Konica Pearl II camera

My Konica Pearl II camera & case

I purchased the Konica Pearl II on my first visit to Kitamura Camera, when I hired Bellamy Hunt of Japan Camera Hunter to show me many used camera stores in Tokyo. 

 It was our last stop on the half-day tour when we visited this massive, seven-story flagship store, which is one of more than 45 Kitamura Camera locations in Tokyo. It's on the fourth floor where they show their "high-end" items such as rare Leica cameras and lenses, Nikon rangefinders, Hasselblads, Rolleis, Mamiyas, and quite a few camera oddities. It's the floor that if you have an extra $10,000, $20,000, or even $100,000 burning a hole in your pocket to purchase rare photo items, they most likely have it.

 Unfortunately, I didn't win the lottery before coming to Japan, so I needed to be much more frugal in my camera purchases. Because of this, I much prefer the third floor of Kitamura's flagship store. It's where they have their "bargain" items. Personally, it has the items I'm much more accustomed to purchasing.

 The Konica Pearl II was a camera I didn't really notice until the second time I passed by a particular showcase. It was tucked in a back corner, not really visible except for the film winding knob, which I thought looked odd and different from many of the winding levers on this style of camera. It has more of a winding-key appearance rather than the standard round knob you see on most 120-style folding cameras.

 We asked one of the salespeople to get the camera out of the showcase for me to get a better look at, and he didn't even see the camera at first, tucked back in a corner of the showcase. But after guiding him to the correct camera I wanted to see, he took it off the shelf and put it on a mat in a lower showcase for me to look over.

Different angle of the Konica Pearl II camera. Notice the shutter release on the lens door.

 To my surprise, the camera seemed to be in wonderful condition. The price for the camera seemed low, so I started to look over it with the thought in the back of my mind that there must be an issue. The shutter worked, the aperture moved smoothly. The camera opened and closed with ease, and the fitted leather case was also in good condition. 

 Putting the camera up to my eye to look through the viewfinder, I found the issue. The back eyepiece was absent from the camera. Because of that, there were a couple of issues. First, when you looked through the viewfinder, the image was blurry, and you couldn't really see or frame it well.

 The second issue was something I didn't realize until the salesperson mentioned it. You couldn't see the yellow center area on the rangefinder. Initially, when I first picked up the camera, I didn't notice the two windows on the front, which would indicate a rangefinder-style camera, but on second look, there were two windows, which makes perfect sense.

 For the price of the camera, they offered to acquire a very compact medium-format camera with a functioning shutter, smooth focus, a light-tight bellows, and a fitted case. I figured I couldn't go wrong. All I needed (hopefully) was to find a "parts" camera to source the viewfinder glass from, and make this wonderful early 1950s camera whole again.

 During my time in Tokyo, I did spend time looking for a "parts" camera, but it wasn't until just a few weeks ago that I came across one for a reasonable price that I could harvest the viewfinder glass, and try to make this camera whole again. Unfortunately, it hasn't arrived yet. I'm eager to write this post, so once the glass arrives, I'll update it with the camera's progress (or lack thereof) with the new glass.

 

History:

 Konica's early history begins in 1873, when Rokusaburō Sugiura started selling photographic materials in Tokyo, at a time when Japan was still importing nearly all such supplies from the West. That founding date makes the company older than Eastman Kodak, and it places Konica at the very start of Japan's photo industry.

Early photo of Rokusaburō Sugiura. Credit Konicaminolta website.

 Sugiura first operated through the family business in Tokyo's Nihonbashi area, where demand for photographic goods was growing fast enough to justify a separate line of business. By 1878, he had founded Konishi Honten, and in the 1880s, the firm moved beyond retailing imported goods to producing its own photographic materials in Japan. This shift mattered because it helped move Japanese photography from dependence on foreign products toward domestic production.

 In 1902, Konishi began producing its own photographic plates and printing paper, and soon after, in 1903, it introduced the Cherry portable camera, widely described as Japan's first branded camera. That product established the company as a pioneer rather than just an importer. Over the next decades, Konishi built a reputation as one of Japan's leading camera and materials companies.

 During the 1910s and 1920s, the company continued to expand its manufacturing base and deepen its role in Japan's optical and photographic sectors. Its name evolved through several forms, including Konishi Honten and Konishiroku, reflecting both family succession and corporate growth. By the interwar period, the firm was part of a broader Japanese camera industry that was still small by global standards but increasingly capable of making its own products.

Popular Cherry camera: Credit Konicaminolta history page

 In the 1930s, Konishiroku pursued further camera development, including prewar prototype work that pointed toward later 35mm designs. Like much of Japan's industrial base, its development was increasingly shaped by the era's tensions, and the coming war would disrupt civilian camera production. Still, by the eve of World War II, Konica's predecessor had already established the core identity that would define the brand: a Japanese photographic pioneer rooted in import substitution, careful manufacturing, and gradual technological independence.

 In the 1950s, Konishiroku cemented its medium-format legacy with the exceptional Pearl series of folding cameras. Shooting 6x4.5cm frames on 120 film, these compact powerhouses combined portability with remarkable optical precision. The decade introduced the Pearl II (1951), the Pearl III (1955), and the pinnacle of the lineup: the Pearl IV (1958). These beautifully engineered models proved that medium format didn't have to be bulky, providing a professional-grade folding tool that easily slipped into a coat pocket.

My Camera:

 My Konica Pearl II camera, manufactured in 1951, is a 6x4.5cm vertical-format camera. The physical size of the camera is 4.75" wide by 4.5" tall and 1.5" deep with the lens closed in the camera body, and 4" deep when you depress the button on the top of the camera, located in front of the accessory shoe, to open the camera's lens door. The camera weighs 1 pound, 4 ounces without film loaded.

With the lens door open, it exposed the Konishiroku Hexar 75mm F/4.6 lens, serial #90096, in a Konirapid-S shutter with a range of 1/500 to 1 second, along with "B" for timed exposures. On so many cameras, shutter speeds are set by turning a ring to the desired value along the outer portion of the shutter. There is a shutter cocking lever located just behind the shutter speed setting ring on the shutter.

 The camera's shutter release button is located on the lens door and trips the cocked shutter via a linkage to the shutter release. A cable release socket is also in the shutter just next to the cocking lever.

The aperture ranges from F/4.5 to F/22 and is adjusted by turning a knurled ring at the back of the shutter to the desired aperture, indicated by a red dot on the setting ring. Also on the camera's shutter is an ASA flash terminal, which would be used for bulb flash units popular at this time.

Behind the camera's shutter is a larger knob used to focus the camera through the rangefinder system. As mentioned earlier, I'm not sure whether my rangefinder is working. There's another way to check, and that's the method I used to get the photos for this article. 

 Moving the focus knob on the camera one way or the other moves a bar in and out located on the opposite side of the shutter release linkage. This bar's movement changes the focus distance to the subject, which you can see through a window on top of the camera. I find these simple features on cameras fascinating. I don't know why, but I do.

To close the lens door back into the camera body, press inward on the side struts holding the lens erect, and the struts will collapse, allowing you to fold the lens back into the camera's body. Pressing it back locks it into place. You'll also need to set the camera's focus to infinity before it will close all the way.

 Looking down at the top of the camera, there are just a few objects to see. There is a small area on the front of the rangefinder housing that is losing some of its leatherette. The wonderfully designed focus window with a depth-of-field scale. The name "Pearl II" is in a modernistic font, with the camera's accessory shoe on a lower plane and the button for releasing the lens door.

To load the camera with film, the film door release is on the right side of the Pearl II. Lifting the lever on top unlocks the film door, allowing you to open it and load film. The fresh roll fits on the left side, and the take-up spool will be on the right, where the larger key-style winding lever is located. Once loaded, close the back of the camera and wind until you see the number 1 in the rear chrome window, which has a sliding cover.

 With the film loaded in the camera, let's take a walk through the neighborhood to see how it performs. Even though I don't have a usable rangefinder, the distance scale on top of the camera should help me take sharp photos.

 My Results:

 Since the camera has a vertical 6x4.5 format, you can take 16 images on a roll of 120 film. If you're taking a horizontal image, you'll need to turn the camera to landscape orientation.

 Here are some of the photos I took during my walk in our neighborhood.

Conclusion:

 I understand why the Konica Pearl lineup is so desirable for an everyday pocketable film camera. It's sophisticated, yet simple. The camera can focus on your subject via an internal rangefinder system, rather than relying on a less desirable "guess" focus system. 

 The higher shutter speed of 1/500 for the time period allows for less camera or subject movement, and the iconic Konica Hexar lens is sharp and provides wonderful contrast to the images.

 I'm very glad I purchased this camera, and am keeping my fingers crossed that the viewfinder glass will bring the camera's rangefinder back to life, allowing for even easier focusing and possibly a sharper image.

 Thank you for taking the time to learn about this wonderful camera from Japan's early camera revolution after WWII, when many cameras had "Made in Occupied Japan" embossed somewhere on them, just like this one.

 Here are some of my other Camera Reviews. 

 I also have a YouTube channel where you can view overview videos of some of the cameras I've written about.

 Cuny's Camera and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell many of the cameras reviewed, along with other cameras, lenses, and photo oddities I've accumulated in my 50-plus years of collecting. Stop by and see if there's something for you there.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Mizuho Six camera

My Mizuho Six camera & case

During my trip to Tokyo a month or so ago, one of my primary goals was to find a little-known or unusual camera to write about for this camera-collecting blog.

 It was on my last day in Tokyo that I visited Used Camera Box for the second time. To say this camera store is filled to the rafters is beyond description. Most of the camera stores I visited in Tokyo were well laid out, with space between cameras. All the items with tags and prices are very visible. It's very similar to what you'd see in any city in the world, with cameras or other products displayed. 

 The Used Camera Box is unlike most camera stores you'll come across.  The shop is pretty small, but the amount of cameras they have is unbelievable.  Many of the showcases featuring the higher-priced, most desirable cameras are well displayed. 

 Then there are other areas of the store with showcases with cameras on top of cameras, on top of cameras. Stacked three high and so crammed next to each other, it's difficult to see what they have towards the back of the showcase. 

 There are the bins, many, many bin of cameras. All around the store's perimeter are tall showcases. In front of these tall showcases are plastic bins filled with more cameras. Many of the cameras in these bins are "bargain" items, which means they might have a part missing or not work. These bins are stacked three high, going around much of the store. Because of this, it's probably one of my favorite used camera stores. 

Name on top of the camera below the shutter release

 For me, the real pleasure of collecting is the hunt. The excitement of finding a real odd or unusual item at a bargain price. It's similar to going to a Flea Market, as there may be a real treasure in the next cabinet or stall. 

 I worked my way to one of my favorite showcases towards the back of the store. It's a showcase filled with many of the older cameras. It has a mix of higher-priced and lower-priced items. The patient salesperson let me pull items out and check them out. It was from this showcase that I found this week's camera, the Mizuho Six. The camera comes with a nice leather-fitted case, too. This, along with last week's Baron RI, was another camera I had never heard of until I researched it.

 Just like last week's blog about the Baron RI camera, this week's camera is another very similar style. It's a folding 120 camera made in the early 1950s, when Japan was rebuilding after World War II. 

 It was manufactured by another, smaller, and little-known company that later changed its name to Neoca. Here's some history on the brand.

History:

 The Mizuho Six began life in the early 1950s, when Mizuho Koki of Japan was producing folding medium-format cameras for a market that still valued compactness and simplicity. These early Mizuho-branded folders used 120 film and reflected the practical, postwar approach common among smaller Japanese camera makers.

From my book on collecting Japanese Cameras

 In 1954, the company changed its name to Neoca, and the Mizuho Six line became part of that transition. The name change marked a shift from the earlier Mizuho identity toward a broader Neoca camera range. At the same time, the foldable medium-format design remained rooted in the company's first postwar products.

 The Mizuho Six itself went through a series of small but meaningful variations rather than a dramatic redesign. Known versions include the Mizuho Six I, II, III, IIB, IIIB, and V, as well as later Super models such as the Super, Super N, and Super T. These changes suggest the camera was gradually updated with different body details, finder arrangements, and lens or shutter combinations.

 The best-known early version, such as the Mizuho Six V a, was a folding camera that offered either 4.5x6 or 6x6 cm exposures and used an uncoupled rangefinder. That combination made it a flexible, straightforward tool for photographers who wanted medium-format image quality in a portable body.

 As Neoca moved into its own identity after 1954, the company shifted increasingly toward compact 35mm cameras. Still, the Mizuho Six remains important as a bridge between eras. It represents the company's early craftsmanship and the transitional period when Japanese manufacturers were moving from traditional folding cameras toward the more modern designs that would dominate later in the decade.

My Camera:

 Built in the early 1950s, my Mizuho Six camera is 5.5" wide, by 4" tall, by 2" deep with the lens closed, and 4" deep when the lens is extended into the taking position. The camera weighs 1 pound, 7 ounces without film loaded. The camera's serial number is 3391. The camera also has "Made in Occupied Japan" embossed on the side where the film door release is located.

To open the lens to take a photo, depress the small button on top of the camera located in front of the accessory shoe, and to the right of the film winding knob. Once depressed, the lens board opens, exposing the lens.

 The Mizuho Six has an 80mm Mizuho Kiko Miltar Special F/3.5 lens, serial # 2664, in an NKS shutter. The shutter speeds range from 1/200 to 1 sec, along with "B" for timed exposures. The shutter speed is set by turning the shutter speed dial around the lens to the desired speed. The shutter release is located on the top, right side of the camera, just in front of the "Mizuo-Six" name and serial number.

 The aperture is set similarly by sliding a knurled ring around the lens to the desired aperture, which ranges from F/3.5 to F/22.

It wasn't until I shot my first roll of film through the camera that I realized the shutter wasn't working properly, so I'll need to either get it fixed or sell the camera with the defect. The issue is when I cock the shutter, which is done with a small switch on the top of the lens, the shutter remains open until you depress the shutter release. It doesn't really "cock" the shutter as it should. 

 What I did notice was when I pulled the shutter cocking ever over to the farthest position, the shutter wouldn't open. It was when I released the lever after the cocking maneuver that the lens stayed open. If I pulled the lever all the way, held it, and then tripped the shutter release, the shutter would work as intended. This was awkward to use this way, but it's the method used to take the blog images.

 There is no rangefinder in this camera; it has only an optical viewfinder on top to frame your images. To focus on the subject, rotate the lens manually to the "guessed" distance to your subject before taking the photo.

 To close the camera for transport, depress the two enlarged tabs on the camera's struts inwards. The lens board will collapse, and you can close it back onto the camera body, which will lock it into position.

The one interesting feature of this camera is the ability to shoot either 6x6cm or 6x4.5cm. When you open the back of the camera to load film, there are two "wings" that can be pulled up from each side of the film chamber, covering a portion of the taking area and thus cropping the frame size from 6x6cm to 6x4.5cm.

 Once you make the change, you'll then use the appropriate red window on the back of the camera to count the frame numbers imprinted on the 120 rolls of film. It will also give the photographer four more images per roll, going from 12 images on a 6x6cm format to 16 on a 6x4.5 format camera. You'll need to shoot the entire roll in that format, as there's no way to change formats mid-roll.

You load the camera as you would any roll-film camera, with the take-up spool on the left side. Load the fresh roll on the right, and bring the film's leader to the take-up spool on the left,  making sure the leader is in the take-up spool. Then wind until you see the "start" arrows pointing outwards. Close the back of the camera and wind the film until you see the number 1 in the red window for the format you're using.

 Now that we have film loaded into the camera, let's take it out and see what results we get.

 My Results:

 Opening the Mizuho Six and cleaning both the front and rear elements of the lens before loading the camera. I had some T-Max 100 film that was just about out of date, so I loaded it into the camera. I chose the 6x6cm format so I could use a larger image size and assess the lens's sharpness.

 Here are the results from my walk around the neighborhood with the Mizuho Six camera

Conclusion:

 Well, I think the second roll of film turned out much better than the first roll, but I'm not overly impressed with the sharpness. This could be from a couple of different factors.

 While I cleaned the lens as best I could, it still seems to have some haze. The second factor is that the lens is slightly out of registration. I'm a fairly good guesser of distance, and the lens even at infinity seems a bit out of focus. I also think that some of the issues with the focus were caused by camera movement and what I needed to do to operate the shutter.

 The camera also has cosmetic issues. Some parts of the leatherette are missing and can be easily replaced. Given the shutter issues and the lenses' haze, this may not last long in my collection, and you'll probably see this in my online store soon.

 On the plus side, the camera can shoot in different formats, which is a nice feature, but I don't think it's going to overcome the camera's faults. It's a fun camera to shoot with, and I was happy to learn more about this camera.

 Thank you for taking some time from your busy day to learn a bit about this little-known camera from the beginning of the Japanese camera revolution.

 Here's a link to my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where you'll find some of the cameras I reviewed for sale, along with many other cameras, lenses, and photo items from my collection.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Baron RI camera

My Baron RI camera

When I visited Tokyo, Japan, a few weeks ago, one of my main objectives was to find odd, unusual, or little-known cameras that I could write about for this blog post. I found a few cameras that meet this criteria and will be writing about them over the next couple of weeks. 

 To get familiar with many of the used camera stores in Tokyo, I hired Bellamy Hunt from Japanese Camera Hunter for a half-day tour. Not only is he a wonderful, kind, and knowledgeable camera collector, but his background on how he started his company is intriguing. I had a wonderful time getting to know him and appreciated all his insights into collecting cameras.

 One of the shops he took me to was Used Camera Box at 1 Chome-13-7 Nishishinjuku, Shinjuku City, Tokyo 160-0023. It was, to me, a jaw-dropping experience. The camera store is not that big, but almost 90% of it is filled to the rafters with cameras. There are many showcases with cameras on top of cameras, and in front of these showcases are bins of more used cameras.

 Only two people were working there, so I didn't want to monopolize their time opening and closing different showcases. If the showcases had been opened and I had places to look through all the items they had, it would have easily taken a couple of days, which would have been something I would have done.

 During my time with Bellamy, we didn't spend much time there, but I found one or two items, paid for them, and left. It was a store I planned to come back to when I had more time, to spend a couple of hours going through the bins and looking through different showcases, trying to find the odd, unusual, or unknown items.

Embossing on the camera leans board.

 On my final day in Tokyo, I went back to Used Camera Box and did what I had planned. When I arrived in the morning, soon after they opened, there were no customers, so I had time to go through many of the bins and scour at least one or two of the showcases. 

 There was a showcase towards the rear of the store that looked like it had many interesting items. I noted the items I was interested in and called over one of the two salespersons. At this point, a couple of other customers were there, but I was determined to look at the items I wanted.

 The salesperson was very courteous and allowed me to pick and look at several items I was interested in. There were some very rare gems, but the pricing was considerably higher than I was willing to pay, so I decided on 3-4 cameras, paid for them, and left very happy.

 One of the cameras purchased in the last few days at Used Camera Box is the camera I'm writing about in this post: the Baron RI camera. 

 The Baron RI camera is one I had never heard of or seen before, though it looks like so many other Japanese cameras from this timeframe. A folding 120, or 620 camera with a fold-out bed and nice Japanese shutter, taken from German manufacturers who made similar style cameras before World War II.

 Doing research on the camera, Baron cameras were made only by Chūō Seiki for a few years, between 1952 and 1956. They produced a few different models, but the company was short-lived, and the cameras are not very common.

History:

 Baron cameras were part of Japan's early postwar flood of small camera brands, emerging in the early 1950s when the country's photographic industry was rebuilding and rapidly expanding. These cameras reflect a period when dozens of manufacturers rushed to meet domestic demand and to compete in export markets, often by producing affordable 35mm and folding cameras inspired by European designs.

Japanese advertisment for Baron cameras

 In the early 1950s, Japanese camera makers were still working under the lingering effects of wartime disruption and occupation-era labeling rules. Many products carried "Made in Occupied Japan" markings until around 1952–1953, after which "Made in Japan" became standard as exports broadened and the industry gained a stronger international identity. Baron belongs to this wider ecosystem of small, fast-moving firms that relied on compact production runs, simple mechanics, and competitive pricing to find buyers.

 What makes Baron interesting is not that it was one of the biggest names, but that it represents the experimental, entrepreneurial side of the Japanese camera boom. The period was crowded with startups, subcontractors, and short-lived brands, many of which produced cameras that are now obscure but historically important because they show how Japan's industry learned to scale up, refine machining, and improve optical quality. That broader growth helped Japanese cameras go from largely unknown outside the country to serious competitors in overseas markets by the end of the decade.

 For collectors and historians, Baron cameras are valuable as artifacts of that transition. They sit at the intersection of postwar recovery, consumer optimism, and Japan's rise as a global center of photographic manufacturing. Even when the cameras themselves were modest, the brand is part of the larger story of how Japanese makers shifted from imitation and survival to innovation and global influence.

My Camera:

 My Baron RI camera is 4" tall, by 5.5" wide, and 2" deep when the lens is closed, and 4" deep with the lens extended. The camera weighs 1 pound, 8.1 ounces without film loaded. Embossed on the folding bed door is "Baron Camera Company, Tokyo, Japan."

The camera came with a very nice brown leather-fitted camera case, though the strap is missing. The case still offers wonderful protection for the camera. The serial number for my Baron R camera is 22893, stamped on the top plate of the back of the camera.

 To open the camera lens door, slide the chrome lever under the name "Baron-R," which unlocks the lens door and exposes the lens as it extends on chrome struts along the side of the lens door.

 The Baron RI camera has a Baron Anastigmat 80mm F/3.5 lens in an NKS-FB shutter. The shutter speeds range from 1/300 to 1 second, plus "B". To set the different shutter speeds, turn the dial around the lens to the desired shutter speed. There is a cocking lever for the shutter, located above the lens, with the shutter release on the lower left of the lens when viewed from the front. The shutter release is activated via a rod and linkage from the shutter release on the top of the camera, which pushes the shutter release when depressed.

