My first camera, at age 7, was a fully manual Kodak folding model. My father, a Navy photographer, had acquired it at the end of WW2. It used 620 roll film — little different than 120 film — and employed a leather bellows to separate the lens from the film plane. The negative size was 2 ¼ inches by 3 ¼ inches, 8 images per roll. A photo using this camera — at Tiger Balm Gardens, Hong Kong in 1962 when I was 13 — is here [link] My understanding of the relationship between f-stop and shutter speed was already second nature. Since it was a rangefinder camera, focusing on objects at less than infinity could be tricky. I recall appreciating the niceties of f-stop versus depth-of-field then, also. After almost a half century, I retain great affection for the camera.

Fast forward nearly three decades from Hong Kong and I was again using a camera with bellows. Now, however, it was a quality Linhof III 4x5 field camera. One of my first images ever with this camera — of Rainbow Bridge, Utah — is here [link]

My reason for following the large format path had almost everything to do with ARIZONA HIGHWAYS magazine. I lived in the east. I was constantly getting decent images from my Canon 35mm cameras. However, courtesy of a gift subscription from my parents, I saw the most amazing landscapes popping up in HIGHWAYS month after month after month. In particular, an overwhelming clouds-at-sunset-with-cactus image (a HIGHWAYS staple!) by Josef Muench (David’s father) is well remembered. The Jersey shore was nice, but Arizona was the real deal.

After moving to Phoenix in the early 80s, I realized that almost all of those great shots were taken on 4x5 or larger transparency film and if I wanted comparable results — indeed, if I wanted to be published in the magazine — I would have to change.

I will save the details about acquiring my Linhof for another time. Suffice it to say, however, the camera did NOT immediately open up a new and magical world. The technical demands of working such a camera (as well as the film) did not come easily. One really needed to work with it all regularly to become competent. Whereas, my 35mm had become the proverbial extension of my eye, the Linhof forced me to completely change my perspective on how to take a photograph.

Over time, however, the deliberate nature of working a view camera took hold. That is, it took hold after I answered the question of what to photograph.

At the time, ARIZONA HIGHWAYS had lists of future photo needs — stock calls with submission deadlines. Eagerly, I would run off to these places for shots — and invariably I would be disappointed. Disappointed certainly because my photos were not used, but disappointed on a personal level because I believed what I had taken to be superficial. Images were neither mature technically nor mature content-wise. They weren’t bad. They carried a sense-of-place, but there were no BIG shots. No rainbows, no stormclouds, no amazing last-lights of the day. There was also a constant expense of missed shots and wasted film because of mistakes with the camera. And the dust spots… Keeping the interior of the camera clean was a constant battle. Ultimately, this “chasing sunsets” style of photography proved most stressful. Here one day; there another. I always felt under pressure to take a “great” photograph.

Again, I needed to adapt. Using a 4x5 presented philosophical problems I did not anticipate. I had to learn to let the light come to me instead. Patience. Patience. Serenity. Serenity. Serenity, give me patience. Fortunately, this dovetailed nicely with my “deliberate” 4x5 Linhof. I believed — and still do — that frantically racing to set up such a sophisticated instrument manifested itself in the images. Serenity in a photograph must start with serenity in the mind of the photographer.

But, where to wait for that light? The answer came during a Grand Canyon raft trip. I was immersed in the most exciting photographic potential imagineable. Places people dream about. Places I dreamt about. As photographic subjects, I lost interest in Wupatki, the Superstitions, Sedona and other stellar Arizona locales. All I could see was a lifetime of images awaiting my camera at Grand Canyon.

How I came to live and hike there for so many years is of little consequence at the moment. But, I found a way. Because of my “deliberate” camera, I found a way to let the light come to me.