adventure. Unsure if any wiser than before, but certainly still strong enough.
Photography is all about timing: being at the right place at the right time. But that's not enough. We need to be ready, we need to be prepared. There's nothing worse than investing vast amounts of time and money to put ourselves in front of magical conditions if we are going to waste it because we don't know where that function is in our camera, if we press the wrong button, or we hesitate about which dial does what.
When we are in the field, it's all about the what (what are we capturing?) and the why. The how is important, but it's something that needs to be trained when the stakes are low. So when things finally come together, the camera disappears and all that remains is the composition in front of us.
Note: this video is one of the first I've uploaded to my second channel, aows.jpg. Subscribe if you want to see more like this one. I tell you everything about this new channel and what that means here.
It took me a while to get there, but I finally have a lineup of prime lenses I love bringing with me on my daily walks. Most of the time, I'll bring my super zoom lens, but these fast primes let me switch things up every once in a while.
When life gives you welding glass, you take long exposures! After breaking my last ND filter, I headed to a hardware store to purchase another kind of dark glass, one that I use when I was getting started with long exposure photography years ago. And you know what? It's even better than I remembered. A totally viable option for low budget long exposure photography.
I was very, very close to pulling the trigger on a newer, faster, better, flashier camera. I thought I *needed* it. But then, something happened, something that reminded me of what really matters in photography.
Camera companies don't sell cameras, or lenses; they are trying to sell us an idea, a hope: buy this piece of equipment and you will become someone else, an adventurer, an explorer; finally being able to make the images you've always wanted to make.
We take the bait, and it feels good for a few hours, or a few days. Photography feels exciting again! But of course, nothing lasts forever, the hedonic treadmill works its magic and we are back to base one, feeling uninspired, until another sale tries to convince us once again that we can get there by purchasing yet something else.
Camera companies, like every retailer during this time of the year, are playing with our feelings of dissatisfaction. Perhaps with our own work, or something else. A feeling we can easily get rid of with just a quick and easy purchase.
As a photographer, I've been and I am there. I too feel dissatisfied, and spend way too much time thinking of camera gear and other easy ways to battle those feelings.
Even during this road trip across Norway I'm on, whenever I felt uninspired and couldn't find any images, I started to fantasize with what other places I should visit next. Almost wishing I was somewhere else. Imagine that, being in Norway and thinking that way!
I speak only from my personal experience, but I believe that these feelings are normal and natural to us. Perhaps, even the source of our creativity. The desire to create something new, the urge to keep getting out, the itch to explore and discover the world.
I think this is our curse, something we will experience as long as we are still growing. I believe that the moment we stop having these feelings, we will have stopped improving. And that'll probably be a sad moment.
So, be aware of this. We feel dissatisfied because we are still growing as photographers, as artists. Recognize that feeling for what it is. Look at it from a distance. Try to accept it. Don't let it define you. Be kind to yourself.
And then, grab your camera and go out make some pictures. That's still the best remedy I've found to put these feelings down.
This is a long one. I don't like to talk about gear because I don't want to give anyone the false impression that you need X camera or Y lens to create good images. Nor that you need the cameras I use to create images like mine!
I've used many, many cameras over the years. The style hasn't changed much, but the way I make them has.
So hopefully this video gives you an insight into why I have the cameras and lenses I have. But don't forget that I struggle with this stuff like anyone else, or even worse.
The summer is here. Usually, this is the season when my photography slows down the most. This time is even worse, as I'm back in Indiana and I don't have a car to move around.
It is during these times, when I'm not out taking photos as often as I'd like to, that I start to think about camera gear. Perhaps, hoping for that spark of creativity I'm lacking.
I'm also thinking about my cameras and lenses because I did quite a bit of traveling during the last month, and carrying all of it isn't fun. The picture above shows all the gear I brought with me; it's also all the gear I own, for both stills and video. That's the downside of not having a permanent home, I have to bring everything with me when I move.
Believe it or not, all that gear still meet my requirement, the only rule I can't break when it comes to camera equipment: it all has to fit in my camera bag.
The struggle is real, though. Should I downsize? Which lens should I get rid of? Should I just get rid of everything and go compact? Or should I buy a bigger camera bag?
As the summers unfolds, these questions remain in my head. But there's no right answer to the wrong question. What I'm looking for, what we all are looking for, is out there, somewhere. I can't wait to go get it.