The aperture range is from F/3.5 to f/22. The aperture is set by sliding the lever on top of the lens to the desired aperture setting. To the side of the aperture settings is a PC sync used for flash. There are no settings for "X" of "FP," though, so I'm unsure if this is for electronic or bulb flash.

 To close the lens bed, you press back on the two sides of the struts, which have "Baron" embossed into them, and press back into the camera body, which collapses the lens door and allows it to fold back into the camera body. Pressing in will lock the lens door into the normal transporting position and allow the camera case to close.

 My Baron-RI camera does have a couple of issues. I'm confident that's why I paid so little for it. None of the issues are deal-breakers for me purchasing the camera. The main item, the accessory or cold shoe, is missing from the camera. That's not a huge deal, as I generally don't use them. I did put black fabric tape over the spot where the accessory shoe goes, to give the camera a better appearance.

There is another item about the camera I'm not certain about. On the back of the camera, there are red windows with sliding covers for both 4.5x6 and 6x6 formats. I'm not sure whether the camera came with a mask for both formats, or if the company offered two different formats and only made one back for both cameras. Also stamped on the back of the camera, below the red windows, is "Baron-Six" embossed into the leather.

 An item on the Baron RI that I've never seen in a camera is an uncoupled rangefinder. When you look through the viewfinder on the rear of the camera, you view the rangefinder. On the right side, as you're holding the camera, there's a wheel that rotates, allowing you to focus the rangefinder. On my camera, it's bright and clear. You then transfer the distance from the internal rangefinder to the lens and set the distance to the subject. I'm confident that building an integrated rangefinder, which would focus the lens, would have added much more intricacy to the camera, but they either didn't want to bother or just wanted to keep the costs down. It's an interesting item built into the camera.

To load film into the Baron RI, on the left side of the camera is a lever you pull up, which opens the door to the right, exposing a standard roll film chamber. Load film as you would with any roll film camera by placing the take-up spool on the transport side and pulling down the knobs at the bottom of the camera. Put in the fresh roll in the empty area and bring the leader to the take-up spool. Thread the lead into the slot on the take-up spool and wind until you see the film is engaged and rolling onto the spool. Wait until you see the "arrows" pointing outward, close the back of the camera, and press down the locking bar, then wind the film advance knob until you see the #1 in the red window. Take your photo, and wind until you see the #2, and so on through the roll of film.

Now that I have film in the camera. Let's go around the neighborhood and see how the camera performs.

 My Results:

 I gave the camera a very quick look over. All the shutter speeds were working, and the aperture moved as it should. I loaded a roll of Ilford 125 film into the camera, went to the Dog Park with my daughter, and walked around the block, looking for flowers and other subjects to photograph.

 Here are the results.

Conclusion:

 Overall, the camera was easy to use and fun to shoot with. 

 It wasn't until I processed the film that I dug further and noticed a pinhole in the camera's bellows. That's why the photos have this light streak, and not just a light streak, but a gush of light on the bottom of the images, consistent in all the photos taken.

 I liked the rangefinder, which was easy to use and much easier for me than guessing distance. After focusing, I then transferred the distance to the lens, which was fun, and produced sharp images. I'll need to go in and add some thin fabric tape and black liquid fabric to the bellows to eliminate the annoying light leaks. It's a camera I purchased on my trip to Tokyo, and I will keep it for the time being.

 Thank you for taking some time to read about this little-known camera at the beginning of the Japanese camera revolution in the early to mid-1950s.

 I'd like to hear from you if you have questions, or even if you have a Baron camera or one of the many similar-style cameras made in Japan during this timeframe.

 Please take a moment to look at some of my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where you'll see some of the cameras I've reviewed, along with many other lenses, and vintage camera accessories I have for sale.

 Until next week, please be safe.

 

Minolta Vest camera

My Minolta Vest camera

My interest in the Minolta Vest began a few months ago when I saw a post on Facebook. What I like most about the camera is its similarity to the Minolta Six. Both cameras use a three-tier, stacked metal bellows system that extends and collapses, unlike the standard cloth- or leather-covered cardboard bellows found on most cameras.

 When I first pulled out the lens on either the Minolta Six or the Minolta Vest, the metal stacking bellows reminded me of a Japanese pagoda. Both cameras have a beautiful chrome pattern set against stark black Bakelite, giving them a strong Art Deco appearance. It's the artistry and attention to detail that you don't see in cameras produced today.

 Knowing about this early Minolta camera with metal stacking bellows, I made a point of keeping an eye out for one during my trip to Tokyo a few weeks ago.

 Fate was on my side, and I found a Minolta Vest in decent condition at the Tokyo City flea market. As I walked past one of the many hundreds of stalls, I noticed one of the vendors had a few cameras on his table. When I picked up the camera, I saw the Minolta name embossed on the back. Then, as I pulled the lens away from the camera body and the metal stacked bellows appeared, I was filled with excitement and joy.

Minolta Vest rigid stacking bellows that resemble a Pagoda

 There are two metal grips on either side of the lens that you use to pull it away from the camera body. The stacked bellows were somewhat stiff, with a bit of corrosion on the chrome, but with a little coaxing, the lens fully extended. I played with the shutter system, and it fired, but inconsistently. Sometimes the shutter would fire when the release was pressed, and sometimes it wouldn't. That was a bit of a disappointment, but not a dealbreaker.

 The lens appeared to be fine, and the aperture moved smoothly as it opened and closed. The lens was a bit difficult to return to the closed position, as I expected due to bellows corrosion, but with a bit of effort, it did retract.

 There were a few other cameras I was interested in on his table, so I gathered the two or three items I wanted and asked for the price. After a bit of negotiating using my phone to translate, we agreed on a price. I put the items in my backpack and, with a grin on my face and knowing I'd be writing a blog post about the camera, wandered off to see what other treasures I could find at that terrific, bustling flea market.

Early History

 Minolta began as a small but ambitious Japanese camera business in 1928, founded by Kazuo Tashima under the name Nichi-Doku Shashinki Shōten. From the start, the company was shaped by a fascination with German optics and camera design, and its earliest products reflected that influence. In 1929, Minolta introduced its first camera, the Nifcalette, a folding roll-film model that showed the company's early dependence on imported components and foreign technical models. Even so, it marked the beginning of a distinctly Japanese camera maker that would soon develop its own identity.

 The company adopted the name Minolta in 1931, a move that signaled a more confident and modern direction. The name was meant to evoke mechanisms, instruments, optics, and lenses, and it captured the firm's growing ambition to become more than a reseller of products influenced by foreign markets. During the early 1930s, Minolta gradually moved from imitation toward originality, developing folding cameras that were practical, attractive, and increasingly self-reliant in design. By 1933, the company had introduced its first camera under the Minolta name, a moment that helped establish the brand as a serious presence in Japan's emerging camera industry.

Advertisment for Minolta Vest

 Before World War II, Minolta was still a relatively young company, but it was already building the foundations of its future reputation. Models such as the Minolta Vest in 1934 and the Minolta Flex in 1937 demonstrated the brand's expanding technical range. The Flex was especially notable as Japan's second twin-lens reflex camera, placing Minolta among the more innovative camera makers of the era. These prewar years were important not because Minolta dominated the market, but because they revealed a company learning quickly, adapting foreign ideas, and steadily refining its own manufacturing skills.

 World War II disrupted Japanese industry, and like many camera makers, Minolta faced a difficult transition as the country shifted toward wartime production. After the war, the company entered a new phase of growth. Japan's postwar recovery created strong demand for precision optical equipment, and Minolta was well-positioned to benefit. In the 1950s, the company moved into 35mm camera production, a crucial step that aligned it with the global photography market. Minolta's postwar cameras gained attention for their solid engineering and user-friendly design, helping the brand earn a stronger international reputation.

 Over time, Minolta became known for more than just reliable film cameras. It developed a reputation for innovation in metering, automation, and eventually autofocus, especially in the late twentieth century. But those later successes were rooted in the company's early decades: a period of experimentation, persistence, and gradual technical maturity. The story of Minolta before and after World War II is really the story of a company that began by studying the best ideas from abroad, then turned those lessons into a lasting photographic identity.

My Camera

 The camera was built between 1934 and just before World War II, with production ending in 1940.

 The Minolta Vest is a fairly simple and basic camera. There aren't many frills, except for the beautiful three-tier stacking bellows system. The camera is one of the early examples made from Bakelite. It is also known as the Minolta Best or Minolta Marble, due to the prominent Everset Marble shutter on the camera's face.

It's also a compact camera, measuring 5.25 inches wide by 3 inches tall without the metal viewfinder extended, and 4 inches with it extended, by 2 inches deep with the lens retracted into the camera body, and 3.75 inches with the three-tier Bakelite bellows extended. 

The Minolta Vest camera's serial number is stamped on the leg that extends, allowing the camera to stand vertically. My camera is serial number 45605.

 The Marble shutter has three shutter speeds: 1/100, 1/50, and 1/25, along with B and T. The shutter is set via a wheel on the top of the lens, and it's just to the right of the lens as you're holding it to take a photo. As mentioned previously, my camera's shutter doesn't fire consistently. It works best at 1/100 and fires pretty regularly at that speed. At 1/50 and 1/25, it takes two or three tries for the shutter to fire, so I'll need to keep that in mind when I take the camera out for a shoot.

Shutter release, shutter speeds, and aperture settings on the Minolta Vest camera

The nondescript lens, which I'm guessing is approximately 75mm, has a maximum aperture of f/8 and extends to f/22. The aperture is set via a sliding lever under the lens.

I believe my camera is one of the earlier examples because the shutter looks different from those on others I've seen. There is no "Patents Nippon" on the face, and the design has an earlier Art Deco appearance. 

 Like many earlier models, the lens is fixed focus, whereas I have seen other models with a focusable lens and a maximum aperture of f/4.5.

 Looking at the back of the camera, there are two red windows, which indicate to me that the film format is 3 x 4 cm. Opening the back of the camera, which is done by pulling up a small knob at the end, opens the rear door. When doing so, it shows that the camera's format is 6 x 4.5 cm, so there must have been an insert in the camera to change the format. My camera doesn't have the insert, so mine will always be 6 x 4.5 cm.

Once the back is open, you load the camera just like you would any roll-film camera by putting the empty spool on the take-up side, which has the film advance knob. Put the fresh, unexposed film on the other side, slip the film leader into the slot on the take-up reel, and wind the knob, making sure the film is transporting until you see the arrows pointing outward. Close the film back, and wind until you see the number one in the center red window.

 Now that the film is loaded in the camera and my wife and I are headed to the local farmer's market, it's time for me to take some photos and see how this camera performs.

Click on the image to view video

 

My Results

 Using a light meter and 100 ISO film in the camera, the recommended setting was 1/100 at f/7.1. I needed to fudge it a bit and shoot at 1/100 at f/8, and hope for the best.

 As previously mentioned, there is no focus on this camera, and I tried to be about 10 feet from the subjects when taking images.

 Here are some of the results:

Conclusion

 As I scan the images from the farmers' market, some turned out better than others. I'm not sure what was going on, but some of the photos are sharper than others. I didn't pull out and push back the lens once I got to the farmers' market; I pulled the lens away from the camera body and adjusted the settings to the lighting conditions.

 There were a couple of times when I set the shutter to 1/50, but the focus was pretty inconsistent in many of the images. I was expecting slightly better results. Maybe there were a couple of times when there was some movement, especially since the shutter is a bit wonky and the images look unfocused.

Who knows what this camera has been through over the past 90 years, but all in all, it was fun to shoot with. The bellows look amazing, and I was complimented on the camera a few times as we walked through the farmers' market, so that was fun.

 Thank you for taking the time to learn a bit about this early example of a Bakelite camera from Japan, made in the early to late 1930s.

 I'd love to hear from you regarding this or some of my other camera reviews.

 Cuny's Camera and Photos is my online eBay store, where I sell some of the cameras reviewed, along with other camera and photo odds and ends.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Bentzin Primarette camera

My Bentzin Primarette camera

My main objective during my trip to Tokyo a couple of weeks ago was to find cameras to write about for my camera-collecting blog. I believe I have another fun and interesting camera for this week's blog: a 1930s German-made Bentzin Primarette.

 I found this wonderfully thin twin-lens camera, along with last week's blog camera, the Ebner camera, during my visit to Kitamura's flagship store. It was on the 3rd floor, in their "bargain" section, along with many other wonderful cameras I wanted to purchase. Unfortunately, not winning the lottery, I had to be selective in my camera purchases, but I couldn't pass up this beauty.

 While the Bentzin Primarette has two lenses, it isn't a reflex model like the Rolleiflex, Yashicaflex, or Minolta Autocord, or some of the hundreds of other Twin Lens Reflex models. The camera is a folding camera with two sets of bellows: the top for focusing and the bottom for taking the image. Unlike a "Reflex" camera, there is no mirror in the top portion through which you focus, so the image you see is upside down, just like viewing through a view camera, with the image directly on the ground glass.

The Bentzin Primarette when closed.

 During my inspection of the camera, I noticed a few minor issues with the Bentzin Primarette. The viewfinder cover is a bit tattered, yet fully intact. The focus seemed a bit loose, especially at the closest point, and the winding knob may have been replaced, as I've generally seen this camera with a chrome winding knob. The winding knob may be original, as cameras from this era often have parts swapped, so I'm uncertain about its originality.

 The good parts of the Bentzin Primarette camera are that the shutter fired on all speeds, the aperture moved smoothly, there were no holes in the bellows for either the upper or lower portion, and the camera opens and closes smoothly. To me, the camera is just a work of art. It's sleek, compact, and just odd enough to make it very interesting.

 To make the camera complete, I would have preferred the fitted case and some lens caps, but the positives outweighed the negatives, and the issues are minor to me, so I let the salesperson know I'd like to purchase it along with a few other cameras.

History:

 Bentzin was a German camera maker founded by Curt Bentzin in 1889 in Görlitz, and it became known for well-made, innovative cameras aimed at serious amateurs and professionals. The company's history mirrors the broader rise of German photographic manufacturing in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, with Bentzin building a reputation for technical refinement rather than mass production.

Advertisment for Bentzin Primarette camera

 Curt Bentzin established the firm as a workshop for photographic apparatus. By the turn of the century, the company was already connected with Carl Zeiss Jena, reflecting its standing in the optical industry. Sources note collaboration as early as 1899 or 1902, when Bentzin helped Zeiss develop camera manufacturing processes, underscoring the company's close ties to Germany's leading optical specialists. That relationship helped position Bentzin cameras as high-quality products with strong mechanical and optical credentials.

 Bentzin's best-known cameras included the Primar, Primarflex, Reflex-Primar, Primarette, and Luxus Reisekamera, models that collectors still prize for their engineering and scarcity. The company produced a range of plate, folder, and reflex cameras, often using premium components from firms like Zeiss. Because production runs were relatively small, Bentzin never became a giant like Zeiss Ikon or Voigtländer, but it earned a distinct niche through craftsmanship and inventive design.

 The company's fate changed after World War II. In 1945, Bentzin was placed under state control in the Soviet occupation zone, then renamed and reorganized through a series of East German state enterprises, including VEB Görlitzer Kamerawerke and later VEB Primar-Kamerawerk Görlitz. By 1951, it had been absorbed into VEB Feinoptisches Werk Görlitz, and the original Bentzin line was discontinued by 1954.

 Today, Bentzin is remembered as a respected but relatively small German camera manufacturer whose surviving cameras appeal strongly to collectors and historians. Its story is especially interesting because it combines regional industrial history, close ties to Zeiss, and the transformation of private German industry into East German state production after the war.

My Camera:

 My Bentzin Primarette camera is 5.25" tall by 5" wide, and only 1.25" deep when the lenses are retracted, and 4" deep with both lenses extended into the viewing and taking positions. The camera weighs 1 pound and 5.1 ounces.

The camera has a Carl Zeiss Jena Tessar 7.5cm, F/4.5 lens, serial number 1248566, with a Compur shutter that ranges from 1/300 to 1 sec. along with "B" and "T". The aperture ranges from F/4.5 to 32. Both the shutter speeds and aperture are set by rotating the ring to the desired setting. Since the lens is a bit recessed into the camera body, both the shutter speed and aperture selectors have a protruding arm that allows you to set both settings, making it considerably easier.

 Think of the camera as two cameras in one, yet connected top to bottom. The top is for focus and composition, while the bottom is for taking images, yet both fold down into one compact camera.

To extend the lenses from the camera body, there are two knurled pins on the top and bottom of the lens board that you depress to unlock. This allows you to pull the lens board away from the camera body, which is on struts, and lock the camera into the taking position. PLEASE NOTE, there are two positions the lens board can stop at. The first position doesn't allow the camera to focus on the closest three-meter position. This is the position I took for the majority of the photos for the article.

 Pressing in the two knurled pins on the sides of the camera, on either side of the camera's top and viewing lens, allows you to pull the lens board out further, allowing the camera to focus all the way to the three-meter position. These two pins also allow you to press the lens board back into the camera's body to close and transport the camera. I discuss this a bit in the conclusion portion of the post, too.

At the top of the lens board is a large chrome disk that you turn to focus the lens. The lens will point down as you focus closer to your subject to compensate for parallax. To the right of the focusing wheel is the shutter release cable socket.

An interesting part of the camera is something I didn't even notice until I got it home and started to really play with it: on the camera's body, in the rear, is a removable cover that allows the photographer to carry two extra rolls of film in the camera. You can use these for both exposed and unexposed film. Just slide the lever from "Z", the locked position, to "A", and the cover comes off, exposing where the film can go. That's very clever.

On the back of the camera, on the top, is a small lever you slide to the right; when you do, the focusing hood opens, exposing the ground glass on the camera, which you use to focus on the subject. For me, the area is pretty small, and on my camera, it's missing the magnifying lens, which I've seen on other cameras, so I'm unsure if there is supposed to be one. To close, press the right side of the hood, and the fabric hood collapses, allowing you to close it back into the camera's body.

On the bottom of the camera, on the right side, is a metal locking hook that you pull back, and the film door opens, allowing the photographer to change the 127-size film the camera uses. It's similar to many other 127-size cameras: you put the empty spool on the left and take up a spool on the right side of the camera, where the winding knob connects to it. Pull back the winding knob and insert the take-up spool. 

Load the fresh roll of film into the left side of the camera, and bring the film's leader to the take-up spool. Put the leader into the take-up spool and start winding, making sure the film is transporting and you can see the starting "arrows". Close up the camera back, lock the door, and wind the film until you see the number one in the red window on the back of the camera. At this point, you're ready to take your first photo.

 Now that you have film loaded in the camera, let's take a walk through the neighborhood and see what this camera can do.

Video Overview

I made a short video overview of the camera. Click the image to go to the video.

Bentzin Primarette Video

 Results:

 I loaded the camera with a roll of 100 ISO 127 film I'd purchased a while ago and walked through the neighborhood, taking photos of some of the usual items to get a reference for the camera's images.

 Here are some of the results I had with the Bentzin Primarette camera.

Conclusion:

 I didn't have an instruction manual for the camera, nor have I seen one online. It wasn't until after taking some of the photos that I realized the camera has two areas where the lens board stops. 

 Stopping at the first point prevents the camera from focusing on the closest 3 meters. That's why the first couple of photos are sharp on one side and blurry or out of focus on the other. One side of the lens board was pulled all the way back, and the other wasn't providing the camera with an angled plane of focus.

 Once I noticed that, and pulled the other side of the lens board out to the correct position, the camera's images turned out sharper from left to right as they should. I noticed the camera could focus all the way to the 3-meter mark, too.

 Another point is that the camera doesn't close all the way at its closest focusing distance. You'll need to back off the focus before the camera will smoothly retract into its body. That's interesting, and makes sense.

 For me, the focus was easy, but the viewing area was small, and magnified viewing would have been helpful. I addressed that earlier.

 What a wonderful camera to have in my collection. It's an odd, unusual camera, which makes it even more special to me, and one I'll cherish in my collection for many more years.

 Thank you for taking the time to read a bit about this compact twin-lens camera from Germany, built in the early 1930s. I'd love to get your feedback regarding this or any other cameras I've reviewed.

 Here are my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Camera and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell some of the cameras I've reviewed, along with many other lenses and camera accessories. Stop by and take a look at your leisure.

 Until next week, please be safe.

 

Ebner camera

My Ebner 6x4.5cm camera

During my trip to Tokyo, Japan, a couple of weeks ago, I was in Kitamura's flagship store, looking at their "bargain" cameras, which in itself is a treasure trove of used cameras, when I spotted a brown Bakelite camera sitting on one of their shelves. The camera was a "folding" style camera. Still, I had never seen a camera like it, so immediately I wanted to see it, and with any luck, take it home with me, provided the price wasn't outrageous. I scanned the camera price and converted it from Yen to US dollars; it wasn't outrageous, so I wanted to see it and learn more.

 The things that caught my eye at first was the beautiful, rich brown color, the wonderful pebbled texture of the body, and the very sleek design. To me, the camera just sang to me in its design. Since my eyes almost always go to anything "colored" when I look at cameras, it reminded me of the Coronet Vogue. Then, scanning the shelf below, they also found the Coronet Vogue. which I had seen in a few different flea markets in both Paris and London, but the asking price was always too high (in my opinion) for the camera, so I passed them up.

Back side with beautiful pebble finish on the Ebner camera

 At this point in my camera search, there were 3-4 cameras I wanted to look at, so I went up to one of the salespeople on the floor and showed them the items I was interested in. Very patiently, he pulled the 4 items from the shelves and placed them on a camera mat on one of the glass display cases in the shop.

 Opening the Ebner camera first, I hadn't seen it before and don't recall it in McKeown's Camera Guide. I don't have the few hundred thousand cameras memorized. It wasn't until I opened the back of the camera and noticed the name "Ebner" that I realized the camera's brand. It still hadn't jogged my memory or sounded familiar.

Similarities of the Ebner and Coronet Vogue cameras.

 As I looked over the camera, the shutter worked, the aperture slid around the lens and changed size, and the lens was fairly clean. It didn't have mold, mildew, or fungus as I shone a penlight through the lens, and I didn't see pinholes in the bellows, so all in all, the camera was a "keeper" to me.

