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.

 

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.

Original Model K1 Rolleiflex

My Rolleiflex K1 Camera

As is common for me, I purchased this original Rolleiflex model with many cameras, which included some other items I was more interested in. In the photo of the camera lot, I could see the Rolleiflex name, but the image was so small that I couldn't tell what model it was or even if it was in working condition. I took a shot; as I mentioned earlier, I was more interested in some items, and the Rolleiflex was more of the icing on the cake regarding the importance.

 Once I received the items in the lot and looked them over, the main items were great, and I was happy to have them. I picked up the Rolleiflex and checked on the camera's serial number, which was a low number. I have serial number 118104. From what I can see online, this is one of the first batches of cameras made. While the original Rolleiflex camera was only made from 1929 to 1932, a few modifications were made.

 In the photo, the Rolleiflex looked well used, and the top light chimney looked a bit wonky, which it was and still is today. When I tried to open the top, one of the side wings was jammed closed and wrapped under one of the other side wings, and I couldn't look down the chimney to see if the focusing screen was there. I took out my set of small screwdrivers and unscrewed the top 4 screws to remove the light chimney to fix it and bend the sides out a bit to make the chimney more usable.

Early Rolleiflex name and serial number

 Once I took the top off, I noticed the focusing screen was in good condition and still had the bubble level. It was a very clever idea to put in the camera when it was manufactured almost 100 years ago. 

The Company:

I reviewed the original Art Deco-style Rolleicord a few months ago, and here's what I wrote about the company's history then.

 Rollei holds a significant place in photographic history. Founded in 1920 in Braunschweig, Germany, by Paul Franke and Reinhold Heidecke, the company originally bore the name "Franke & Heidecke." Initially, it focused on precision mechanical devices, but by the mid-1920s, Rollei began producing cameras that would revolutionize photography.

 Rollei gained international recognition in 1929 with the launch of the Rolleiflex, the first twin-lens reflex (TLR) camera. The Rolleiflex was compact, robust, and designed for medium-format photography. Its unique twin-lens system featured one lens for viewing and focusing and another for capturing the image on film. This innovative design allowed photographers to frame shots at waist level, making candid photography more discreet and practical. The Rolleiflex quickly became a favorite among professionals and enthusiasts, particularly for portrait and documentary work.

The success of the Rolleiflex led to the introduction of the Rolleicord, a more affordable version aimed at amateur photographers. Both models showcased Rollei's commitment to precision engineering and optical excellence, which became hallmarks of the brand.

 During the 1930s and 1940s, Rollei continued to innovate, refining the Rolleiflex and Rolleicord lines with features such as automatic film winding and improved optics. Despite the challenges of World War II, the company maintained its reputation for high-quality cameras. In the post-war era, Rollei played a significant role in the resurgence of the German camera industry.

The 1950s and 1960s marked a golden age for Rollei. The Rolleiflex TLR became synonymous with professional photography and was used by renowned photographers such as Richard Avedon, Diane Arbus, and Vivian Maier. Rollei also ventured into other formats and technologies. The Rolleiflex 35mm SLR, introduced in the late 1950s, showcased the company's adaptability to the changing market demands.

 By the 1970s, the rise of Japanese camera manufacturers like Nikon, Canon, and Minolta introduced intense competition. These companies offered high-quality single-lens reflex (SLR) cameras at more affordable prices, challenging Rollei's dominance in medium-format and professional photography. However, Rollei's resilience and ability to adapt to changing market conditions inspired by its history.

In response, Rollei diversified its product line, introducing the Rolleiflex SL66, a medium-format SLR, and the compact Rollei 35, which became one of its most miniature 35mm cameras. Despite these innovations, Rollei struggled to maintain its market share due to its higher production costs and its competitors' rapidly advancing technology.

 In the 1980s and 1990s, Rollei faced financial difficulties, leading to changes in ownership and restructuring. The company shifted focus to digital imaging and niche markets, including high-end studio cameras and digital backs for medium-format systems.