 The Coronet Vogue camera had some issues. It had a replacement black bellows rather than the original brown matching bellows, and the side struts of the camera didn't work properly. But the camera was inexpensive, and the shutter worked, so I believe at some point later this year I will write about it. To me, the similarity in the design and style of both the Ebner and Coronet Vogue cameras is striking.

 The similarities make sense to me, especially since Ebner stopped producing cameras in 1935. Still, other camera companies, like Pontiac and Gallus, produced very similar cameras with the same sleek design. I'm confident that since the Coronet Vogue was introduced in 1936, they recognized that this sleek, Bakelite camera design would benefit their sales, and they produced it.

History:

 Albert Ebner & Co. was a small but interesting German manufacturer that moved from audio and electrical products into cameras during the early 1930s. Albert Ebner, born in 1891 in Bad Cannstatt, had already founded earlier companies before his name became associated with the camera firm that collectors remember today.

Portrait of Albert Ebner

 The company's background was in turntable motors, gramophone parts, and related household electrical goods. After earlier business setbacks and reorganizations, Ebner returned to Bad Cannstatt and formed a new Albert Ebner & Co., often abbreviated AECO, which broadened into vacuum cleaners, fans, and other electrical products before experimenting with cameras.

 Ebner's camera output was very limited. The firm produced only two folding models: a 6x9 cm camera on 120 film and a smaller 4.5x6 cm model on Kodak 620 film, both made around 1933 to 1935. These cameras had no special model names beyond their image size, which makes them especially plain in naming but distinctive in construction.

 What set them apart was their design. Both cameras used a marbled brown Bakelite body, a material associated with the radio and record-player industries, and they paired that shell with a Compur leaf shutter and lenses from makers such as Meyer-Gorlitz. That gives the Ebner cameras a streamlined Art Deco look that feels more industrially designed than mass-market consumer.

German advertising.

 The larger 6x9 version used standard 120 film, while the 4.5x6 version used 620 film, an unusual choice for a German maker of the time. Collectors also note that the cameras were sold mostly in Germany and that production was brief, with the company apparently ending camera manufacture by 1935. Because so few were made, surviving examples are relatively scarce today.

 Ebner's camera venture did not last long. Still, it fits a broader pattern of early 20th-century firms adapting existing expertise in Bakelite and mechanical assembly to camera production. After the camera period ended, Albert Ebner's business life continued in audio through the later Perpetuum-Ebner merger. In contrast, the cameras remained a short-lived sideline that now attracts collectors and historians.

My Camera:

 My Ebner 6x4.5cm camera is 4.25" tall with the retractable viewfinder down, and 5" tall with the viewfinder in the upright, viewing position. It's also 5.5 wide and 1.25" deep with the lens retracted, and 4" with the lens extended and in the normal taking position. The camera weighs 1 pound 0.7 ounces without film loaded inside. 

To open the Ebner camera, on the top of the camera is a button between the retractable front viewfinder, which pulls up from the camera body to produce a vertical rectangle. and a small pbar with a ball on the end used as the rear portion of the viewfinder. This bar is also retracted into the camera body. Once the button is pressed, the front door housing the lens, bellows, and shutter springs from the camera body.

The Ebner I own has a Meyer-Goerlitz 7.5cm F/4.5 lens (SN 625604), with a Compur shutter, ranging from 1/300 to 1 second, plus "T" and "B". There were several different lens and shutter combinations for the camera. The aperture range is from F/4.5 to 22. 

 Setting the shutter speed is done by turning a ring on the outer portion of the lens, and the aperture is set by sliding a lever with a pointing end to the desired aperture setting under the lens. Also, the shutter is cocked by one lever at the top of the shutter and released by another lever on the side of the shutter. Focusing the lens is done by rotating the lens itself to the desired focus distance in meters, as seen on the top of the lens.

To close the camera for transport, there is a bar at the bottom of the lens bed, just in front of the "Ebner" plate. Press these bars towards the camera body; the lens board releases, allowing you to tilt the board back up and into the camera body. It will click when the lens board is locked into position.

Opening the film back to load film is done by sliding the locking lever, which is located under the camera's strap. Once unlocked, you can slide the door open to reveal the camera's film chamber. Once opened, you'll see the vertical format 6x4.5 film area. The new film goes on the right side of the camera, and you'll transfer the empty spool from the right side to the left, where the film's winding wheel is located. My camera didn't have an empty spool, so I needed to supply the camera with one.

  Looking at the film holders' pins, the camera takes 620 film, but I accidentally loaded the camera's take-up chamber with 120 film, and it fit. Generally, when I try to put 120 in a 620 camera, the spools don't fit, or they don't turn because the pins are too small to grab the 120 spool. Let's see if I can load a roll of 120 film in the camera. Interestingly, this camera: the 120 film fits a bit snug, but the film advance engaged with the spool, and the film wound smoothly.

Since the camera is 6x4.5cm, with two red windows on the back, this symbolizes that you start with the number one in the first window, take your photo, and then wind the film until the number one shows up in the second window. You do this with the whole roll, which ends with the number eight showing in the second window, giving you sixteen images per roll of film.

 Once the film was loaded in the camera and the "start" arrows were showing, I closed the back of the camera, and my daughter, her dog, Bean. I went for a walk along the Columbia River and took photos with the camera. The camera is very "pocketable" and travels extremely well.

 Let's see how the images turned out.

 

The Results:

 The results aren't bad, but not the sharpest images either, especially compared to the Kolar Kola camera. I may have missed the focus distance, but most of the photos are sharp enough for an 8x10. Here are some of the images I took while walking the Columbia River with my daughter and Bean, her dog. 

Conclusion:

 There are several things I really like about the camera. Still, the thing I enjoyed most about this camera is its thinness when traveling. It's so thin compared to other medium-format cameras; for me, it makes it fun to use. Not being bulky or clumsy and being fairly lightweight make this camera a real pleasure to carry around.

 The brown pebble finish is also a bonus in my opinion, adding more to the camera than leather and chrome alone. It has a very appealing feel and firmness that make the camera fun to hold.

Designers in the 1930s were still in the Art Deco period. They had a real sense of classical design, which they implemented in their products. It makes me even more want to buy a 3D printer to experiment with designs and textures, which I feel are lacking in today's designs.  

 Thank you for taking the time to learn a bit about this very classic and rare camera made in Stuttgart, Germany, in the early to mid-1930s.

 I'd love to hear from you, so if you have a comment or one of your own, please share it with us here.

 Here are my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Camera and Photos is my online eBay store where you might find one (or many) of the cameras I've reviewed, along with other camera and photo items I've picked up or hoarded over the many years in the business.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Welta Welti camera

My Welta Welti camera

While looking for a camera to discuss in this week's camera collecting blog, I was unpacking cameras I took to the recent camera show outside of Seattle, and I picked up a nondescript leather case for one of them. Opening the case to see which camera it was, it turned out to be a fairly plain-looking 35mm folding camera. 

 I opened the camera to see which one it was, but nothing was screaming the manufacturer to me. The only few telltale signs I could see were the words "Germany USSR Occupied" in gold embossed letters, along with "Made in Germany" embossed into the leather. There was also the number 1 inside a triangle and the numbers 37/373/1001 embossed into the leather on the back of the film door.

 Opening the door to see what lens the camera had, it wasn't what I expected. Unlike a Schneider or Zeiss lens, the camera has a less popular Meyer Optik lens in a Vebur shutter.

 Now I was more perplexed about the brand of camera I was holding. I researched the information I had, and I found that I was holding a Welta Welti camera made soon after WWII.

My Welta Welti camera with leather case.

 Usually, on cameras of this era, the manufacturer's name is embossed on the side of the camera, close to the film door. I looked at the camera again, and it was either worn off from use or never there in the first place.

 Testing the camera's shutter, it worked at all speeds, and the aperture was smooth and functioning as it should. The lens was clean, and the transport seemed in good condition, so for the week I go camera shopping in Tokyo, and being a fan of Welta cameras, like the Perfekta and Superfekta, I found the camera to write about for this week's blog post.

History:

 For those of us who spend our days restoring, shooting, and studying vintage cameras, the name Welta carries a distinct weight—both literally and figuratively. Founded in 1914 by Walter Waurich and Theodor Weber in Freital, Germany, the company originally operated under the moniker Waurich & Weber. By 1919, the "Welta" trademark was born, marking the beginning of a remarkable, albeit turbulent, chapter in the history of photography.

 Welta quickly earned a sterling reputation during the 1920s and 30s. At a time when German optical and mechanical engineering set the global standard, Welta held its own against titans like Zeiss Ikon. They mastered the folding camera format, producing medium format workhorses outfitted with top-tier Compur shutters and stunning optics from Schneider-Kreuznach or Carl Zeiss. For a working photographer or a serious enthusiast, a Welta meant uncompromising precision wrapped in a beautifully crafted, leather-bound brass body.

 As the 1930s progressed, the photographic landscape shifted dramatically as the 35mm film format gained popularity. Competitors were releasing compact, pocket-sized folding 35mm cameras, most notably the Kodak Retina. Welta's brilliant response was the Welti.

 Introduced in 1935, the Welti was a marvel of compact engineering. It wasn't just a scaled-down medium format folder; it was a purpose-built 35mm instrument. With its incredibly robust struts, precision-focusing helix, and satisfyingly dense, all-metal heft, the Welti proved that "compact" didn't mean compromising on professional-grade durability. It remains the perfect embodiment of Welta's meticulous design philosophy.

 The devastation of World War II completely altered Welta's trajectory. Finding itself in the Soviet occupation zone (later East Germany), the company was nationalized in 1946, becoming VEB Welta-Kamerawerke. Despite this massive structural shift, the Freital factory continued to produce incredible cameras, including refined post-war iterations of the Welti, the Weltax, and the Belmira.

 However, as the East German government moved to consolidate its optical industries to compete on the global stage, Welta was eventually absorbed by VEB Kamera-und Kinowerke Dresden in 1959, which later evolved into the massive Pentacon conglomerate.

 By the mid-1960s, the Welta name faded into history. Yet, when you hold a Welti today, you are holding a defiant piece of history—a tactile testament to a specialized factory that, for a few brilliant decades, built some of the finest folding cameras the world had ever seen.

My Camera:

 My Welta Welti camera is similar in size and shape to the Kodak Retina cameras. The camera is 4.5" wide by 3.5" tall by 2" deep with the lens retracted, and 3.5" deep with the lens door open and the lens in the normal "taking" position. The Welta Welti weighs 1 pound, 2.9 ounces.

To open the lens door, press a small button at the bottom of the camera, and the lens door opens, exposing a Meyer-Optik Trioplan 50mm f2.9 lens (serial # 1529563), in a Vebur shutter at the end of a small bellows that extends, then the front door is opened.

 The shutter speeds range from 1/250 to 1 second, along with "B" for timed exposures. To set the shutter speed, turn a knurled ring on the outside of the shutter, lining up the desired shutter speed with the red dot on the ring. Just behind the shutter speed selector is the shutter cockling lever. You'll need to pull the lever over each time you're going to make an exposure, as there is no automatic shutter cocking mechanism on the Welta Welti camera.

The aperture on my Welta Welti camera ranges from F/2.9 to 16 and is set by a sliding lever under the shutter, below the lens.

 On the back of the lensboard is a large knob that serves as the focusing lever for the camera. There is no rangefinder or internal focusing on the camera, so the distances you set are just guesses. Sliding the knob to the left or right focuses the lens. The lens can focus as close as 3.3 feet to infinity. At the end of the focus knob is a small pointer that sets the desired distance. 

 On the back of the camera is a depth-of-field scale that shows the minimum and maximum distances that will be in focus, depending on the distance the camera is focused to and the aperture set on the camera. 

 Looking at the top of the camera, from left to right, is the rewind knob, the viewfinder used to view and frame your image. The viewfinder has a small lever under it that allows it to be pointed level for landscape images and to point down slightly for closer portrait images.

To the right of the viewfinder is a cold shoe that can be used for a separate rangefinder to aid in focus distance or a flash for indoor or night photographs. Moving on to the shutter release inside the frame counter, a small sliding button to unlock the film drive gear for film advance and rewind, and on the far right-hand side is the film winding knob with an arrow on the top showing the direction you turn it to advance the film to the next frame.

 On the left side of the Welta Welti camera is a lever that opens the film door for loading and unloading film. Opening the film door exposes the inside of the shutter. The camera has a standard film-loading area for a 35mm camera. The take-up spool is on the right side, and right next to it is the silver film drive gear. On the back of the camera door is the pressure plate. Once the film has been exposed, slide back the small lever between the film winding knob and the frame counter, which makes the film drive gear free-moving and allows you to rewind the film into the film cassette without tearing up the sprocket holes.

To close the lens door for transportation, press down on the two angled struts on the side of the lens; the lens and film door will begin to retract into the camera body. Just press it all the way back until you hear a clicking sound, which means the door is shut and won't pop back open by accident. 

 

My Results:

 I have some 200 ISO film in my bulk loader, which I enjoy using, especially for testing 35mm cameras, as I can roll a shorter roll of film into the film cassette and not use up a full roll of 36 exposures for my blog. Rolling about 20 frames into the film cassette, I took the camera for a nice spring day walk through the neighborhood.

 The flowers and trees are blooming, and the sun is shining. Here are a few of the images I got with the Welta Welti camera.

 Conclusion:

 Looking at the images, they turned out better than I anticipated. The exposures were good, and the focus was enough to produce sharp images, so I'm fairly good at judging distance to the subjects and setting the proper focus distance. I understand that having an external rangefinder for the camera would be helpful, but it would also slow down the process.

 The transport was smooth along with the film rewind. The viewfinder is pretty small, and with glasses, it made it a bit more difficult. That, along with having to remember to cock the shutter each time, was the only real drawback to the camera.

 The Welta Welti is similar to other 35mm cameras from this era, like the Kodak Retina. They are small, pocketable 35mm cameras with a nice range of shutter speeds and good optics. I now understand why I brought the camera to the camera show. It's a nice camera, but I'll probably put it up on my online store for someone else to enjoy.

 Thank you for taking some time from your day to read about this compact 35mm camera made in the late 1940s to early 1950s. Here's a link to the Welta Welti manual. Thanks to Butkus.org.

 I'd love to hear from you about this or any of the other Camera Reviews I've done.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell cameras I've written about, along with other camera oddities I've accumulated over my 50-plus years collecting photo items. 

 I'm taking next week off for my trip to Japan, so I'll see you in a couple of weeks. Please be safe.

Salmoiraghi Luxus camera

My Salmoiraghi Lexus camera

I truly don't remember purchasing this camera, so my best recollection is that it was part of a larger lot of cameras I purchased. What drew me to this particular camera, as with many others in my collection, wasn't the name or rarity of the camera, but the camera's color. The beautiful tan color, along with the colored bellows, are things that I'm drawn to.

 The Salmoiraghi Lexus has been on my shelf for a few years, and it wasn't until this past weekend that I noticed it again. It was tucked away behind some other cameras in my collection. 

 Next week I'm traveling to Japan to do some camera and flea market shopping, hoping to find some treasures to write about in some of my upcoming blogs. I guess that about a thousand others are looking for the camera treasures while there, and figure, what better way to spend my time in Tokyo than to photograph the town, attend a few flea markets, and visit a few camera shops.

 I was gathering items to take to a camera show in the suburbs of Seattle last week when I noticed it. I questioned whether I really wanted to take the camera, as I knew I would eventually want to write about it. I put the Salmoiraghi Lexes with many other items I was taking to the show, but in the back of my mind, my willingness to sell them was half-hearted.

The other side of the Salmoiragi Lexus camera

 As I was pulling cameras out of the boxes to put on my tables for the camera show, the Salmoraghi Lexus was unfolded and put out for sale. Some people casually looked at it, but there was no real interest in the camera. There were a few people who liked the colored camera, but that was about it.

 In the back of my mind, I had already picked the camera I wanted to write about this week, but as I was putting away the cameras left over from the camera show, the Salmoiraghi Lexus just seemed like the camera to write about. 

 When I opened the camera, thinking about putting film in it so I could shoot with it for the blog, I checked the shutter to make sure it was working, but unfortunately, it's stuck open. So, at this point, I won't be able to photograph with it for the post. That's not Ideal, but what was gnawing at me was, What is a Salmoiraghi camera? I wasn't familiar with the brand at all, so I wanted to dig into the company and what this camera was all about.

 As I was doing my research for the camera, there was very little reference information, but I found MisterMondo Italian Camera, which had a great selection on 

History:

 Salmoiraghi cameras are a small and somewhat obscure chapter in Italian camera history, remembered mainly for a few postwar experimental and medium-format designs rather than for mass-market success. Collectors often discuss the name because the surviving models are uncommon, visually distinctive, and tied to the period when Italian manufacturers were trying to build a domestic camera industry after World War II.

Angelo Salmoiraghi. (From website)

 Salmoiraghi SpA, better known as La Filotecnica, began in Milan in 1865 when Angelo Salmoiraghi founded the Scuola-Officina Filotecnica. The school-workshop blended training, research, and production, reflecting Salmoiraghi's aim to turn precise scientific instrument making into an industrial enterprise. Over time, the company became associated with high-quality optical and surveying equipment, while keeping close ties to technical education and innovation. That early mix of craftsmanship and science helped establish La Filotecnica as a notable name in Italian instrument manufacturing.

 The best-known Salmoiraghi-related camera from the collector world appears to be a medium-format model developed in Milan around 1946–47. Reports from collectors describe it as a "pseudo twin-lens reflex" camera, built with a Bakelite body and alloy fittings, placing it squarely in the immediate postwar era, when makers were using practical materials and inventive layouts to reduce cost and complexity. That design choice suggests a company experimenting with form as much as function, aiming to create a camera that looked modern and handled differently from the boxy standard models of the time.

Italian advertisment for Salmoiraghi Nova I camera.

 What makes Salmoiraghi interesting is not a long production line but the rarity of the surviving evidence. Unlike the big Italian optical firms that became widely known through lenses, projectors, or industrial products, Salmoiraghi cameras seem to have been limited-run products that left only a thin paper trail. Much of what is known today comes from collector discussions rather than catalogs or formal company histories, which is why exact model details and production numbers remain hard to pin down.

 In that sense, Salmoiraghi cameras reflect a broader story in European camera manufacturing: many firms tried to enter the market in the 1940s and 1950s, but only a few scaled up successfully. Salmoiraghi's contribution appears to have been more inventive than influential, with its cameras now valued for their curiosity, design, and historical context. For photographers and collectors, they represent the optimism of a rebuilding Italian industry and the short-lived creativity of smaller makers trying to find a place beside better-known German and Japanese brands.

 Today, Salmoiraghi cameras are mostly encountered in collections, forum posts, and auction listings. Their scarcity means they are better known to specialists than to the general public, but that rarity is exactly what gives them historical appeal.

My Camera:

 My Salmoiraghi Lexus camera is very similar to many of the other 120 film, 6x9cm folding medium-format cameras from this era. The camera is 6" long by 3" tall and 1.5" deep when closed, and 5.25" deep with the lens extended. The camera weighs 1 pound, 0.1 ounces, unloaded.

To open the front of the camera and extend the lens, on the side of the camera, close to the film winding knob, is a small button to press that opens the front, exposing the beautiful original brown bellows.

 Looking at the front of the camera, the Salmoiraghi Lexus has a Perseus 105mm F/8.5 lens with aperture settings from F/8.5 to F/32, which can be set by a small sliding bar under the lens. The camera also has a Zenith shutter with speeds of 1/25, 1/50, 1/100, along with "B" and "Z" for timed exposures. Just to the right of the shutter speed selector, as you're holding the camera, is the shutter release. The shutter release also has a cable release socket for timed exposures.

The name Salmoiraghi is also imprinted under the lens, embossed in the brown leather on the top front and rear.

 There isn't a waist-level finder on the Salmoiraghi Lexus, only an eye-level finder which can be unfolded from the side of the camera. The sports style finder isn't very thick, and on my camera, which is common, the rear, or at times the front, doesn't stand up straight and seems to lean.

 To open the back of the camera to load film, under the strap is a lever you slide over to unlock the back. Swing the back open to reveal a very standard film-loading system. The winding lever doesn't pull out to load the empty spool, but on the other side is a silver button that pulls up to load the spool.

There's nothing on the other side to keep the new roll of film in place except a metal clip that wraps around the unexposed film and holds it in place.

 On the camera's back, two red windows generally indicate that the camera can handle multiple formats, as with the camera I wrote about last week, the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2. Generally, there would be an insert for the camera to do both 6x9cm and 6x4.5cm images on the 120 roll of film. 

 Looking at the pattern for the film guides on the back of the camera, there may have been an insert for the camera. There are indents evenly spaced across the back, which would indicate there may have been one, but my camera doesn't have one, and I can't find any online references to one.

Once the film is loaded in the camera, close the back of the camera, making sure it's latched, and wind the film to the first frame.

 To close the front of the camera, there are two locking stops on the camera's struts, on either side, that need to be pressed in. By doing so, the front of the camera can collapse the lens and bellows back into the camera body.

Front view of Salmoiraghi Lexus camera when closed.

Results:

Since the shutter on the Salmoiraghi Lexus camera is inoperable, I wasn’t able to shoot a roll of film through it.

I may try at some point to disassemble the shutter and get it back in working condition. If/when that happens, I’ll be sure to update the post with images.

Conclusion:

 While I knew little about this camera when I purchased it, and really bought it for its wonderful color and matching bellows, I'm elated that I didn't sell it at the NW Camera show last weekend because of its rarity.

 It's not really well-made and doesn't offer many features, but the scarcity of the camera made in Italy means this will be in my collection for the time being. I'm sure, as I get older and whittle down my collection, it'll pass to another collector, and I hope they understand its rarity in the world of camera collecting.

 If you have questions or comments, please feel free to reach out to me; I'm always interested in discussing what you have in your collection, as well as the cameras I've reviewed.

 Thank you for taking some time to learn more about this Italian camera. To me, what I enjoy about this camera is the wonderful brown leather covering and matching brown bellows.

 Here are my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell some of the cameras I've reviewed, along with many other camera oddities I've stumbled upon in the past few years.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2

My Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 530/2 camera

Walking through flea markets, garage sales, or camera shows, I always stop to look at what Zeiss cameras they have, and the cameras that I always pick up to look over are any of the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta cameras. Not only because they look impressive even when closed, but also because I'm always struck by how well-made and intricate they are for a camera that's 90 years old.

 To me, the Super Ikonta cameras are like looking at a masterpiece of art. They are timeless in their form, compactness, and mechanical intricacies. When closed, they are compact and sturdy. They have a heft to them that you know they were manufactured to last a long time.

 Zeiss Ikon made four different Super Ikonta styles. There were the smaller models in 6x4.5 or 6x6cm formats, then they also made a larger, specifically longer version that shot 6x9, and a rare version that shot 6x11cm. The 6x9cm version came with a metal insert that reduced the image size to 6x4.5, essentially allowing the photographer to get twice as many images on the 120 roll film loaded in the camera.

 Having owned both in my life, I'm torn between them. On the one hand, I prefer the longer negatives, so the 6x9cm version is appealing, but it's also a bit bigger to carry. The more compact 6x6cm version is a terrific camera to carry when you travel. They are compact, fit in your pocket, have wonderful optics, and use a rangefinder to focus.

 Looking at the cameras on my shelf for a camera to write about, the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 530/2 was a camera I recently got back from a full CLA, so I knew, or at least hoped there wouldn't, or shouldn't be an issue putting film in the camera and running a roll of film through it. 

Horizontal view of my Zeiss Ikon Soper Ikonta 530/2 camera

 The camera I had purchased almost a year ago was from an online auction. I saw it at the auction along with a few other cameras, placed a fairly low bid, and won it. The camera was shipped to me, and upon inspection, I noticed the shutter wasn't working. It worked at higher speeds, but the camera needed servicing, so I sent it for CLA.

 My camera came back from the technician and looked flawless. The rangefinder was bright and accurate, the lens was bright, the focus was smooth, and the lens popped out of the camera as if it were new. 

 Whenever I see a Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta or another rangefinder folding camera, the first thing I check is the shutter to see if it's opening/closing, especially at slower speeds. Then I check the focus to see how smoothly the lens and focus knob turn. It seems that many of the cameras have very stiff focusing, so when the camera came back, and the focus knob turned so nicely, I must have had a large grin on my face, as this was a new experience for me: a smooth focus.

 With all that said, it was time to put a fresh roll of 120 film into the camera and take a walk through the neighborhood on a wonderful spring afternoon. The sun was out, and so many of the trees and flowers were in bloom, it was the ideal opportunity to take my newly CLA'D Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta for a spin.

Brief History of the Zeiss Ikonta Cameras:

 Zeiss Ikon and the Ikonta cameras sit at an important crossroads in European camera history. Formed in 1926 from the merger of four major German makers—Contessa-Nettel, Ernemann, Goerz, and Ica—Zeiss Ikon became one of the largest and most influential camera companies in the world, backed by the Carl Zeiss optical tradition.

 The Ikonta line emerged around 1929 as Zeiss Ikon's premium folding-camera family. It was introduced in several sizes, including 6x4.5, 6x6, and 6x9 roll film frames, and represented the company's effort to rationalize and modernize the crowded product lines inherited from the merger. These cameras were built as elegant folders: compact when closed, but capable of producing high-quality medium-format images when opened.

 What made Ikonta especially significant was its market position. Zeiss Ikon used better lenses and more refined construction on Ikonta models, while cheaper versions sometimes carried the related Ikomat name. The line became closely associated with Carl Zeiss lenses, such as the Tessar, which helped the cameras earn a strong reputation for sharpness and image quality.

 A major step forward came with the Super Ikonta series, introduced in 1933. The "Super" name indicated the addition of a coupled rangefinder, making focusing far easier and more accurate than the original scale-focusing Ikontas. That innovation helped define some of the best prewar folding cameras available.

 Production continued through the war years and into the postwar period, but folding cameras gradually lost favor as photography shifted toward more modern fixed-lens designs and 35mm systems. Even so, Ikonta and Super Ikonta remain admired today for their craftsmanship, portability, and classic Zeiss optical quality.

My Camera:

 My Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2 is 7" wide by 4" tall and 2 "deep when the lens is retracted, and it's 5" tall when you open the camera, and the viewfinder pops up, and 5.5" deep when the lens is extended. The camera weighs 1 pound 15 ounces without the case or film loaded. My serial number is E30192.

The Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2 camera has several different options for lens and shutter combinations:

  • Tessar 10.5 cm f/4.5 in a Compur shutter. This combination is the best-documented early setup for the 530/2, especially on black-enamel versions from the early 1930s.

  • Triotar 10.5 cm f/4.5 in a Klio shutter. Some early examples were fitted this way, making it a less common but real configuration.

  • Tessar 10.5 cm f/4.5 in a Klio shutter. At least one documented example shows this pairing, indicating that Zeiss Ikon used multiple shutters during the model's production.

  • Later or related Super Ikonta variants appear with Tessar lenses in Compur Rapid or Synchro-Compur shutters, though those are more typical of later Super Ikonta models.

Looking at the top of the camera, on the right side of the rangefinder, is a button that opens the camera when it's closed. According to the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta manual. Hold the camera in your right hand, with the front slightly pointed down. Press the button, and the camera should open slightly. Then pull down on the front cover so the bellows and lens extend to the taking position. Once the lens is extended, you'll need to swing the arm holding the small round lens into place so you can use the rangefinder for focusing. Also, when you open the camera, the Albada (sports) finder springs open. Look through the Albada finder; it has lines for both 6x9cm images in a horizontal format and for 6x4.5cm images for a vertical subject.

Now that the camera is open, you're ready to make exposures once the film is loaded, which we'll get to in just a moment. The shutter and aperture settings are located around the lens. Shutter speeds from 1/250 to 1 sec, plus "B," are set by turning the ring to the desired speed. The aperture is set by sliding the arrowed lever at the bottom of the lens to the desired aperture, which ranges from F/4.5 to F/32 on my camera.

 The focus wheel is on the front of the swing arm you moved over for the rangefinder, just above the lens when the camera is in the vertical position. For focusing, look through the small window on the back of the camera. Turn the dial to use rangefinder focus, which includes a small yellow area in the middle of the finder. When out of focus, the subject will appear as two images. Your main subject, and a second image in the yellow area. Turn the wheel until both images merge into one, indicating the subject is now in focus. 

Set your shutter speed and aperture setting, and don't forget to cock the shutter. The shutter release is on the top, left side of the camera. Press the shutter release, which will trip the shutter via a series of linkages that run along the bottom of the lens bed. Just behind the shutter release is a small window. When the window is grey, the shutter has been tripped, and you'll need to turn the film winding lever until the small window turns red. At this point, you can re-cock the shutter and release it. 

To open the back of the camera to load film, under the camera's handle is a small slider with an arrow pointing toward the opening. Slide the small knob in the direction of the arrow, and the camera back will open. Load the film as you would any 120 roll film camera, roll the film so the "start" arrows are showing, then close the back of the camera, and wind the film advance knob so the number 1 shows up in the appropriate window on the back of the camera. 

There are two red widows on the back of the camera: one for 6x9cm images and one for 6x4.5 cm images, if you have the metal insert in. If you have the insert in the camera, you'll use both windows for film advance, as you would with a 127 film camera with two windows. Stop at the number 1 on the far right window, then take your photo. Wind the film until the number 1 appears in the second window on the left, then take your photo. Then wind the film until the number 2 shows up on the first window on the right side, and so on through the number 8. For 6x9cm images, you'll get 8 exposures per roll; for 6x4.5, 16.

 To close the camera for transport, slide the arm you extended for focus back over the bellows. Holding the camera with both hands, press in on the locking arms on the struts to lock the bellows and lens into place; the bed will collapse a bit. Fold the lens back into the camera until the camera clicks closed, then flip down the Albana finder.

My Images:

 Let's take a look at how the images turned out. Here are a few of the images I took with the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta camera.

Conclusion:

 The first few images were incredibly sharp, well-exposed, and as I expected. I noticed that towards the end of the roll, the images became softer and less sharp, which concerned me. What did I do wrong?

 To give some background, I had eye surgery on my right eye, which is my dominant eye, about a year or two ago. When I went to see the eye doctor, I could barely make out details with my right eye, so surgery was necessary. Since then, it's gotten a bit better, but not as good as it used to be. Now I'm getting used to putting the camera up to my left eye, which is considerably better than my right. It still feels awkward, but it's my new normal.

Missing pressure plate

 I thought this contributed to the images being soft. Then I remember what a good friend, Mike Eckman, said a few weeks ago when we were discussing image sharpness. He said that he had a similar instance and noticed that the film's pressure plate was missing. At this point, I opened the back of the camera, and sure enough, the pressure plate was missing. 

 How could I miss that when I'm loading the camera? You get so used to looking at and loading cameras that you miss that a camera doesn't have a pressure plate.

 At this point, I'm sure I could manufacture one out of something like thin foamcore and just cut out circles for the red window. Still, it's a lot of fun to use, and the images are incredible. I'll chalk it up as a learning experience and double-check to be sure they have the pressure plate from now on.

 Here are some of the other Camera Reviews I've done.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell some of the cameras I've reviewed, along with other camera accessories, lenses, etc.

 Please feel free to comment on this or any of the other camera reviews I've done. I'd love to hear from you.

 Until next week, please be safe.

 

Kodak-Nagel Ranca camera

My Kodak-Nagel Ranca camera

Being a collector and working in the photo industry for more than 50 years, and, more specifically, in the photographic retail business for almost 20 of those years. My retail years were in the mid-1970s through to the early 1990s. It was the height of film photography with Nikon F's, Canon AE-1's, Minolta SRT's, Pentax, Rollei, Contax, etc. I can remember the introductions of many of the best-selling cameras from this era. I have seen and sold many cameras. But to this day, I still enjoy them.

 When I look at a camera, especially an older one I'm not familiar with, the first impression strongly influences whether I purchase it. I'm always on the hunt for the odd and unusual camera.  I imagine it's really about what you enjoy collecting. 

 Many collectors look for pristine examples of Leica, Rollei, Hasselblad, or items with a slight difference, making them a "rare" item. Still, if I see a camera I'm not aware of, and it has an unusual appearance or color that stands out, that's what catches my eye. It doesn't have to be expensive or rare; it just has to be unusual to me.

 That's where the camera I'm writing about this week comes in. The Kodak Ranca is a camera I first saw on my friend Mike Ott's website. Mike is the longtime owner of Pacific Rim Camera and one of the best photographic resources around. It's a website I often visit, very similar to Mike Butkus's Camera Manual, which offers information on cameras, catalogues, manuals, etc. 

 I purchased the Kodak Ranca because it was a compact camera I wasn't familiar with. It wasn't until it arrived that the camera had a very similar look and feel. I was aware that it was a Nagel-made camera, which was another reason I was attracted to it. Still, when I dug into the camera after it was purchased, it's considered the "less expensive" version of the very popular Nagel Pupille camera, which I reviewed a few months ago.

 According to my reading of the Ranca camera, there were two versions. The earlier model, known as 46/0, has a helicoid lens and shutter system that rotates out from the camera's body when you grip and rotate the shutter/lens area a quarter turn counterclockwise. This also exposes the helicoid on which the lens/shutter rotates. The second version is the 46/1, which has a rigid lens barrel with the lens and shutter on the end. 

 The camera was introduced in the middle of 1930 and remained available for only approximately 1 year, until the latter part of 1931. Both the Nagel Pupille and Ranca camera take 127-size film, producing 16, 3x4cm images on the roll. 

 Sources state that a total of 2,200 Ranca cameras were produced, compared to 5,000 of the more expensive, better-featured Pupille cameras. While the Pupille has superior features, fewer Ranca cameras are produced. Yet, the Pupille is more of a collector's item and fetches a higher price, even today.

 Some of the other differences between the two models: both cameras have "sports"-style pop-up viewfinders; some have glass on the front, and some don't. Different shutters, either Prontor or Ibsor, were available. The camera uses a front focus system, with some cameras opting for a very simple distance scale for portrait, group, or landscape. In contrast, others have the distance in feet on the lens barrel. 

History:

 Dr. August Nagel was one of the most important European designers ever associated with Eastman Kodak, and their partnership reshaped Kodak's position in the precision‑camera market. In 1932, Eastman Kodak purchased Nagel's Stuttgart-based firm, Dr. Nagel-Werke, and reorganized it as Kodak A.G., retaining Nagel as managing director and head of design. Before this acquisition, Kodak was dominant in film and popular roll-film cameras. Still, German makers like Leica and Contax defined the high‑end miniature camera segment. Kodak wanted a German-built precision camera to compete directly, yet at a lower price and in a form that fit its mass‑market philosophy. Nagel, already respected for compact folding designs and his work on Contessa-Nettel and Zeiss Ikon models, was the ideal partner to bridge that gap.

Kodak Ranca advertismant

 Within Kodak A.G., Nagel used generous Eastman funding and Kodak's global reach to develop a compact 35mm camera that could rival the established German leaders. The result was the Kodak Retina, introduced in 1934 (Type 117), a folding 35mm camera that offered solid German construction and good optics at a far more accessible price than Leica or Contax. At the same time, Nagel introduced a new daylight-loading 35mm cartridge—what became known as Kodak 135 film—which fit not only the Retina but also Leica and Contax cameras. This cartridge standardized 35mm still photography worldwide. It made 35mm use far easier for ordinary photographers, who no longer needed to roll film into cassettes in the dark.

 Nagel's collaboration with Eastman Kodak extended beyond the Retina itself. Under the Kodak A.G. banner in Stuttgart, he and his team produced several notable pre‑Retina and companion models, such as the Recomar plate cameras, the compact Pupille, the Vollenda folding cameras, and the Duo 620 medium‑format folders. These cameras married Nagel's hallmark precision and compactness with Kodak's branding and distribution, giving Kodak an instant foothold in the "serious enthusiast" and professional market that had previously looked almost exclusively to other German makers. 

 Although Nagel died in 1943, the Retina line continued to evolve with the introduction of the rangefinder. Later SLR versions, and the 135 cartridge he introduced, remain the standard for 35mm film, making his association with Eastman Kodak one of the most consequential designer–manufacturer partnerships in camera history.

My Camera:

 My Nagel Ranca camera is 4" wide by 2.5" tall with the viewfinder retracted, and 3.25" tall with the viewfinder extended. The camera is 2.25" deep with the lens retracted into the camera body. When it's extended and ready to take a photo, it's 2.75" deep. The camera weighs 10.1 ounces when a roll of film is not loaded.

 My Nagel Ranca has a Nagel Anistigmat 5cm lens, an F/4.5 lens, a Protar shutter located above the lens with only three shutter speeds: 1/100, 1/50, 1/25, along with "T" for timed and "B" for Bulb. The aperture ring, which is located below the lens, has a slide that controls the aperture. The minimum aperture setting is F/16.

Shutter/Aperture settings on Kodak Ranca camera

As mentioned previously, the lens/shutter needs to be turned counterclockwise a quarter turn to extend the lens on the helicoid. The unusual thing about doing this is that the shutter release is now in an odd and awkward position for use. The lens/shutter is retracted, and the shutter release is in the 11:00 o'clock position, which is ideal for tripping the shutter. However, when the lens is extended, it puts the shutter release in the 7:00-8:00 o'clock position, making it a bit more awkward, in my opinion. 

 There is a shutter release socket behind the shutter release if needed. On the right side of the shutter dial is a self-timer with a large red dot. Pull it down to set the self-timer, then press it to activate it. Mine isn't working properly, which is common for cameras from this era.

The lens is a front focusing lens. This means you rotate the lens itself to the desired distance from you to the subject. This is shown on the lens by a red line, which is also in an awkward position when the lens is extended. As opposed to being on the top, it's now on the side.

 The lens doesn't need to be extended to open the camera to load film into it. Slide the lever on the bottom of the camera to unlock the film chamber from the camera body. Gripping the chrome handles on either side of the viewfinder and lifting up allows you to remove the film chamber. Once removed, load the 127-size film into the film holder, then slide the film holder back into the camera body and lock it in place with the bottom locking mechanism.

Since there are two red windows on the back, these are used to advance the film. First, wind the film until you see the number 1 in the right side window. Then take your photo. Now wind the film until you see the number 1 in the left side window. Take your next photo. Wind until you see the number 2 in the right side window. Then repeat this process through the number 8. At this point, you've taken 16 photos on your film, and it's time to get it processed, or process it yourself if you have the equipment and chemicals to do so.

 

My results:

 I loaded a roll of 400 ISO film into the Nagel Ranca camera because the day started out overcast. With the limited shutter speeds available, I needed the extra sensitivity to make good images.

 The day turned out sunnier than expected, and the lack of a high-speed shutter meant I needed to shoot all the images at 1/100, f/16. Even then, the negatives turned out a bit denser than anticipated, but I made the corrections needed in post-processing.

 I tried some close-ups and a few longer shots to assess the camera's lens quality. I was both surprised, in a good way, and surprised, in a bad way, by my results.

 Here are some of the photos from my walk through the neighborhood. 

Conclusion:

 To say I was disappointed by some of the results is an understatement. The closer images, which I thought wouldn't turn out very well, were the shining light of the camera roll. The images taken at infinity, assuming they would be sharp, especially at F/16, are unsharp and disappointing.

 The camera was fun to shoot with, and I always enjoy shooting 127 film in the 3x4cm format. Still, I was also disappointed with the shutter release's location after extending the lens to the "taking" position. The shutter release was in an awkward position, to the point that I had to shoot the camera with my thumb while resting it in my palm.

 I'll get used to it next time I take the camera out for a shoot, but I prefer using the Nagel Pupille.

 Thank you for taking some time to learn about the "lesser featured" brother of Nagel's Pupille, the Ranca camera. A compact 127 camera made in the early 1930s.

 Here are the other Camera Reviews I've done.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell some of the cameras reviewed, along with many other photo oddities I've accumulated over my 50-plus years with cameras and images.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Bell Panorama and Panel Camera

My Bell Panoraams & Panel camera

I didn’t start out chasing rare panoramic cameras like the Bell Panorama; my first love was colorful and unusual box cameras. As a new collector—newly married, young son at home, and a very limited budget—I hunted for Kodak Rainbow cameras, Univex AF models with painted faces, and bright Agfa and Falson colored folding cameras whenever I could afford to add another piece to the shelf.

 Somewhere in those early years, about 45 years ago, I spotted my first Bell Panoramic camera in a local antique shop. Sitting in a locked glass case, it looked like a strangely long box‑style camera, and I honestly had no idea what I was looking at. I asked the clerk to pull it out, turned it over in my hands, and saw a price tag of about 80 dollars—far more than I was paying for box cameras at the time—so I reluctantly handed it back and walked away, wondering why on earth this plain, elongated camera was priced like that.

 A few years later, flipping through one of the many camera guides in my collection, I stopped cold on a photo of an extremely long box‑style camera: a Bell Panorama. Instantly my mind jumped back to that antique‑store shelf, and the mystery price tag suddenly made sense. Now my interest in panoramic cameras was growing, fueled by swing‑lens classics like the Kodak Panoram, Al‑Vista, and Russian Horizont, but the big boys—Fujifilm 6×12 and 6×17 systems or the Horseman 6×17—were still well out of my price range, so the Bell stayed in the realm of daydreams.

A Bell Panorama & Panel camera compared to a Kodak No. 3 Brownie

 Fast‑forward about 40 years. While browsing online listings for vintage panoramic cameras, I stumbled onto a modified Bell Panorama and Panel Camera that had been converted to shoot 120 film instead of its original 118/122 roll film. The seller mentioned the shutter was working but pointed out some odd “home‑brew” details. The price was finally in my comfort zone, so I messaged them, made the deal, and waited (not very patiently) for my first Bell panoramic camera to land on my doorstep.

 Unlike swing‑lens panoramic cameras, the Bell Panorama uses a fixed wide‑angle lens and a huge image circle, more like a compact, wooden ancestor of a Horseman or Fujifilm 6×17. When the package arrived and I unboxed it, I was greeted by a lot of black masking tape on the body, a mysterious metal bar on top, and bellows that actually looked pretty healthy. The shutter sounded sluggish with the lens mounted, but once I unthreaded the retaining ring and tested the lens and Betax shutter off the camera, the speeds snapped back to life—turns out the ring was pinching the shutter housing just enough to slow everything down.

 On the back I noticed strips of white tape covered in handwritten numbers. Some clearly related to shutter accuracy tests, while others looked suspiciously like film‑advance notes—my best guess was someone had already mapped out how many turns of the advance knob you need between panoramic frames when shooting 120 film in this old #122 panoramic body.​

How my Bell Panorama & Panel camera arrived to me.

 Opening the back confirmed that a previous owner had done a thoughtful 120‑film conversion. One chamber already had a custom adapter so a 120 spool would sit where the original 118/122 spool once lived, but to actually shoot the camera I still needed a second adapter for the take‑up side. Thankfully, I’d already bought a pair of 120 adapters for my Kodak Quick Focus camera, and I was pretty sure they could be coaxed into service in the Bell Panorama as well.​

 If you’d like to dive deeper into the different Bell Panorama and Panel Camera models, I highly recommend David Silver’s excellent article, which goes into far more historical detail than I can fit here.​

History: 

 The Bell panoramic cameras were a short‑lived but important American attempt to make wide images simple and affordable for ordinary photographers in the early 20th century.

 In 1908, Iowa inventor Isaac A. Bell patented what he called Bell's Straight Working Panoramic Camera, produced by the Bell Camera Company in Grinnell, Iowa. At a time when most panoramic cameras used rotating or "swing" lenses and curved film planes, Bell's design stood out for its fixed wide‑angle lens and straight focal plane, eliminating the need for complex clockwork drives and curved backs. He built his camera around then‑standard #122 roll film, offering a generous 3¼ × 11 inch frame while still allowing normal postcard‑size exposures on the same roll, which made the camera attractive to amateurs who didn't want a dedicated specialty system.