The Rollei legacy endures as a symbol of German engineering and innovation, reflecting a century of dedication to the art and science of photography. This enduring legacy evokes a sense of respect and admiration for the brand's contribution to the field of photography.

My Camera:

My early Model K Rolleiflex is 5.25" tall and 3.5" wide by 3.75" deep. These measurements are with the light chimney closed. If I open the light chimney, the camera is 7.5" tall and weighs 1 lb. 9.7 oz. with the original lens cap and without film loaded into the camera. My camera has a Carl Zeiss Jena Tessar 7.5cm f3.8 lens, serial #1310339, for the taking lens, and for the viewing lens is a Heidoscope Anastigmat 75mm f3.1 lens, serial #120850. 

The lens is in an F.Deckel-Munchen Compur shutter with speeds from 1/300 to 1 sec. along with "B" & "T". The shutter speeds are set by turning a chrome ring on the outside of the shutter ring. The shutter cocking lever is on the left side of the camera as you view it from the front, and the shutter release is on the right side. The aperture ring goes from F3.8 to F32 and is set by a sliding ring just outside the shutter ring.

Taking lens, and shutter-aperture settings on my original K1 Rolleiflex

The light chimney or light hood is the most interesting thing about the camera. To open the light chimney, on the back of the camera, there is a small lever you need to press down to unlock the chimney. The front and sides will spring open if the chimney is in good working order. Since mine is not in perfect condition, the front opens, but I need to coax the sides to open correctly. Once the chimney is open, you can view the focus screen.

 On the back of the chimney is a magnifying glass on a spring. It can be flipped over and locked into the front part of the chimney, where it can be used for critical focus. Pressing the front part of the chimney releases the magnifying glass, and it returns to its normal position. 

 On the backside of the front wing of the chimney was a mirror, or a highly polished metal piece that flips down with a lever on the left side of the chimney. When the magnifying glass is in the "up" position, and you flip the lever down, the mirror will be at an angle that you can use the back as a level finder and focus the camera while viewing the image through the back opening of the chimney. I really liked this feature as it gives the camera a lot of flexibility when shooting. To close the chimney, fold down the sides first; the back and the front will close, covering the camera.

On the right side of the camera are two knobs. The larger knob on the top is the film advance knob. Around the knob are numbered from 1-12, but the numbers aren't in order; they go 1,7,12, small space, then 5,3,8, small space, 9, small space, and 6,2,10,1,11. At first, I thought these were frame numbers, but the sequences are so off. I know the first camera models were made for film size 117, and the camera only took six exposures with larger gaps between frames. There is also a red arrow pointing towards the number, but it didn't change when I put the film in the camera and advanced it to the next photo. Maybe someone can explain this sequence to me.

 The lower and smaller knob is the focus knob. On the inside are distance numbers, but there is no feet or meter setting. On the camera's left side is a lug, which was used to connect the strap.

The back door locking mechanism is on the bottom of the camera, and there is a tripod socket and a second red window with a cover. I didn't use that frame counting window, as I used the one on the back of the camera as I would for most cameras. To open the back door to load film, you lift the silver-hinged locking mechanism, which opens the back door. After doing some research on the camera, I found that this model doesn't take 120 film like all the other Rolleiflex models. 

I tried anyway, and it's too wide and didn't fit into the film chamber. Luckily, I have some outdated Agfa 620 films that fit correctly. I put the empty spool on the top. You can pull out the larger knob to load film into the camera, then press it in to lock the reel into place. I put the outdated Agfa roll into the camera, fed the leader into the empty spool, wound the film to start, closed the back of the camera, and wound the film to frame number 1. Now, I'm ready to take the camera out on an adventure to see how the camera performs.

 

My Results:

My wife and I planned a trip to Lake Quinault in the Olympic National Forest, so I wandered the lake's hotel grounds with a fantastic camera loaded with film and took some photos. Here are a few of the images from this trip.