Bell’s distinctive label on the original 1908 Bell Panorama camera.

 The first Bell Panorama combined a folding bellows body, a brass Gundlach shutter, and a wide‑angle lens that could cover the long negative at small apertures, trading speed for even coverage across the frame. While industrial reviewers praised the camera's practical engineering, it received little advertising and sold poorly, so surviving examples are rare and collectible today. Bell remained committed to the concept, refining the design and securing a second U.S. patent in 1911.

 In 1912, he introduced the revised Bell Panorama and Panel Camera, built more cheaply but upgraded with better Wollensak optics, stronger internal panel levers, and a redesigned reflex viewfinder that could be used for either postcard or panoramic framing. Distribution shifted to the American Northern Photo Supply Company, and then to Sears, Roebuck, which finally gave the camera a modest, stable market for several years. A smaller No. 10 model using #118 roll film appeared in 1916, but by 1918, changing tastes and newer panoramic systems ended Bell production. 

 In retrospect, Bell's panoramic cameras are seen as rare but influential examples of how existing rollfilm, folding‑camera ergonomics, and wide‑angle optics could be intelligently combined to democratize panoramic photography.

My Camera:

 My Bell Panorama camera is 13.5" wide by 4.75" tall and 3" deep with the lens retracted. With the front cover closed, the camera is 7.25 "deep. When the front cover is opened and the lens extended, the camera is 7.25" deep. The camera weighs just under 3 pounds, at 2 pounds, 14.6 ounces. 

To open the front, press the button in the middle on top; you can then pull down the lens board and pull out the bellows. The Bell Panoramic camera has a Wollensak Velostigmat Wide Angle, series III, 6 1/2 x 8 1/2 lens, serial # 196261, in a Wollensak Betax shutter with speeds from 1/2 to 1/100, along with "T" for time exposures and "B". The aperture settings range from F/9.5 to F/45. The lens can also rise to correct perspective.

There are a couple of items missing from my camera: the viewfinder, which is usually on the lens, is missing, as with other folding-style cameras, and the handle is gone. When the camera arrived, a long metal piece was taped to its top. Since the long piece on top had accessory shoes, I'm guessing the long piece on the top had a removable finder which wasn't included with the camera. There is also a bubble level added to my camera, which they placed on the lens base, opposite to where the viewfinder would be.

 It also didn't have the secondary winding lever shown in the David Silver article. Still, it is a screw that holds the film adapter in the camera. It is very natural, but not original.

 My camera is a later version, specifically named the Bell "Improved" Panorama and Panel camera, because the back of the camera doesn't fully come off. The bellows are a thicker black material that replaced the original red bellows. The lens base is painted black in place of the original polished natural wood. Still, the flaps on the sides of the camera, which allow the photographer to change the negative format used to photograph their subject, are included and in good working condition. 

These flaps are controlled by two separate control arms, one for the right and one for the left. These arms are on the top of the camera, close to the film advance and the film locking pin. When the lens is extended, you can move the arms forward to move the flap out of the way, making the negative size longer. When these are pulled back, the flaps cover a portion of the negative, reducing its size.

 Depending on the number of flaps used, the camera can produce either a 6x17 when both flaps are used, a 6x24 when only one flap is used, or an astonishing 6x29 negative when both flaps are flipped forward. These are also the numbers on the white tape on the back of the camera. My guess is still the number of turns you do to advance the film to the next frame, because the red windows on the back of the camera are both taped over and not viewable on 120 film when used in the camera.

Back side of the Bell Panorama camera. Note numbers on the white tape.

To open the back of the camera to load film, you first need to open each film chamber. This is done by pressing a small button on the back of the camera, close to the edge. Once pressed, you can open each side. On the left side, where the film takes up the reel and the advance handle is located, inside the chamber is a small handle you pull out that unlocks the back door. Pull out the handle, and with a fingernail or something thin, you can open the left side of the back and slide out the right side of the camera, exposing the film path.

 To load film, I unthreaded the right side, where the adapter is. I put in a fresh roll of 120 film into the camera, replacing the screw that holds the film and adapter in place. One of the tricky parts of this modified camera is threading the film over the plastic pieces taped into the camera's holding frame, which crops the pieces into place. I threaded the film in several times, but it always ended up under the cropping pieces rather than above them. I finally found a solution and got the film through.

With the 3D-printed adapters I used for the No. 3B Quick Focus Kodak, the take-up spool barely fit, and it was extremely tight. I needed to cut a channel into the side so I could slide the adapter over the bottom stem, since it was fixed in place. Usually, on folding cameras, there is a spring-loaded pin that you can pull down and slide the film reel into place, but this camera doesn't offer that. Cutting the channel into the adapter's side allowed me to slide the film into the camera and spool it onto the take-up reel.

 With the camera loaded, I went out to take some photos and see if the film advance numbering system actually works.

My Results:

 The old adage "Live and Learn" is very popular when I go out to shoot with cameras. It generally takes a couple of rolls of film to get to a normal comfort level with a new camera, and that's what happened with the Bell Panoramic camera.

 I shot my first roll of film, thinking the flaps would magically spread out during shooting. After carefully counting the turns to reach the next frame and "thinking" I was shooting in the 6x19 format, I noticed I had only two images on the roll, and they weren't in the widest format. 

 I also noticed the images were very "top-heavy on the negative, meaning the images almost bled off the top of the film, and there was more room on the bottom. This indicated that the adapter didn't work as it should, but the good news is that the exposures were good.

 Excited to know the camera didn't have any light leaks and the shutter was working well, I decided to make some changes and shoot another roll to see what I could get. The first thing I noticed was that when you pull out the lens, that's when you need to determine the format you want to shoot in. When the lens is closed, the flaps are always pulled back, leaving the film unexposed to the full width. That was the easy fix…. remember to flip the flaps forward AFTER you pull out the lens.

 I also needed to make adjustments to the film adapters for the take-up spool. Since the images were top-heavy, I trimmed off about 1/4" off the bottom of the lower adapter. This would push the film lower, making it easier to turn the film advance crank. 

 Loading the camera with a second roll of film, which was much easier than the first time, I headed out to my front yard to take more photos. Pulling the lens out of the camera's body, then flipping the wings forward this time. Now I knew I was going to get a longer image on the negative. Carefully counting the turns of the film advance crank, I took my first photo of the second roll. Advancing the film to the second frame, I leveled the camera using the bubble level and snapped my second photo. The third photo wouldn't be full-width because the film wasn't long enough to capture three full-frame images, so I shot a photo and hoped for the best.

 Here are the results from the first roll.

Here are the results from the second roll.

Conclusion:

 Here are my thoughts on this camera: it's extremely fun to shoot with, and I think the lens is sharp and produces great images. I'm anxious to try the camera out using the different formats, but here are some of my frustrations.

 Not having a viewfinder is rough. I needed to guess at what I was pointing the camera at. That's the first. I really didn't know what the angle of view was, and looking at the photos, it's wider than I anticipated. The Kodak Panoram and other panoramic cameras have lines on top that indicate the approximate angle of view. There's nothing on this camera that shows that.

 It's difficult to hold, but not too bad. I should use a tripod, especially when the top shutter speed is just 1/100. I also need to refine the number of turns to reach the first frame and the number needed to reach the next frame.

 Still, I absolutely LOVE this camera. The images are great, and it's compact and more lightweight than other panoramic cameras. It's a camera I'm extremely happy to have in my collection, and I will be on the lookout for more in the future.

 If you were the original owner or the person who owned this camera before me, great job on the modification. Reach out to me, I'd love to talk to you.

 Thank you for taking the time to read about this small, extremely wide panoramic camera that produced an almost 2.25" x 11" negative. Just incredible.

 Here are my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell cameras I've reviewed, along with other photographic oddities. Stop by and see if there are items you're looking for.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Durst Duca

A Tiny Full‑Frame Surprise: Shooting the Durst Duca

My Durst Duca camera.

I first saw the Durst Duca in McKeown's Camera Guide probably 30 years ago, and I can still remember my first instinct: this had to be a miniature camera. The tall, narrow body looked more like a tiny cine camera than anything that could handle standard 35mm film. With its vertical form, I assumed it used a 16mm cassette like a Minolta 16. So when I read that the Duca is actually a full‑frame 35mm camera, I was shocked.

 It just didn't seem possible. The camera looked too small and too skinny to hide a 35mm cassette sideways, especially with that unusual vertical format. For years, it stayed in the back of my mind as one of those oddball cameras I never expected to actually run across.

Finding My Duca

Being in the U.S., this little Italian camera rarely shows up at the usual places I haunt for gear—flea markets, garage sales, estate sales. On the big auction sites, I do see them once in a while. Still, they're usually priced higher than I'm willing to pay, especially once you tack on international shipping.

Front view of Durst Duca camera.

 When the auction was about to end, I logged in about 10 minutes before the finish. The price on the Duca had jumped up a bit, and I was outbid, so I nudged my max up—still on the low side—and watched the timer count down. No one else jumped in, and I ended up winning the camera.

The auction house shipped quickly. When I opened the box, I was still surprised by how small the camera is in person. It was even smaller than I'd pictured. I started to check it over, winding the advance lever on the side and cocking the shutter. I heard a faint click, but it was so quiet I wasn't sure the shutter was actually opening and closing.

 I pulled the side of the camera off to get at the film chamber and saw that one of the two film cassettes was still inside—that was a nice bonus, since it meant I only needed to scare up one more cassette. Digging around in the drawer where I keep odds and ends of camera accessories, I found another cassette that would work.

 In my darkroom, I shone a flashlight through the lens and fired the shutter. At first, I saw no light at all, and my heart sank; I figured the camera might be dead. Then I noticed the pressure plate that holds the film flat against the rails. I pulled the pressure plate out, pointed the flashlight into the front of the lens again, and tripped the shutter. This time, I saw a brief flash of light through the gate—success. The shutter was working. That was the moment I decided the Durst Duca would be the camera I'd write about for this week's blog.

A Little Durst History

Durst is best known today for its darkroom enlargers. Still, for about 25 years, the company also made a small, innovative line of cameras that reflected the same experimental mindset they brought to the darkroom. Founded in 1936 in northern Italy by brothers Julius and Gilbert Durst, the firm quickly gravitated toward photographic equipment, especially enlargers, which eventually became its main business.

 Durst's camera story starts with the Gil, a simple 120 roll‑film box camera introduced in 1938 for the growing amateur market. After World War II, Durst resumed production of the Gil and then shifted toward more compact designs, setting the stage for its 35mm experiments.

Australian Ad for Durst Duca camera

The Duca followed as a tiny 35mm still camera that used Agfa Karat cassettes instead of standard 35mm cartridges. That choice let Durst play with miniaturized body shapes: an oval, cine‑style form in a pocketable size, offered in several colors. This focus on unusual styling and packaging mirrored their enlargers, which often looked different from competitors but emphasized precision and usability.

 Next came the Durst 66, a modestly specified camera with an unconventional shutter and a quirky way of measuring exposure. You can already see Durst thinking outside the box, trying to rethink mechanisms rather than just copying others' work.

 All of that leads to the Durst Automatica, made from 1956 to 1963 and often regarded as the first 35mm camera with aperture‑priority automatic exposure. It used a pneumatic shutter derived from the Durst 66 and wrapped it in a very elegant body. For such a small camera line, it was an ambitious finale and shows how far Durst was willing to push design and automation.

My Durst Duca

The Durst Duca was introduced at the Milan Trade Fair in September 1946 and stayed in production until around 1952. It's a vertical‑format, full‑frame 35mm camera that uses Agfa Karat cassettes, and it was available in five colors: black, blue, red, white, and brown. I've only ever seen the black, blue, and red versions in photos. Still, now that I know more are out there, I'll keep an eye out—even if I suspect the more unusual colors will be priced higher than I'm willing to pay.

Physically, the Duca is tiny: only about 4 inches tall by 3.25 inches deep and just over 1.5 inches wide, and it weighs 10.1 ounces with the cassettes in place. The body is nicely rounded and fits well in the hand—definitely a camera you could drop in a coat pocket and forget about until you need it.

 The camera is very basic. The lens is a fixed 5 cm, f/11 meniscus design, though a rarer f/8 version is supposed to exist. Shutter speeds are limited to just two settings: 1/30 of a second and "P" for timed exposures. A small switch on the camera's faceplate, just below the viewfinder, sets the speed. I've also seen a version where the speeds are marked "I" for instant and "T" for timed. My guess is that mine is a later version, but I can't say that for sure.

 Focusing is done in only two zones. You can set the lens for 1–3 meters or 3 meters to infinity. To focus, you turn the outer ring of the lens until the red line points to the distance you want.

Loading Film and Getting the Duca Ready

To open the camera for loading, there's a small curled‑up lip on the right side of the body that you lift to swing open the film door. Inside, you'll see the two Agfa Karat cassettes. They pop out along with the pressure plate, which sits just behind the film gate and pulls straight up and out for loading.

 As mentioned, the camera takes Agfa Karat cassettes. When these were sold new, each roll of 35mm film was cut for 12 exposures, and the front of the camera proudly states that it takes 12 photos per roll. Since I have bulk 35mm film and two cassettes, I loaded my own.

I put one of the cassettes and my bulk loader into a dark bag. Inside the bag, I opened the loader, pulled out what I guessed would be enough film for 12 exposures, and added a bit more to be safe. I fed the film into the first cassette and closed up the loader, leaving a short length to thread into the second cassette. Then I unzipped the dark bag and removed the loaded cassette.

In the light, I could now feed the end of the film from the first cassette into the second one, slide both cassettes into the side of the camera, and drop the pressure plate back into place, making sure the film sat flat against the gate. Before closing the door, I advanced the film a bit to confirm that it was transporting. With the cassettes and pressure plate removed earlier, I'd noticed a small brass pin—very similar to the one in the Ansco Memo—that pops out, grabs a film sprocket, and moves up to advance the film.

Once everything looked right, I swung the back door into position and pressed it firmly against the body. Two small notches on the back have to line up with the body; if they're off even a little, the door won't sit snugly.

 Before heading out, I took a look at the lens and saw that the front element was pretty grimy. With some lens cleaner and tissues, I managed to clean the front, but because the camera is built the way it is, I couldn't get to the rear element at all. With the film loaded and the transport confirmed, I was ready to go for a walk through the neighborhood.

 

Shooting with a Vertical 35mm

With film in the camera, I headed out around the neighborhood, trying to photograph some of the same subjects I usually shoot—houses, parked cars, trees, little details I run across on my walks.

 The camera's faceplate shows a horizontal rectangle next to the number 12, while the viewfinder is vertical. I found that confusing at first. Was this meant to be a horizontal or a vertical camera? With only 12 exposures per roll, it seemed logical that they'd be in a horizontal orientation to match most 35mm cameras. Still, the vertical viewfinder was telling me otherwise. I wasn't sure, so I shot in both orientations early on, turning the camera back and forth.

 Once I processed the film and looked through the negatives, it was obvious: the Duca is a vertical‑format camera. If you want a horizontal image, you turn the whole camera on its side. It's not complicated, but it does take a little mental adjustment when you're used to most 35mm cameras being the other way around.

Results and Thoughts

Some of the images turned out great, and some didn't. There are a few reasons for that. One is focus—I didn't always remember to switch between the two focus zones when I changed subject distance. The other is exposure. With only one shutter speed and one aperture, you're basically at the mercy of the light. The negatives showed some variation, but nothing I couldn't deal with in post‑processing. It reminded me a lot of shooting with an Instamatic: pick a film with a wide exposure latitude and let it do the heavy lifting.

 I got 14 frames on the roll before the film refused to advance into the second cassette, which tells me my length estimate in the dark bag was close. The camera itself handled well. The viewfinder is on the small side and can be difficult to look through, especially if you wear glasses, but it's usable once you get used to it.

 The transport worked smoothly, and the shutter opened and closed as it should. The lens, however, is still dirty on the rear element, and there's really no easy way to clean it without taking the camera apart. That shows up in the photos as a general softness, almost like shooting with a soft‑focus filter. On some subjects, the look can actually be pleasant; on others, it just makes things a bit mushy.

 Overall, the Duca was a fun camera to use, and I'll definitely shoot it again. The whole process—from loading the Karat cassettes, to working with the vertical format, to seeing the results—was enjoyable. It's the kind of camera you could toss in a pocket when you head out on a trip and forget about until something catches your eye. I like that it's doing all of this as a full‑frame 35mm camera in such a tiny body.

 Thanks for taking the time to read about my experience with this little Italian wonder of a camera.

 If you'd like to see more of my camera adventures, here's a link to my other camera reviews. And if you're interested in cameras, lenses, or other photo gear I'm letting go of as I thin the collection, you can visit my Cuny's Cameras and Photos online store.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Envoy Wide Angle camera

My Envoy Wide Angle camera

I’ve always been drawn to anything panoramic—cameras, negatives, even yard‑long prints. I love images that feel like the way I actually see: scanning the edges, noticing subjects on the periphery, wanting just a little more in the frame.

 That’s why I’m so fond of cameras that may not be truly panoramic, but still give a generous wide‑angle view. I enjoy classic street and fashion work—Diane Arbus, Elliott Erwitt, Henri Cartier‑Bresson, Richard Avedon, Herb Ritts, Irving Penn—I can happily look at their photos all day long. But when it comes to scenic images, even with masters like Ansel Adams and Edward Weston, a part of me is always wondering what’s just outside the edge of the frame.

 So when I went hunting for a camera to feature in this week’s camera‑collecting blog, the Envoy Wide Angle was sitting there on one of my shelves, quietly staring back at me. It isn’t famous, it isn’t flashy, but it’s a small English wide‑angle box that happens to see the world a lot like I do.

 My friend, fellow camera blogger, and co‑host of the Camerosity podcast, Mike Eckman, wrote an excellent review of the Envoy Wide Angle a while back, so I deliberately let some time pass after his piece. Now that the dust has settled, it felt like the right moment to pull my Envoy down, load some film, and see what I could add to the conversation.

Brief History of Ilford:

 While often synonymous with high-quality black-and-white film, Ilford Ltd. holds a distinct and fascinating place in the history of camera manufacturing. Founded in 1879 by Alfred Hugh Harman in Ilford, England, the company initially focused on dry plates. However, as the photographic medium evolved, Ilford expanded into the hardware that would utilize their world-class emulsions.

 Ilford's foray into cameras began in the late 19th century with specialized plate cameras. By the early 1900s, they introduced models like the Ilford Falling Plate camera. These were designed to be robust and reliable, catering to a growing market of serious amateur photographers. As roll film began to dominate, Ilford transitioned, ensuring its hardware remained a perfect vessel for its advancing film technology.

 The post-WWII era marked Ilford's most ambitious period in camera design. Two models, in particular, stand out to collectors and historians:

  • The Ilford Witness (1953): A legendary 35mm rangefinder that is now a rare prize for collectors. It featured a unique interrupted screw mount and was designed to compete with the likes of Leica and Contax. Though technically brilliant, its high production costs led to a very limited run.

  • The Ilford Advocate (1949): Instantly recognizable by its ivory-white stove-enamel finish, the Advocate was a 35mm camera designed to stay cool under the sun (ideal for tropical climates). Its distinct aesthetic and reliable performance made it a mid-century icon.

 By the 1960s, Ilford pivoted toward the mass market, collaborating with manufacturers like SND (West Germany) to produce the Ilford Sportsman series. These were affordable, user-friendly 35mm cameras that brought the Ilford name into households across the UK and Europe.

Today, while Ilford's focus has returned to its roots in chemistry and paper, the "Ilford" badge on a vintage camera remains a symbol of British engineering and a golden era of silver halide photography.

My Camera

The Envoy Wide Angle is a deceptively simple, very boxy camera that shoots big 6×9 images on either 120 or 620 roll film, or on plates with a removable back. It measures roughly 5 inches wide by about 3.75 inches tall and 3.5 inches deep, and it has the solid, brick‑like feel you’d expect from a mid‑century British box. Controls are straightforward: shutter speeds from about 1/150 to 1 second plus B, set by rotating the ring around the shutter until the red dot aligns with your chosen speed.

On my example, the shutter unit is from Agilux (Agifold), who also produced their own cameras in the late 1940s and 1950s. The cocking lever sits around the 5 o’clock position on the front, while the shutter release is down at about 7 o’clock. It’s not an ergonomic marvel by modern standards, but after a couple of frames your fingers know where to go.

The Envoy’s party trick is the lens: a 64mm f/6.5 Taylor, Taylor & Hobson wide‑angle, a 4‑element design covering an angle of about 82 degrees, roughly equivalent to a 25–28mm lens on 35mm. For what is otherwise a plain, fixed‑focus box, that’s an unusually ambitious piece of glass. Held level, distortion is minimal, and the lens has a reputation for being impressively sharp, especially stopped down.

Although the lens opens to f/6.5, the manual is clear that this full opening is only for focusing on the optional ground‑glass screen when using plates. In normal use on roll film, the working apertures start at about f/11 and go down to f/32; f/16 will satisfy most situations, and f/22 is where the lens is said to give its best coverage and performance. There is no focusing mechanism at all—sharpness comes purely from depth of field, with approximate ranges as follows:

  • f/11: 10 ft to 60 ft

  • f/16: 6 ft to 400 ft

  • f/22: 4 ft to infinity

  • f/32: 30 in to infinity

 In other words, once you’ve set a sensible aperture for the light, the Envoy behaves like a very refined point‑and‑shoot: you concentrate on framing, and the lens quietly takes care of focus.

Using the Finder and Framing:

 The Envoy doesn’t give you an optical viewfinder in the usual sense. Instead, you flip up a rectangular sports finder on the front and a matching chrome frame on the back, then look through and do your best to line things up. The rear frame has a little slider for 3 ft, 6 ft, and infinity, but in practice those settings don’t seem to change much—the framing is more of an approximation than a precision instrument.

When using the Envoy Wide Angle camera, I treated it like a loose, intuitive framing aid. I composed a bit wider than I might with a “normal” camera, knowing I could afford to include extra space in those big negatives. Between the generous depth of field and the easy loading of 120 roll film, the camera encourages you to work simply: point, estimate, and trust the lens.

To open the back of the camera to load film, on the right side is a top slider that pulls up, and the film back will open for roll film. On the back of the camera, when using roll film, there is an insert. Pull up the winding wheel, and the film insert is removable. Pull out the insert and load the roll of film as you would any 120 or 620 film. Put the insert back into the camera's body, press down the winding wheel to engage the film's notches at the end, close the back, and make sure it's fully closed and locked. On the back of the camera is a sliding cover for the red window, which you use to wind the film and note the frame number. Wind the film until you reach the number 1, and you're now ready to take your first photo.

 A Morning at Moulton Falls:

 Once I pulled the Envoy Wide Angle off the shelf, I did what any curious wide‑angle fan would do: I loaded a roll of 120 and took it somewhere with space to breathe. My wife and I, along with our grand‑dog Bean, headed up to Moulton Falls in Washington, about 15 miles from home. It was a sunny day, but we went out early, while the sun was still low and brushing the trees and river with softer light.

 Knowing the Envoy really comes into its own at smaller apertures—f/16, f/22, even f/32—I chose 400‑speed film to give myself some flexibility in the forest shade and along the river. With a fixed‑focus lens, the only “decisions” you really make are shutter speed and aperture, so I quickly settled into that mindset: pick a stop for the depth of field I wanted, set a reasonable shutter speed, and let the camera do the rest.

Front view of Envoy Wide Angle, No. 2880.

 Moulton Falls is one of those places that suits a wide‑angle view: the arched bridge, the rocky river, the trees crowding the edges of the frame. It’s exactly the sort of scene where I’m always wishing I could see “just a bit more” to the left and right, and the Envoy happily obliged, giving me big, expansive 6×9 negatives from a very compact box.

My Results:

 Back from the walk, I was pleasantly surprised by what came out of that first roll. For a camera with no focusing mechanism at all, the Envoy’s lens is very sharp, with good contrast and a pleasing tonality across the 6×9 frame. Stopped down, the corners hold up better than you’d expect from a mid‑century wide‑angle box, and distortion is minimal as long as you keep the camera level.

 The 400‑speed film paired well with the slower shutter speeds and small apertures I was using under the trees and near the water. Scenes that could easily have turned muddy or soft came out crisp, with plenty of detail in the rocks, foliage, and bridge structure. For a “simple” camera, the negatives have a surprisingly modern look once scanned.

Final Thoughts:

 For something that looks like a straightforward box, the Envoy Wide Angle turns out to be a very capable wide‑angle 6×9 machine. The lens is sharp, contrasty, and handles scenery with confidence, as long as you respect its need to be stopped down. The fixed focus and sports finder mean it will never be a precision tool in the modern sense, but that’s part of its charm.

 This one is a keeper in my collection, both for its compact size and for the quality of the images it produces. I’d happily put it in the same conversation as the Brooks Plaubel Veri‑Wide, a fun, wide‑angle medium-format option, with the Envoy winning on simplicity and portability. If you enjoy wide‑angle cameras and can live with fixed focus and a guessy finder, it’s well worth tracking one down and adding it to your group of “user” cameras.

 I’d love to hear your thoughts—if you have an Envoy Wide Angle or another fixed‑focus wide‑angle medium-format camera you enjoy, let me know how you use it and what you like about it.​

 Here's a link to my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photos is my online eBay store where I sell some of the cameras I've reviewed, along with lenses, and other odd photo items. Please stop by and browse around. I list my items with a "make offer" option, so if you see something you like, make a fair offer, and I'll most likely accept. Let me know you saw my blog.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Rolleiflex SL66

My Rolleiflex SL66

As a photographer and photo industry professional for well over 50 years, I've had the privilege of working with just about every kind of camera you can imagine. From everyday 35mm SLRs and rangefinders to Hasselblad systems, I've logged a lot of miles with medium‑format gear as well.

 In the late 1990s, I represented Sinar, which meant regular time behind some of the finest large‑format cameras available. Later, repping Leaf digital backs put me in front of Mamiya RBs and 645s, Hasselblad V and H systems, Fuji GX680s, and the Contax 645. With all that variety, there was still one big gap in my experience: I had never actually photographed with a Rolleiflex SL66.

 About a year before I retired—so roughly three years ago—I finally had my chance. An SL66 with 80mm, 50mm, and 250mm lenses came up for auction online. I wasn't sure about the condition, but I rolled the dice and bid anyway.

 When I won the lot at a surprisingly low price, my first reaction wasn't joy; it was suspicion. Inexpensive cameras often have a story. To my surprise, the body turned out to be mint‑to‑near‑mint, and the lenses were in equally excellent shape. The real question, of course, was whether it worked.

 I pulled off the lens cap, removed the dark slide, cocked the shutter, and pressed the release. At a fast speed, the camera rewarded me with that beautiful, crisp shutter sound. Then came the real test: I set it to 1/2 second. The shutter opened, paused, and closed exactly as it should. At that point, I had a big grin on my face—I knew I had a mechanically healthy SL66 on my hands.

 And then, like so many good intentions, the camera went on a shelf.

Background: Rollei's Leap into SLRs

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For decades, "Rolleiflex" meant twin‑lens reflex. That changed with the introduction of the Rolleiflex SL66 at Photokina 1966, Rollei's serious move into the professional 6×6 SLR world. Designed as a studio‑oriented system to challenge Hasselblad, the SL66 combined a focal‑plane shutter, modular film backs, and interchangeable finders with familiar Rollei ergonomics: left‑hand focusing and right‑hand film advance.

 Rollei had explored the idea of a medium‑format SLR as far back as the mid‑1950s, but strong TLR sales kept those projects on the shelf until demand shifted and Hasselblad began to dominate professional work. When it finally arrived, the SL66 was a true "engineer's camera": bellows focusing, the ability to reverse‑mount lenses for close‑up work, and front‑standard tilt for plane‑of‑focus control—features that gave it some of the movements you'd normally associate with a view camera.

 Built from 1966 to 1982, the SL66 used 120/220 roll film in 6×6 backs and typically wore Carl Zeiss Planar glass, firmly placing it in the high‑end studio category. Later SL66E and SL66SE models added through‑the‑lens metering and improved electronics. Still, the core concept stayed the same: a heavy, extremely capable, close‑focus‑friendly studio machine in a world increasingly moving toward lighter, more electronic medium‑format systems.

My Camera

My Rolleiflex SL66 is a substantial camera. With the 80mm lens retracted, it measures about 7" front to back; with the bellows fully extended, it's closer to 9". It's roughly 6" wide thanks to the oversized focusing knob, about 4.5" tall with the waist‑level finder closed, and around 7" tall when the chimney is open. On the scale, the body with a back and an 80mm lens comes in at about 4 pounds, 4.5 ounces—this is not a casual walk‑around point‑and‑shoot.

That weight buys you some very unique capabilities. The standout feature is the built‑in bellows, which allows the SL66 to focus much closer than most medium‑format SLRs I've used. Mamiya RB/RZ cameras also use bellows and can get in tight, but the SL66 manages similar close‑focus versatility in a slightly more compact, much lighter and a better‑balanced package. For anyone who loves close‑up or macro work, that alone makes the camera worth a serious look.

The second signature feature is the double-bayonet lens mount, primarily used with the 50mm, 80mm, and 150mm lenses. The lenses can mount in the normal way, with automatic aperture operation, or be reversed on the body for even greater magnification. In reversed mode, the aperture becomes manual: you open up to focus, then stop down to your chosen aperture for the exposure. It's slower than modern macro setups, but the flexibility it provides is excellent for tabletop and product work.

In addition to bellows and reverse mounting, the SL66 offers up to 8 degrees of lens tilt. That tilt lets you "lay down" the plane of focus, bringing more of a product or subject into sharpness at wider apertures. In practice, it means I can photograph something like a 35mm cassette and its box at close range and keep both on‑axis surfaces acceptably sharp without having to stop down to the smallest apertures.

Unlike Hasselblad V‑series cameras, which use leaf shutters in the lenses, the SL66 uses a focal‑plane shutter in the body, with speeds from 1 second to 1/1000 plus "B" for long exposures. Flash sync is limited to 1/30, but for studio or location strobe work, the flash duration actually stops motion, so I haven't found the 1/30 sync speed to be a practical limitation with decent strobes. The shutter speed dial is integrated into the film advance: you pull out the handle, advance clockwise until it stops, then swing it back counterclockwise to cock the shutter for the next frame. Inside the crank is a multiple‑exposure switch, which makes stacking exposures on one frame very straightforward once you know where to find it.

The SL66 lens lineup was designed by Carl Zeiss, and it shows. Optically, the lenses I have are excellent, with contrast and sharpness fully in the "top tier" I expect from Zeiss glass. The system spans from 30mm all the way to 1000mm, and Rollei also offered two leaf‑shutter lenses—an 80mm Distagon and a 150mm Sonnar—with flash sync up to 1/500 for shooters who need higher sync speeds. In my experience so far, the standard lenses deliver exactly the kind of image quality you want from a camera of this size and weight.

 The film back system is well thought out. The standard back takes either 120 or 220 film, and you can get inserts and backs for 6×6 or 6×4.5. The dark slide parks neatly on the back when you're shooting, which means you're not constantly wondering where you set it down. Loading is similar to Mamiya's insert‑based backs: open the door, pull the insert, load the film, reinsert, then wind to the first frame. A pop‑out winding wheel on the side of the back helps tension and advance the film before the main crank takes over. Once you've shot the twelve frames on 120, the wheel pops back out to let you wind the roll off before opening the back.

On the camera body's left side is that big focusing knob, which doubles as a reference for the lens in use; you can pull it out and set it for your focal length. The knob turns quite a bit when you're focused in tight, but the throw is smooth and precise. Just ahead of it is the tilt control: a locking lever and wheel for setting and securing the lens tilt angle. The body also carries a cold shoe for accessories and a pair of covered flash sync ports. Up top, pressing the chrome button opens the waist‑level finder, and a second press pops up the magnifier for critical focusing.

I use an L‑grip that mounts into the bottom quick‑mount slot alongside the tripod socket. That grip transforms the camera from a studio brick into something I'm comfortable hand‑holding for a walk, letting my left hand manage focus and support while my right handles shutter release and film advance. It doesn't make the SL66 light, but it does make it surprisingly usable off a tripod.

My Results

When I finally pulled the SL66 off the shelf this year, I decided not to overthink it. I loaded a roll of film, stepped out into my neighborhood on an uncharacteristically sunny February day in the Pacific Northwest, and treated it like any other camera I'd take for a walk. The first few frames were simple subjects—houses, trees, textures—mainly to get a feel for the shutter sequence, the advance, and how the camera balanced with the L‑grip in hand.

 What struck me almost immediately was how deliberate the camera feels. The weight and long focus throw slow you down in a good way; you don't "spray and pray" with an SL66. Composing on the waist‑level finder is a pleasure: the screen is bright, the magnifier makes critical focusing easy, and the big focus knob lets you land focus precisely rather than hunting back and forth. By the time I finished that first roll, the camera felt intuitive in a way only a well‑designed mechanical tool can.

Back at home, I wanted to see what the SL66 could really do in its natural habitat: close‑up work. I set up a small scene with a 35mm film cassette and its box, first focusing as close as I could with the lens in the normal position. Even without reversing the lens, the built‑in bellows let me get in surprisingly tight. Then I flipped the lens around on the double bayonet mount and repeated the setup. The difference in magnification was obvious—the frame filled with the cassette and text on the box —and the tilt function came into its own, letting me hold both the front and top surfaces in focus at a reasonable working aperture.

My apologies for the dusty images.

I also pointed the camera at a plant in my office, working closely again. Here, the combination of bellows, tilt, and that Zeiss glass really shone: crisp detail where I wanted it, smooth falloff where I didn't, and a rendering that feels more like a small view camera than a traditional medium‑format SLR. The process is slower than with a modern macro lens and autofocus, but the results—and the experience of making the images—are deeply satisfying.

Conclusion: Is the SL66 the Best Medium‑Format SLR?

In my personal opinion, the Rolleiflex SL66 is the best medium‑format single‑lens reflex camera I've ever used. It isn't the lightest, fastest, or most convenient option, but as a creative tool—especially for close‑up, product, and careful location work—it's truly exceptional.

 Why I let it sit so long is beyond me. The camera is a joy to shoot, and the results justify the effort. Small design touches like the dark‑slide holder, the smart film advance on the back, the generous close‑focusing via bellows, and the ability to reverse lenses for even greater magnification all add up to a macro photographer's dream. The overall build quality, leatherwork, and control layout make it feel every bit the premium instrument it was intended to be.

 That said, it's important to be honest about the downsides. The SL66 is heavy and bulky compared with many 6×6 systems; accessories and lenses can be harder to find and more expensive than Hasselblad equivalents, and the focal‑plane shutter's 1/30 flash sync may be a deal‑breaker for some styles of studio work. It's also an older, complex mechanical camera, which means a good technician and a healthy maintenance budget are essential.

 If you value portability, fast handling, and high sync speeds above all else, there are better choices. But if you're drawn to careful composition, close‑up and tabletop work, and you appreciate a camera that rewards deliberate, thoughtful photography, the Rolleiflex SL66 is tough to beat. It has become one of my favorite medium‑format cameras, and I fully expect it to see regular use.

 Thank you for taking the time to learn about my new favorite medium‑format camera. I'd love to hear your experiences with the SL66—or your questions about this or any of my other camera reviews—and if you're curious about owning one yourself, feel free to stop by my eBay store, Cuny's Cameras and Photos, to see what I currently have available.

Sakura Bakelite camera

The 1930s Sakura Bakelite: A pocket-sized piece of Japanese history with a surprisingly modern 'X' design.

Looking through my camera collection, I wanted to find something more unusual to write about this week. When I picked up the Sakura camera in its case, I didn't think much about it until I opened the camera's case and saw the writing inside. 

 The writing said, "K. Kitayama" along the bottom, and "kin" on the right and kizyun" on the left, so my immediate thought was to try and do some research to see if I could find the ancestors of the camera, or possibly even the owner of the camera. 

 Since the camera was released in Japan in 1937, I imagined the original owner might still be alive, but the chances are slim. Also, since the lettering was in English and not Japanese, the camera was brought to the US by the owner, but when? 

 Looking more closely at the case, there is a red stamp on the inside top. It appears to be in Japanese, but it's pretty faded; there's also a number "74" that is pretty visible in the lower right corner. So, did the camera enter the US in 1974 when the owner brought it here from Japan, and was it stamped by customs or the Japanese government before leaving?

 Also, when I took the camera out of the case to inspect it for this week's blog, on the back wall of the case is a signature written in ink that appears to be a name starting with K. and Kizyun? I tried many different Google searches for different spellings. While I find these things fascinating, my chances of finding the original owner, or possibly some family members, are very slim. Still, my passion for finding the original owner remains. 

Have you ever found a piece of gear with a name inscribed on it? I'd love to hear your detective stories in the comments.

 Now that I've spent way too many hours going down the rabbit hole trying to find out who the camera belonged to, let me tell you more about the camera itself.

My Sakura Bakelite camera

 The Sakura (Bakelite) camera is an odd, oval-shaped model made by Konishiroku in the late 1930s. Konishiroku was the original company that became Konica. While the Sakura camera is a very basic model that I'll describe below, I understand it's rather rare.

 Sakura, meaning "Cherry" in Japanese, was a short-lived brand produced by Konishiroku during the 1930s. Their most popular items were a series of 3 different, beautifully colored, Sakura Box cameras. One of the cameras used 127-sized film for its 4x6.5cm format. In contrast, their larger cameras were 4.6x6cm or 6x9cm format cameras on 120 film. These cameras are also very collectible and rare items.

 

Konishiroku Before World War II:


The story of Konishiroku (the predecessor to Konica) is essentially the birth of the Japanese photographic industry. Long before it became a global imaging giant, the company began in 1873 when Rokusaburo Sugiura began selling photographic and lithographic materials at Konishiya Rokuemon, a traditional pharmacy in Tokyo.

Ad for Sakura camera from Camera-Wiki

 By 1876, Sugiura moved the photographic department to a dedicated shop called Konishi Honten. This move was visionary; at the time, photography was a fledgling Western import, yet Sugiura foresaw its cultural and commercial potential in Meiji-era Japan.

 In the late 19th century, Japan relied almost entirely on imported cameras and chemicals from Europe and America. Konishi Honten sought to change this. In 1902, the company established the Rokuoh-sha factory in Tokyo, marking a pivotal shift from a mere retailer to a pioneer manufacturer.

Just one year later, in 1903, they released the Cherry Portable Camera. This was Japan's first brand-name camera, a simple box-type unit that democratized photography for the Japanese public, much like the Kodak Brownie did in the West.

 Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, the company refined its engineering to compete with high-end German imports. Several key milestones defined this pre-war era:

 

  • The Pearlette (1925): Based on the Vest Pocket Kodak, this folding camera became an icon in Japan, remaining in production in various forms for decades.

  • The Lily and Idea series: These cameras showed Konishiroku's ability to produce sophisticated folding and plate cameras that appealed to serious amateurs and professionals.

  • Establishment of the "Konishiroku" name: In 1921, the company reorganized as a partnership, and by 1936, it was incorporated as Konishiroku Honten Co., Ltd.

 By the mid-1930s, Konishiroku was not just making camera bodies; it was a master of the entire "imaging chain." They produced Sakura brand cameras, film, and photographic paper. In 1935, they began developing their own high-quality lenses under the Hexar name.

 As the 1930s drew to a close, the Japanese government began consolidating the industry for the war effort. Konishiroku's precision manufacturing was increasingly diverted toward military optics, such as aerial cameras and rangefinders. However, the foundation they built—combining retail savvy with deep technical manufacturing—ensured that when the "Konica" brand eventually debuted in the post-war era, it was backed by over 70 years of institutional expertise.

My Camera:

 My Sakura Bakelite camera is an odd, oval-shaped camera with a pull-out front lens used for taking photos, and it retracts when it's in its case for transport. It's only 3.75" wide by 2.75" tall, including the film winding knob, and 2" deep with the lens retracted or 3" with the lens extended. It only weighs 6.1 ounces without film in the camera.

The camera is a rich, dark brown Bakelite with slight mottling and a grainy finish, giving it a nice texture. SAKURA is molded in Bakelite at the top of the pull-out lens area. There is a smooth "X" shape on the faceplate as well, with the lens centered at the "X"'s intersection. 

X design and controls on the face of the Sakura camera

The Sakura camera is extremely basic. Its fixed-focus Rokuoh-Sha Tokyo lens and lack of adjustable apertures make it simple to use, making it ideal for casual photography or quick snapshots. The shutter settings are either "I" for instant or "B" for bulb, used for timed exposures. The shutter is set by a chrome arrow pointing to the desired setting. The shutter release is just below the shutter setting. It is a longer, curved lever, emphasizing its straightforward design for beginners or vintage enthusiasts interested in minimalistic cameras.

On top of the Sakura camera is a chrome pull-up viewfinder in the front, along with a pop-up pointer in the rear, which you use to center your subject before taking the photo. Also, at the top of the camera is the film winding knob, which has an unusual numbering system. The idea is that you start at number 1, then turn the nob to number 2, which is the proper amount of length to get the film to the next frame. I didn't use this method, but used the red window on the back of the camera to find the frame numbers. The red window also features a sliding chrome cover that opens or closes as needed.

At the bottom of the camera is a tripod socket for timed exposures. However, there is no cable release socket, as is generally used for this. Also at the bottom is a lever that locks or unlocks the film chamber, allowing it to be removed from the camera for loading or unloading film. Once the chamber is unlocked, the film chamber lifts up from the top of the camera, but this can only be done when the lens is extended; otherwise, the lens blocks the chamber in the camera body. Once the lens is extended, the film chamber extends from the top of the camera, and you can load film to take photos. Once loaded, slide the film chamber back into the camera body, lock it into place, set the frame counter to 1, and you're ready to snap some photos.

My Results:

 I took two rolls of film with the Sakura camera because the first roll turned out so poorly. It didn't dawn on me that a couple of things happened when shooting the first roll. The first thing I noticed was that I forgot to pull the lens out of the camera body while shooting, but only for the first 1-2 photos, which resulted in some pretty unusual, very out-of-focus images. 

 The second thing that happened was when I was shooting the first roll, I was pulling the shutter speed lever in place of the shutter release, then when I found the shutter release, the shutter speed was set to "B", so all of these images were blurry from motion, as well as overexposed.

 So I loaded a second roll after seeing the disaster from my first roll, and #1 made sure the lens was extended, and #2, I put my finger on the shutter release lever before framing the photo so I wouldn't accidentally pull the shutter settings from "I" to "B". The second roll turned out much better than the first, and while I'm embarrassed by the first, I needed to share my experience with the camera.

 Once I figured out the mistakes, the images actually turned out very nicely.

Conclusion:

 The Sakura was fun to shoot with, but the frustration of the first roll must have befuddled the original users, too. Putting the shutter control on the top of the shutter release made for an interesting, but frustrating, experience. If the company had switched the shutter release with the shutter controller, the experience could have been better. At least switching the "B" and "I" settings would have been helpful.

 Still, I enjoyed using the Sakura bakelite camera. There's still something gnawing at me: who and where, and the story behind this little, oddly shaped Bakelite camera that's approaching 90 years old.

Quick question: Have you ever found a piece of gear with a name inscribed on it? I'd love to hear your detective stories in the comments.

 Thank you for learning about this wonderful and rare Japanese camera, made just before World War II.

 Here is a list of my other CAMERA REVIEWS, with links.

 Cuny's Cameras & Photos is my online eBay store where I sell many of the cameras I've reviewed, along with other photos and camera accessories.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Welta Superfekta

My Welta Superfekta camera

Not being wealthy, my collecting has always been focused on cameras well within our family's financial means. Up until my final ten years of working and before retirement, the cameras I purchased were items you could find at local flea markets and estate sales, or occasionally I made a trade for an item while selling at a camera show where I had a table.

 Being drawn to obscure and unusual cameras and having devoured McKeown's Camera Guide for many years, the Welta Superfekta is one camera I've always dreamed of adding to my collection. Due to its price and relative scarcity in the U.S., it's always been out of reach for me until this past few years.

 It wasn't until I looked at an online camera auction that I found the Welta Superfekta at a price that was not only reasonable but also inexpensive. Online, the camera looked in good to decent condition, but they said the shutter was erratic. To me, those words mean I'll need to send the camera in for a shutter repair, which isn't too uncommon for a camera reaching 100 years old. 

 I purchased the Welta Superfekta online, and when the camera arrived, as suspected, its shutter was extremely sluggish and needed to be CLA'd. I reached out to the person I usually send cameras for servicing, and he confirmed he could service the shutter but wasn't sure about other areas of the camera, as he wasn't too familiar with it.

The excitement of adding the Welta Superfekta to my collection was wonderful, especially since it's a 6x9 cm-format camera that takes 120 film. Still, the more exciting part of the camera is that it's very similar to the Cornu Ontoflex, which has a rotating back, allowing the photographer to shoot both vertically and horizontally without turning the camera sideways. Just rotate the back from vertical to horizontal and flip the image orientation, as with the Mamiya RB67.

 The one thing I noticed when I turned my camera from vertical to horizontal is that the back doesn't turn all the way, which makes me curious about its history. This flaw, while concerning, adds character and a story to the camera, resonating with collectors who appreciate Imperfections.  

Another reason for my excitement to add the Welta Superfekta to my collection is that it would be the third folding Twin Lens camera in my collection. I had already purchased and written about both the Welta Perfekta and the Zeh Zeca-Flex cameras, making this the “Trifecta” of this camera style.

Welta Superfekta, Perfekta and Zeh Zeca-Flex camera.

Welta before World War II:

 The history of Welta Kamerawerke leading up to World War II is a testament to the rapid innovation and high-precision craftsmanship that defined the German photographic industry in the early 20th century. Founded in 1914 by Walter Waurich and Theodor Weber in Freital, near Dresden, the company began as "Waurich & Weber" before adopting the "Welta" brand name that would eventually become synonymous with high-end folding cameras.

French ad for the Welta Perfekta and Superfekta cameras

 In its first decade, Welta focused on the transition from heavy glass-plate cameras to the more versatile roll-film formats. By the 1920s, Freital and the surrounding Dresden area had become the global epicenter of camera manufacturing, and Welta held its own against giants like Zeiss Ikon. Their early success was built on the folding camera—a design that allowed a high-quality lens and shutter to collapse into a slim, leather-covered metal body.

 The 1930s marked Welta's "Golden Era." During this decade, the company moved beyond standard designs to create some of the most mechanically complex cameras ever made. While competitors were focusing on the emerging 35mm trend, Welta mastered the 120 roll-film market with innovative models like:

 

  • The Weltur: A rangefinder folding camera known for its incredible build quality and integrated viewfinders.

  • The Perfekta and Superfekta: These folding Twin Lens Reflex (TLR) cameras were engineering marvels, offering the ground-glass focusing of a studio camera in a portable, collapsing frame.

  • The Welti: A foray into the 35mm market that proved Welta could compete with the Leica in terms of precision and optics, often featuring high-end Carl Zeiss Jena or Schneider lenses.

 Welta's pre-war philosophy was to offer a variety of price points without sacrificing mechanical integrity. You could find a simple Welta Trio for the casual hobbyist, or a Superfekta with a rotating back for the professional who demanded perfection. This versatility allowed Welta to export heavily to the UK and the United States, where their cameras were often rebranded for local retailers.

 By the late 1930s, Welta was a premier name in photography. However, as Germany shifted toward a war economy, production began to pivot away from consumer optics. After the war, Freital was part of the Soviet occupation zone (later East Germany), and Welta was eventually absorbed into the state-owned VEB Pentacon, marking the end of its era as an independent, family-founded innovator.

My Camera:

 My Welta Superfekta camera is 7.5" tall without the light chimney opened, and 10" with it opened, by 4" wide, and 3.5" deep with the body retracted, and 6.25" deep when the body of the camera is extended. The camera weighs 3 pounds, 0.2 ounces without film, so it has some heft.

To extend the camera body away from the film chamber, press the silver button on the right side of the camera body, located just below the film winding lever. Pressing the button quickly extends the camera lens area, and you'll be able to see the bellows. By doing so, you'll see how the camera gets its name, a folding twin-lens camera. When I extended the camera's front from the rear, I noticed the bellows were in excellent light-tight condition.

 My camera has a 7.5cm f/3.5 Weltaskop viewing lens, along with a Carl Zeiss Jena 10.5 F/3.5 Tessar taking lens, so the viewing lens is wider than the taking lens, and the taking lens is in a Compur-Rapid shutter with shutter speeds from 1/400 to 1 sec. along with "B", and "T". The focus lever is located on the left side of the lens when you're holding the camera, and it slides up and down to focus on your subject. 

There is also a focus scale along the top of the camera, between the Welta sign on the film body and the Superfekta sign on the lens area. As you slide the focus lever up and down, you'll see a triangle move from side to side, indicating the distance to the subject on the focus scale, which is in meters.

 Along the back of the camera, by the viewfinder, there is a button to press to open the light chimney. The light chimney popped up, and along one side is a depth-of-field scale for the camera, and on the front is the magnifying lens, which flips as it should. 

On the back of the film body is another sliding lever that you move to the left, in the direction of the arrow, and the back will open. Opening the back of the camera, I noticed that the film advance roller, which activates the frame counter, is missing, so the frame counter isn't operational on this camera. Luckily, there is a red window on the back door so you can see the numbers being transported as you roll the film from one image to the next. 

 I also noticed a paper sign glued to the inside of the back door at the top, which read, "non si girare il rullo che nel senso della freccia" (translation from Italian to English: "do not turn the roller in the direction of the arrow").  This message on the inside tells me the camera is originally from Italy. I guess the camera was made for the Italian market, but the reseller may have added that; I'm not certain. Still, it's interesting that a German camera was sold in Italy and found its way to the USA.

To load the camera with film, the chamber where you put in a fresh roll of film pulls up to make it easier to put in the film, which is a nice feature in the camera. Otherwise, the camera loads just like many roll film cameras, but it would have been nice to have a frame counter that advances from the roller on the back to indicate the frame numbers. I'll just have to do it the "old-fashioned" way and look through the red window to get to the next frame when I shoot.

To collapse the camera lens area into the camera body, you'll need to press in two silver buttons on the front of the camera, placed between the viewing and taking lens, and press the lens area into the film body, which is extended by a couple of scissor struts on each side of the camera. Be sure to retract the camera stand leg, under the front lens area, just behind the tripod socket, before closing the camera. If you don't do this, the camera will not close. I know because I've tried a few times by accident.

 When you close the camera, another interesting thing is that there's a roller at the tip of the film area on the outside. When you close the lens into the film body, the viewfinder rolls along the roller, sliding it forward and covering the focus scale. Given that the camera is almost 100 years old, it's still interesting how it opens and closes mechanically. 

If you don't want to rotate the film chamber when shooting, there is a flip-up sports-type finder on the side of the camera you can use if that's easier for taking horizontal images. It just gives the photographer another option when using the camera.

 

My Results:

 I don't have a case that fits my Welta Superfekta camera. The camera doesn't have the standard loops you can snap into a carrying strap, so when I went out shooting a few times, I just put it in a pouch-style case to carry it and took it out when I was ready to shoot.

 Looking at the side of the camera, there are a couple of studs and other areas where a strap might fit, but without a manual or a nomenclature for the items on the camera, I'm unsure what they are used for.

 I took the Welta Superfekta out a couple of times to shoot with: once to a local lake and another time while walking around the neighborhood to get closer-up images.

 Here are the results from my two times using the camera.

Conclusion:

 The camera's results underwhelmed me, as one of two things is happening. First, I didn't think the images would be as sharp as I had imagined; that may be because something happened to the camera, like a drop or impact, which is also why the camera doesn't flip all the way horizontally when shooting. 

 My weakening eyesight may also cause it, but because of eye surgery I had last year on my right and dominant eye, I'm becoming more and more dependent on using my left eye for focusing, which is difficult for me at times. Personally, I feel it's more the first issue: something tweaked the camera body, and the lens doesn't align properly, which is why I wanted to shoot the second, more close-up images walking through the neighborhood.

 Nonetheless, it's somewhat awkward to hold without a neck strap to keep it steady. Still, I absolutely love the camera's ability to rotate the film back for both vertical and horizontal photography. It's a wonderful camera to have in my collection, and for the price paid, even with the servicing, it's still a bargain.

Welta Perfekta and Superfakta side views

 Thank you for taking the time to learn about this wonderful photographic marvel from almost 100 years ago.

 Here's a link to my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photo is my online eBay store, which sells some of the cameras reviewed, along with many camera and photo accessories.

 Until next week, please be safe.

No. 3B Quick Focus Kodak

My No. 3B Quick Focus Kodak camera

As I've mentioned in several of my posts, I've always been drawn to the odd, unusual, colored, or panoramic cameras, so when I had the opportunity to purchase a No. 3B Quick Focus Kodak many years ago, I jumped at the chance. 

 I found this camera while visiting an antique store during a business trip to Philadelphia. During my sales calls, if I had some spare time between appointments, I'd seek out antique malls and stores close to where I was and spend some time looking to see if there was anything interesting. On this particular day, as I was upstairs in the shop's attic, which was musty and smelled of stale air, I found the No. 3B Quick Focus Kodak.

 Not knowing much about the camera beyond seeing it in McKeown's Camera Price Guide, it appeared to be in decent condition. I started turning dials and pressing buttons to get a sense of the camera's condition. 

 It appeared to be pretty solid, but there were a few flaws, but when I looked at the price tag, which was only $25.00, I figured I give it a shot, so I brought it downstairs to talk to the shop owner, and asked if they'd offer a slight discount on the camera, and I offered them $20.00, which they took. The shop owner said the camera's been up in the attic for many years and was happy to give it a new home where it would be appreciated.

Front view of No. 3B Quick Focus Kodak

 Now that I had the camera in hand, I was setting the camera in the car seat next to me, getting ready to go to my next appointment, the thought of how was I going to get the camera home, since all I had was a carry on bag, and my case for my computer, and other office related gear which I brought with me during sales calls.

 Luckily for me, this wasn't the first time I've run into this issue. There have been time during my travels, that I've had to cram so many items, mainly cameras or lenses in my suitcase, I'd be afraid that I'd struggle lifting the suitcase over my head due to the weight of it, but I've always managed to move items around in my suitcase, fitting even larger items, like the No. 3B Quick Focus camera in there and safely transporting them home safely tucked securely in my carry-on bag.

 While the camera looks very ordinary on the outside, resembling many other box-style cameras, the one thing that sets it apart is its ability, as the name suggests, to focus quickly on the subject. This system is still just a guestimate process as there is no ground glass or focus screen in the camera. Still, rather than setting a wheel in the later versions or sliding a bar to an approximate distance from you to the subject, press a button. The camera springs the lens to an approximate distance from the film plane, replicating the distance required to produce a sharp image on the film.

 I've owned the No. 3B Quick Focus camera for more than 20 years, and it wasn't until I was going through some boxes of cameras I have that I came across the camera. Looking at the camera, it's in relatively good condition for a camera made between 1905 and 1911, with only a few modifications. The main difference was that earlier versions had a sliding lever to adjust the focus distance, whereas later versions used a circular wheel.



 Early Kodak History:

 The period between 1880 and 1910 was a time of rapid innovation in industrial history, transforming photography from a complex process into a popular hobby, which makes owning a camera from this era especially meaningful for history buffs and enthusiasts.

Early Kodak Advertisment

 Before 1880, photographers had to use "wet plates," which required coating glass with chemicals and developing them immediately before the emulsion dried. In 1880, George Eastman began manufacturing dry plates in Rochester, New York. These could be stored and sold, effectively decoupling the act of taking a photo from the chemistry of preparing it. In 1884, he transitioned from glass to paper film rolls, a pivot that laid the technical foundation for the modern snapshot.

 In 1888, the first Kodak Camera was released. It was a simple box pre-loaded with enough film for 100 exposures. When the roll was finished, the owner sent the entire camera back to the factory. Kodak would develop the film, print the photos, and return the camera reloaded with new film. This "System of Photography" changed the medium's identity from a technical craft to a consumer hobby.

 By 1889, Eastman Kodak introduced transparent nitrocellulose film, which was flexible and clear. This wasn't just a win for photographers; it was the catalyst for the motion picture industry, as it provided Thomas Edison with the material needed to create the first movies.

In 1900, the Brownie camera was launched. Selling for just $1 (with 15-cent film rolls), it was marketed specifically to children. It solidified Kodak's "Razor and Blade" business model: sell the hardware at cost to create a permanent market for the consumables (film and chemicals).

 By the end of the first decade of the 20th century, Kodak had streamlined its corporate structure and expanded into Europe. The company pioneered the "Folding Pocket Kodak" during this time, making cameras small enough to travel anywhere. By 1910, Eastman Kodak wasn't just a company; it was a monopoly of the "snapshot," having successfully democratized the visual record of human life.

My Camera:

 My No. 3B Quick Focus camera is 7" tall by 8.25 " long with the lens retracted, and 4.75" wide, and weighs 2 pounds, 13.4 ounces. The serial number of my camera is 7380K, which you can find on the inside of the plate covering the shutter on the front of the camera. Thank you to Pacific Rim, which has a No. 3B Quick Focus Kodak manual.

The camera has two viewfinders: one on the top for vertical images, and, when turned on its side, one for horizontal images. The camera's shutter release is on the right side; it's a "one motion" release, meaning you slide it down, and the shutter opens and closes. Then slide the shutter release up, and it repeats the open/close motion.

 Also on the right side of the camera is the aperture setting, which is controlled by pulling out a lever to three different positions to set the aperture. Below the aperture settings is another lever you use to set the shutter speed to instant when the lever is in, or to time exposure when you pull it out. In time exposure, you'll need to flip the shutter release up or down to open the shutter, then back to close it.

The strap on my camera is broken, and on the right side of the camera is the wheel to set the distance, as you guessed, but unfortunately, the button to focus the camera is missing. I put in a temporary item, similar to a large thumb tack, to activate the "quick focus" mechanism.

 Mechanically, the camera focuses quickly when you set the wheel to the proper distance, and the lens springs to the focused position very quickly. At this point, since the camera appeared to be in good working order, I figured it was time to put some film in and write a blog post about it. 

It's at this point that I decide to write about a certain camera, only to run into snags that make the process of making images and writing about the camera longer than anticipated. In my younger days, I didn't have the same patience as I do now, as I learned from many similar stories of starting a project: due to unforeseen issues, the process is longer than anticipated.

 When I took the back off the camera to inspect the film chamber, I noticed the negative size on this camera is enormous. The camera produces a 3 1/4" x 5 1/2" negative, also called "Postcard size," on a roll of daylight-loaded 125 film. On each 125-size film roll, the camera produced 10 images.

 Since 125 film is no longer available, I needed to adapt the camera to use a more modern roll film. Online, I found someone who makes adapters for new film to fit into older-style cameras, so I reached out to him, and for a nominal fee, he made me four adapters to fit 120-size film into 125-size cameras. At this point, I will likely purchase a 3D printer so I can do these things myself, but as mentioned earlier, that will pose a whole new set of issues that I'll need to address.

The No. 3B Quick Focus camera has a three-piece hinged back that comes off the camera by pressing in a small button on the top and bottom of the camera, which releases the locking mechanism and allows the camera's back to come off for loading and unloading of film. Due to the age of the camera, one of the hinges is in decent condition, but the other was rather worn, and on one of the times taking the back off, it tore off, and the back was in two pieces, which now needed to be repaired if I wanted to shoot with it.

 I purchased some thick, black book-binding tape, a cloth tape that will allow the back to move slightly while staying intact with the other pieces. The tape was applied on the inside and is very flat and non-reflective. With the back fixed, the film adapters made, I needed to mask off the area of the film opening to accommodate 120-size film, so I needed to mask it off to approximately 2.25" across.

 At the local hobby shop, I found some black, matte construction paper. I cut the construction paper to the desired length and width, and taped it to the back of the film chamber to mask the excess area needed for the 120 film.

After sitting in a box for more than 20 years, the camera's optics needed a good cleaning, so with Q-tips, lens cleaners, and lens tissues in hand, I gave the viewfinders and lenses a good cleaning, which they desperately needed.

 One other thing I needed to figure out was that, since the camera originally used 125-size film, there is a red window on the back so you can tell which frame number you're on. The red window won't work for the adapted 120 film, so I needed to see how much film would be wound per each turn of the advance knob. 

 I put a piece of paper on the spool and turned it one-half turn, which covered the spool. Then I measured that length and determined that it was approximately  1", so to cover the 5 1/4", I'd turn 3 full turns to get approximately 6" of film across the film area. The one thing I didn't know was how much paper backing there was on each roll before reaching the film itself. This I just guessed at and hoped I'd get 5 images per roll since each negative would be 2.25" x 5.25".

 With the camera's back off, I loaded film into the camera, then put the film back on. To guard against any light leaking into the camera through the taped hinge, I put some black painters' tape on the outside as well. Now it was time to go outside and see what the camera could do.

My Results:

 With film loaded in the camera and guessing at the film's approximate starting point, I walked through the neighborhood, estimated the distance to the subject, set the focus wheel of the No. 3B Quick Focus to that distance, and pressed the focus button. The lens sprang to the distance needed, and I took the photos.

 Here are the images I took during my walk through the neighborhood, knowing I'd only have 4-5 images to shoot.

Conclusion:

 Well, after all that work, I still had light leaks. They are all in the same direction and at the same place, so I didn't plug up any areas with a pinhole that caused the light leak.

 Taking the back off the camera and going into a dark room, I shone a light into certain areas around the shutter and the quick focus area. The only spot I saw a light leak was in the top area by the locking mechanism, which the cover itself should have covered.

 I'll need to do a bit more poking around to see what I can find, but overall, the images were good, aside from the light leak. I needed to take a few more close-up shots to check focus, but from what I can see, it turned out well, and it's a fun camera to shoot with.

 Overall, a fun and very good learning experience working with a 115-year-old camera.

 Thank you for taking the time to read about this camera and the issues I had to resolve to get it back to a usable state for shooting.

 Here's a link to my other Camera Reviews.

 Cuny's Cameras and Photo is my eBay online shop, where I sell cameras I've reviewed, along with other camera and photo oddities I've accumulated over my 50-plus years.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Lumiere LuxBox (Ver. 2)

My Lumiere LuxBox camera.

I was drawn to the Lumiere LuxBox, a camera I bought at a Paris flea market 20 years ago. Among other simple cameras, its unique shape and brown color caught my eye.

 When I picked up the camera, I saw it was in great shape. The two-speed shutter worked, there were two aperture settings on the lens, and the crinkle-finished metal body looked nice. I liked the lens pattern and the riveted nameplate on the front. The design reminded me of Ferrania Rondine cameras from Italy. You can unlock the film insert and remove it from the body from the side, unlike many other box cameras. The solid metal body was another thing I liked.

 After a short negotiation with the vendor, we agreed on a price. I paid, put the camera in my backpack, and moved on to the next tables at the market. Other than a group of fabulous glass negatives taken in the French countryside during the 1920s, the Lumiere LuxBox was the only camera purchased at the Paris flea market on this day.

 About 20 years later, and just a few weeks ago, I was searching for a camera to write about. The Lumiere LuxBox caught my attention again. I was somewhat familiar with the French Photographic Company, Lumiere, as I have previously written about another one of their wonderful miniature camera, the Super ELJY camera.

 Although I thought last week’s blog would be my final post of the year, its simplicity inspired me to shoot a roll of film and share a short article. So here I am, telling you about this relatively simple, ordinary, oddly shaped box camera from France, made in the early 1950s.

History:

 To give some background, Lumière was a pioneering French camera company founded by Charles-Antoine Lumière in Lyon in the late 19th century. The company became best known for the achievements of Auguste and Louis Lumière. Their innovations in motion-picture technology and color photography helped define early cinema and modern photographic materials.

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 The Lumière enterprise began as a manufacturer of photographic plates. Louis Lumière invented a highly sensitive "blue label" dry plate at the age of 17. This plate enabled much shorter exposure times and quickly became a commercial success. The company soon built a large factory in Lyon's Monplaisir district and became one of Europe’s major suppliers of photographic materials by the mid‑1890s.

 After their father saw Edison’s Kinetoscope in Paris, Auguste and Louis developed the Cinématographe, a lightweight device that could record, print, and project movies. Patented in 1895, it used perforated film and a claw mechanism, making it more practical than other systems. This led to the first public film screenings, including “Workers Leaving the Lumière Factory.” Imagine how exciting that was for photography fans then.

 By the early 1900s, Lumière stopped making films and focused on photographic technology, especially color processes. In 1903, they patented Autochrome Lumière, a color plate process that used dyed potato-starch grains. It was introduced in 1907 and became the first major color system widely used through the 1930s. Learning about these innovations makes me appreciate their cameras even more.

 Lumière began manufacturing cameras in the late 1920s and produced various models until about 1961. The company was purchased by Swiss firm Ciba in 1961 and later became part of Ilford France. For collectors like me, the Lumière name still stands out in early photography and cinema. sures 4.5 inches tall (including the eye-level finder), 4.25 inches deep, and 3 inches wide (including the film advance knob). It weighs 14.2 ounces without film loaded. 

My Camera:

 The LuxBox was introduced in 1933 and discontinued in 1937. It’s a classic box-style camera that takes 6x9cm photos on 120 film. The camera has shutter speeds from 1/75 to 1/25, plus "T" and "B" settings. It also has a focusable lens and was considered the most advanced box camera of its time.

The LuxBox was reissued from 1952 to 1954, which is when mine was made. It’s an all-metal camera without a leather covering, with a frosted Havana-colored paint finish. There is a small vertical eye-level finder on top for composing your shot. This version takes 6x9cm negatives with 620 film, which is very similar to 120 film but uses a different spool size.

The camera has a simple lens and shutter unit. The shutter provides two speeds: 1/75 (fast) and 1/25 (slow), plus a "B" (bulb) setting for manual exposure holding. There are two fixed-aperture settings at the 4:00 position (when facing the lens): "2" (wider opening for brighter images) and "1" (smaller opening for greater depth of field and less light). A PC flash port at 2:00 allows flash connection. There’s no cable socket for time exposures, so you must hold the shutter release manually for long exposures. The bottom of the camera has a standard tripod socket for stability.

To load film, find the locking button on the left. Slide it up to unlock, then pull the right side away from the body. Load film as with other box cameras.

 Move the empty take-up spool from the bottom compartment to the top so it can collect the unspooled film. Place the new roll of film into the bottom compartment, ensuring the ends of the spool fit securely into the peg slots. Pull the leader paper over the guide wheels and insert it into the empty spool’s slot. Turn the winding knob until the word "start" appears on the backing paper. Slide the film chamber back into the camera body and lock it in place with the button. Then, open the red window cover on the camera's back and turn the winding knob until the number "1" appears, indicating that the first exposure is ready.

This camera has a few technical settings.

 Let’s load film and see what results we get.

 

My Results:

 I loaded the camera with a roll of 100 ISO 620 film I keep for cameras like this. I probably should have used 400 ISO film, since it was overcast, though the sun peeked through at times. We took our daughter’s dog to the local dog park for exercise and photos.

 Here are some of the results from our walk at the Dog Park:

Conclusion:

 The camera is fun to use thanks to its extra shutter controls. As someone who likes the 6x9 cm format, I enjoy capturing a larger area in each photo.

 The main downside for me was the tiny viewfinder window. A standard waist-level finder would have made the camera easier to use and more like the original 1930s model.

 I think this model was brought back in the early 1950s to cut costs but still offer decent image quality. Although I may not use it again, testing it for this article let me revisit why it stood out to me in Paris, and now it has a place on the shelf among my other colored cameras.

 Feel free to check out my other camera reviews.

 If you’re interested in any of the cameras I’ve reviewed, you might find them in my eBay store, Cuny’s Cameras and Photos. I have lots of odd and unusual photo items for sale.

 Thanks for taking a few minutes to read about this mid-century French camera made after WWII.

 Until my next review, take care.

Voigtlander Prominent 35mm

My father-in laws Voigtlander Prominent

I'm unsure if I'll be able to get another posting out before the beginning of 2026, since Christmas and New Year's fall on the day I generally publish my reviews. Since this might be the final post for 2025, I wanted to make it a special review. 

 Special in the sense that, while the Voigtländer Prominent is an outstanding camera, what makes this camera especially special to me is that my father-in-law owned it, so it holds an even greater, much more cherished place in my collection.

 Let me tell you a bit about my father-in-law. He was the oldest of seven children living in a very small town named Sugar Creek, MO, just outside Independence. They were not a wealthy family, as the father worked at the local refinery. I was told that the house was so small that some of the children had to sleep in closets. At 18, he married my mother-in-law, who was only 17 at the time. By the time he was 22 and my mother-in-law was 21, they had three children.

 Soon after they were married, he joined the Army, where they were stationed in Augusta, GA, where my wife and the third child were born.  When my wife was only 6 months old, my father-in-law and the family were transferred to Naples, Italy. With his wife and three young children, my wife moved to Italy.

My father-in-law always had a passion for photography and, from what I'm told, purchased the Voigtländer Prominent while stationed overseas. After their time in Italy,  the family moved back to the USA. At this point, my father-in-law found a local camera store back near Kansas City, where he honed his photographic skills using the Voigtländer Prominent he purchased overseas.

Voigtlander logo and Prominent name on top of the camera.

 After the camera store, he was hired by Procter & Gamble to sell Duncan Hines cake mixes. He climbed the corporate ladder, moving his family with each promotion due to his outstanding managerial and sales skills. All the while, he still had a passion for photography. He was always taking photos of the family and eventually ended his career as a top executive at some of the largest Fortune 500 companies.

 This article is not only about a truly amazing camera, but also an ode to my father-in-law. Someone I looked up to in my career helped me in so many ways and was a warm, loving, generous, and caring individual. He passed away way too early from an auto accident, almost 30 years ago. We still have his Voigtländer Prominent, which he used, and it's in remarkable condition. For the final post, I wanted to write about this truly excellent camera, which means so much to all the family members.

 I've had the opportunity to purchase other Voigtländer prominent cameras, both the original and the Prominent II, with the standard Ultron and Heliar lenses, along with many different lenses and accessories for their cameras. Still, the camera from my father-in-law is off-limits. It will stay in my collection until I'm no longer around.

 I've reviewed other Voigtländer cameras, so I've written about their history in the past. Let me focus on the history of Voigtländer in a specific timeframe: after World War II, when they rebuilt a fantastic camera brand.

Voigtlander Post World War II:

 Voigtländer emerged from the Second World War with its Braunschweig factory largely intact and quickly resumed work under British military oversight, initially dedicating much of its output to Allied reparations until the new West German currency was introduced in 1949. This relatively undamaged industrial base, combined with a strong pre‑war optical tradition, allowed the firm to re‑establish itself rapidly as a key player in the post‑war German camera industry.​

 In the immediate post‑war years, Voigtländer revived and modernized pre‑war designs, adding new anti‑reflection coatings to lenses and continuing large‑format and medium‑format lens production. The company remained under the ownership of the chemicals and photographic‑paper firm Schering AG, which had acquired it in the 1920s, providing financial stability in a challenging economic climate.​

From Voigtlander Catalog Credit: Pacific Rim Camera

 The 1950s became Voigtländer's golden decade, marked by a broad range of high‑quality cameras and lenses that cemented its international reputation. Compact 35mm lines such as the Vito and the more sophisticated Vitessa appeared alongside the professional Prominent 35mm rangefinder. At the same time, optics like the Ultron, Nokton, Apo‑Lanthar, and Heliar established the brand as a leader in lens design. In 1952, Voigtländer introduced the Apo‑Lanthar 105 mm f/4.5, and in 1959, it launched the 36–82 mm f/2.8 Zoomar, one of the first interchangeable zoom lenses for 35mm still photography.​

 In 1956, Schering sold Voigtländer to the Carl Zeiss Foundation, bringing it into the same corporate orbit as Zeiss Ikon while initially keeping manufacturing and sales structures separate. Throughout the late 1950s and early 1960s, Voigtländer expanded into leaf‑shutter SLRs and advanced models such as the Bessamatic and Ultramatic, but the cameras were complex and costly to build. As Japanese manufacturers increased efficiency and undercut prices, Voigtländer's high production costs and conservative designs became major competitive disadvantages.​

 In 1965, Zeiss‑Ikon and Voigtländer's sales operations were combined, but falling sales led to the decision to cease camera production and close the Braunschweig factory on 4 August 1971, affecting over 2,000 employees. The physical works were reorganized as Optische Werke Voigtländer, with shared ownership between Zeiss, Rollei, and the state of Lower Saxony. By 1974, Rollei had taken complete control, continuing to produce lenses and cameras under the Voigtländer brand until its own financial collapse in the early 1980s.

 The trademark then passed through German photo retailers and, from 1999, has been licensed to Cosina in Japan, which uses the historic name on modern manual‑focus lenses and niche film cameras, giving Voigtländer a new life in the era of digital photography.

My Camera:

 My Voigtländer Prominent comes with the standard Ultron 50mm f/2.0 lens. The camera body serial # B 46551, and lens serial # 3782651. With this camera, there is a Voigtländer UV filter that I generally leave on the camera, along with a yellow filter for black-and-white photography, a rectangular metal lens hood, and the fitted brown camera case. The camera is 5.5" wide by 3.5" tall by 3.5" deep, and weighs 2 pounds, 0.8 ounces without film.

 The Voigtländer Prominent has some weight to it, and for me, it feels very comfortable in my hands. Maybe because it resembles an SLR more, like what most people are used to with rangefinder cameras. The camera has a somewhat peculiar layout and is something you'll need to get used to.

When you put the camera to your eye, the viewfinder is on the right side of the camera, which, for many, is different. The majority of cameras have the viewfinder either centered or more to the left than to the right. The focusing ring isn't on the lens, but located on the rewind knob. As you turn the outside of the rewind knob, generally used to rewind the film in the film cassette when you're done with the roll, on the Voigtländer Prominent, it focuses the lens. 

Looking through the viewfinder, the rangefinder is bright, with the yellowed area in the center clearly visible. With your left hand, turn the outer ring of the rewind knob to focus on your subject. Once the image is in focus, take your photo. Under the focus distance is the camera's depth of field guide for the aperture used. 

To take a photo, on the right-hand side of the camera is the film advance lever; wind it clockwise to advance the film. The same motion that advances the film also moves an internal bar that cocks the shutter. The shutter speed dial on the Syncro-Compur shutter is set by turning a ring just in front of the shutter cocking lever. The shutter speeds on this camera go from 1/500 to 1 sec, with "B" for timed exposures. According to the Voigtländer Prominent camera manual, it's best to set the 1/500 shutter speed before winding the camera, which cocks the shutter. You can set any shutter speed once the camera's shutter is cocked, but 1/500's not recommended.

If you want to use the camera's self-timer, it can be manually set by pulling down on the shutter's cocking lever once the camera is cocked. This sets the camera's self-timer to approximately 10 seconds when the shutter release is depressed. The camera's shutter release is the larger button on the top of the camera, just to the left of the film transport knob. Behind the shutter release is the cable release socket for timed exposures.

Top view of Voigtlander Prominent camera

Looking at the lens, the aperture is set by turning the aperture ring in the direction that produces a properly exposed image. On the Ultron 50mm lens, the aperture goes from F/2.0 to F/16. To remove the lens from the body, on the bottom of the lens is a large button you press in; interestingly, you can remove the lens by turning it left or right. Likewise, to put the lens onto the camera body, make sure the large button is on the bottom. You can mount the lens either to the right or left as long as the button end is on the bottom.

 Since the camera utilizes a leaf-style shutter as opposed to the standard focal plane shutter, the flash will sync at any shutter speed, which allows the photographer the ability to control the ambient light with flash much better, and this makes film cameras such as Hasselblad and Rolleiflex cameras ideal for weddings, portraiture, and commercial studio work. On the front of the camera, at the 11:00 position, is the PC sync for flash, along with the flash settings: "X" for electronic flash or "M" for flash bulbs.

To load film into the Voigtländer Prominent camera, on the left side of the camera are two buttons you press to open the camera's back door. Once open, you load the 35mm film just as you would any other 35mm camera. Push up the rewind shaft, drop in the 35mm cassette, and bring the leader over to the camera's take-up spool. Thread the leader into the take-up spool slot and wind the film advance. Make sure the film's sprocket holes are in the drive gears and take up the slack. Before closing the back of the film door, I like to turn the rewind knob to take up the slack in the film cassette, so when I close the back and wind to the first frame, I watch the rewind knob turn to make sure the film is actually moving within the camera.

 Once you close the back door, the frame counter needs to be set manually. To do this, lift up on the winding knob, then turn the camera's frame counter to "F" to give you a couple of turns on the film advance until you get to frame number 1.

When you're done with the roll of film, you'll need to rewind it into the film cassette. The rewind knob has an arrow pointing outward. Push the button outwards, and the rewind handle will pop up. Just below the cable release socket is a small button labeled "R". Press the "R" button to disengage the transport gear, then turn the rewind knob clockwise to rewind the film into the film cassette. Once the film is rewound, open the camera back, process the film, and reload the camera with more film. 

 

My Results:

 I loaded the Voigtländer Prominent with a roll of 200-speed film and took one of our dogs to the local dog park to get the pooch some exercise, taking photos of a different area than walking through the neighborhood as I usually do.

 Here are some photos from the local dog park and the shadows on my back patio on a beautifully sunny day in the Portland Area in December. It wasn't a typical December day in this area, so I wanted to make the most of it.

Conclusion:

 I really love this camera. The images are incredibly sharp, and this camera gives Leica and Contax a run for their money. It's exceptionally well-built, the lenses are tremendous, and I like the camera's size and weight.

 The system's weakest link is its lack of lenses, and for many, the camera's focus is a drawback. I've read that people don't like having the viewfinder on the right side, which makes it more challenging for them to use the camera. I don't find it annoying, as others do.

 Here's a link to my other Camera Reviews.

 If you're looking for a camera, lens, or other photo oddity, please stop by my eBay store, Cuny's Cameras and Photo. If there's something that interests you, mention my blog, and I'll offer you a discount.

 Thank you for taking a few minutes from your day to read about this excellent camera with extremely sharp lenses. If I don't post another review before the end of the year, please have a Happy Holiday and a fabulous New Year.

 Until next time, please be safe.

Kodak Panoram 1-Model D

My Kodak Panoram 1, Model D camera

Panoramic cameras and images have always fascinated me. The thought of seeing such a wide area in a photo seems so natural to me. Whenever I look at subjects, the human eye always sees a wide field of view, and narrowing it down to a smaller angle just seems peculiar to me. Even when I look through telephoto lenses, I want to see a wider angle, just closer. Unfortunately, that’s not how lenses work, so the ability to get a wider view is wonderful.

 The Kodak Panoram 1 is one of the first panoramic cameras I've owned. The first panoramic camera I bought was a Russian Horizont, a 35mm model that came with an accessory handle, viewfinder, and case. Unfortunately, this model of camera, due to the lack of workmanship, has a tendency for image "banding" as the lens doesn't rotate smoothly when making the exposure, so when the lens hesitates, it creates a change in exposure, creating a vertical exposure difference, which is darker due to the extra exposure time.

 I only had that camera for a short time, but it was a wonderful one to learn from, and from that experience I found the Kodak Panoram 1. One of the main reasons I knew about Kodak's early panoramic cameras was a set of negatives of two of my friends, which I purchased around 35 years ago. They were a set of 40 nitrate panoramic negatives, measuring 2 1/4" x 7", from a family who visited San Francisco and the surrounding area in 1906. There were photos of the rubble from the 1906 earthquake, along with other images of the family traveling up the delta to Sacramento and into the forest areas. If you're interested, here is a link to pictures from the aftermath of the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake.

 While researching the negative size and cameras built around 1900, I came across the Kodak Panoram 1 and the Multiscope Baby Al-Vista. I believe the Baby Al-Vista's negatives are just a bit smaller. At this point, due to my love of panoramic images, I really wanted to find a good Kodak Panoram 1 camera not only to have in my collection, but also to shoot with.

My Kodak Panoram 1, Model D with Case.

 The Kodak Panoram 1 camera used 105 film when it was manufactured, which is the same width as 120 film; the spools are just a bit different, as the flange is wider on 105 spools. Knowing that I could shoot 120 film in the Kodak Panoram 1 camera made it considerably more desirable. 

 Kodak also made larger Panoram cameras, the 3A and 4, which used larger film. The 3A produced 3 1/4" x 10 3/8" negatives on size 122 film; the 4 made 3 1/2" x 12" negatives on size 103 film. Since the necessary larger film is unavailable, choosing a usable Panoram was easy: I purchased the Panoram 1.

 The Kodak Panoram 1 comes in two distinct versions. There's the original Panoram 1, where the entire back of the camera comes off the body, revealing the curved arc of the film plane. The back of the camera is held to the camera body by two clips. 

 The second version of Kodak Panoram 1, the Model D, which I've had in my collection for 30-plus years, is slightly different. The back of the camera doesn't detach from the body, but, like some horizontal-folding cameras, there are buttons on either side you press to release it and fold it down. Then the camera's sides swing out to allow you to load and unload film.

 I have owned and restored several of both models, as the lens-swinging mechanism is the same, and the leather or suede bellows are similar. The main reason for the change in style was to reduce the camera's size. I prefer the original with the removable back, but both deliver fantastic images.

History of Kodak Panoram:

 Introduced by Eastman Kodak at the turn of the 20th century, the Kodak Panoram series democratized wide-angle photography, bringing it out of the domain of professional specialists and into the amateur market. Debuting in 1899 with the No. 4 and in 1900 with the smaller, popular No. 1, these "shoe-box"- shaped cameras remained in production until 1928.

Advertisment for the Kodak Panoram cameras

 The Panoram’s defining feature was its ingenious swing-lens mechanism. Unlike standard cameras with fixed lenses, the Panoram featured a lens mounted on a pivoting turret. When the shutter was triggered, the lens swung in an arc—typically between 112 and 142 degrees—sweeping light across a curved plane of film (the area of film bent to match the arc) at the back of the camera. This design minimized horizon distortion while capturing vast landscapes or large-group portraits in a single exposure. A swing-lens mechanism means the camera’s lens actually moves or "swings" during the exposure, rather than remaining stationary as in most cameras, to create a wide panoramic image.

 Aimed primarily at outdoor and travel use, Panoram cameras were used to document landscapes, expeditions, and colonial scenes, including polar exploration and industrial development in Southeast Asia. Their relatively simple wooden-and-leather construction, fixed focus, and minimal controls reflected Kodak’s broader strategy of making specialized photography accessible to non‑experts. At the same time, the nearly three‑decade production run indicates sustained popularity among enthusiasts of wide‑angle views.

 Three primary models defined the line: the No. 1 (using 105 film), the No. 4 (using 103 film for massive 12-inch negatives), and the short-lived No. 3A (introduced in 1926). While eventually displaced by newer formats and the 35mm revolution, the Panoram remains a cult classic today, prized by collectors and photographers for the unique, sweeping perspective that only a mechanical swing-lens can provide.

My Camera:

 My Kodak Panoram 1, Model D camera is 7.5" wide with the strap, by 4.5" deep by 4" tall, including the optical viewfinder, and weighs 1 pound 9.5 ounces without film loaded in the camera.

 To open the lens, pull down the front lens cover to reveal the swing lens to one side or the other. If it were pointing straight ahead, the lens cover wouldn't close. On the inside of the lens cover is the camera name, No. 1 Panoram, Kodak, Model D. On the bottom is the camera's serial number. My camera's serial number is 18986.

The camera is simple with minimal controls. On top is the etched nickel Kodak waist-level finder, which you lift to reveal the viewfinder. Behind the finder is the shutter speed selector. There are two notches: the one near the center is for a slower shutter speed, and pulling the selector to the end increases spring tension, making the lens swing faster at that speed.

 To set the speed, slide the bar opposite the lens direction. If the lens faces right, slide the bar left to set the next photo's shutter speed. Lock the chosen slow or fast speed with the clip under the selector bar. The shutter release is just right of the optical waist-level finder. Press the shutter button to release the lens and watch it swing to expose the film. Two lines form a "V" at the top, indicating the camera's approximate field of view.

As mentioned previously, to open the back to load the film, unclip the strap on the right side of the camera, then press in the two buttons on the sides of the camera, which will release the camera's back, and it will swing down, and the sides of the camera will also swing open, revealing the film chamber. There you'll see the curved film plane the film travels over, and the very impressive cone on the back of the lens guiding the light onto the film as the lens swings from one side to the other.

To load film into the camera can be a bit tricky because the newer plastic film reels—that is, the circular pieces at each end of a roll that hold the film—can at times be thicker than what was used originally back in the early 1900s, when Kodak would use metal for the reel ends and wood for the film cores, meaning the spools—the cylinder around which the film is wound—would be a bit thinner. When I went to load film for the blog post, I tried a brand I'd never used before. The spool was just a bit too thick and wouldn't fit into the camera easily, and once I did get it in, it was so stiff that the film wouldn't transport across the shutter easily.

 I loaded a new roll by placing the empty spool on the right, then lifting the winding lever and button to fit it. Then I placed the new roll on the left, brought the paper backing over the film plane, and threaded the leader into the empty spool slot. I wound the film until the start arrows appeared, pressed in the camera sides, and swung the back up to lock it.

Since 120 film isn't designed for panoramic cameras, the numbers 2, 6, 10, and 14 appear on the back of my camera. These indicate the frame numbers to stop at for each of the four photos on 120 film. I wound the film to 2 and was ready to take my first shot.

 

My Results:

 The film I loaded into the camera was an older roll of Kodak BW400CN film I purchased at a local camera show a few months ago. One thing about the film is that it needs to be processed in C-41 chemicals, which is a standard color film developing process. For the article, I wasn't sure I'd have enough time to get the film processed. Looking online, people mentioned the film can be processed in B&W (black-and-white) chemicals, so that's what I did. 

 There was a break in the rain on Sunday, so I loaded the film into the camera because the Kentmere I had didn't fit because the spool was too thick. I took the photo and went back to the house to develop the negatives. Maybe I didn't process the film long enough, since the images were extremely thin. I had to do some magic in Photoshop to get the images I have, so my apologies for the poor examples.

 However, I used the camera when I went to Yosemite a few years ago, and the images turned out great, so I'm adding a couple of color images from Yosemite to this blog to show how well the camera performs.

Conclusion:

 I've always been a huge fan of both the Multiscope Al-Vista and the Kodak Panoram camera. It's interesting that I've only owned the Panoram 1 camera and never the 3a or 4 Panoram, but I do have some of the larger Al-Vista cameras.

 The Panoram 1 is a fun camera to use, and the results are surprisingly good. I should have a camera with a smooth shutter. The cameras are compact, use 120 film, and, unfortunately, are becoming increasingly expensive as people learn about them and how much fun they are to use.

 Fortunately, I've had mine for many years, and I also have the camera case, which is a plus. It's just a real gem in my camera, and truthfully, I'm surprised I haven't written about it sooner than I have.

 Thank you for taking a few minutes from your day to read about his wonderful panoramic camera from over 100 years ago.

 Here's a link to my previous Camera Reviews.

 I also have an eBay shop, Cuny's Camera and Photo, where I sell cameras I've reviewed, along with other photo oddities. If you're interested in anything from my store, reach out to me, and I'll offer a discount. Just mention my blog.

 Until next week, please be safe.