Conclusion:

The camera performed very well, and the images were nice and sharp. The focusing screen was dark compared to the newer cameras. Still, it did an excellent job for a camera almost 100 years old and was extremely fun to shoot with. Due to the age of the film, the images have a mottled appearance when looking at something without detail, like the sky or lake. But that doesn't affect the camera's usability, which was overall very good.

 I'd love to hear from you. If you have one of these cameras and have questions or want to let me know what you think of the camera, please leave a comment, and I'll get back to you soon.

 Thank you for taking a few minutes from your day to read about this fantastic camera.

 Until next week, please be safe.

Minolta Six Camera

It seems like I purchase items from camera auctions in "lots," and there is always a treasure hidden in the background that you either didn't notice at first, is hidden within all the photos of the items, or, in this case, the camera wasn't taken out of the case, and the case was obscured, so there was no visual evidence that the camera was.

 As I unwrapped the cameras won from the auction, one brown case caught my eye. It bore a striking resemblance to the Mamiya Six in my collection. But upon closer inspection, the name 'Minolta Six' was revealed. I initially thought it might be similar to the Mamiya Six, but the truth was far more exciting, as I'll reveal when I introduce the camera.

History:

In an earlier post, I did on the Minoltaflex CDS, I did a brief history of the company, which read, 

Kazuo Tashima founded Minolta in Osaka, Japan, in 1928 as Nichi-Doku Shashinki Shōten, which means Japanese-German Camera Shop. In 1931, the company updated its name to Minolta, which stands for Mechanism, Instruments, Optics, and Lenses by Tashima. In 1937, the company was reorganized as Chiyoda Kogaku Seikō, K.K. They are now introducing their first Twin Lens Reflex (TLR) camera, the MinoltaFlex, based on the German Rolleiflex cameras. The MinoltaFlex was only the second TLR introduced from Japan after the Prince Flex by Neumann & Heilemann. In 1947, Minolta introduced rangefinder cameras like the Minolta-35, and in 1959, the Single Lens Reflex (SLR) SR-1 camera. In later years, they signed agreements with Leica and came out with the first autofocus SLR, The Minolta Maxxum 7000, which carried on to several in their autofocus system.

 To expand slightly from the above text, in the early years, there was a big German influence on the Minolta company, which was known as Nichidoku Shashinki Shōten, which means Japanese, German camera shop. In the early years, the company received help from camera technicians Billy Neumann and Willy Heilemann, and the shutters and lenses were supplied from Germany. Their first camera was the Nicarette, which was released in 1929.

In 1931, the company was transformed into a stock corporation named Molta Gōshi-gaisha. Molta is an abbreviation of Mechanism, Optics, and Lenses by Tashima. Neumann and Heilemann left the company in 1932, returning to Germany to start their own company, and the German influence left with them. In 1933, the name Minolta was adopted. In 1937, the company became Chiyoda Kōgaku Seikō K.K and expanded the production of cameras into TLR and press cameras similar to the Plaubel Makina. 

Minolta Six in the July 1938 catalogue and price list by Asanuma Shōkai. Scan by A. Apra. (Image rights)

 In 1940, the famous Minolta Rokkor lens was produced, but it was only used for the military. Consumer camera production ended in 1943 to concentrate on the war effort. Three of its four plants were destroyed by Allied forces during WWII. Soon after the war, Minolta released the Semi Minolta III, and throughout the 1950s, Minolta expanded its line of cameras to include folding cameras, TLRs, SLRs, and rangefinder cameras.

 In 1958, the SR-2 was released, and it was Minolta's first system camera. This reign of SLR system cameras included partnerships with Leitz in the 1970s, which helped produce CLE cameras. Minolta had a full line of autofocus cameras, the Maxxum line of bodies and lenses, and Minoltas final SLR camera ended in 1995 with their X-370.

 Minolta produced many different 35mm, APS, and DISC cameras and partnered with Konica in 2003, but by 2006, the camera company had discontinued camera production and relied heavily on the copier business.

My Camera:

Opening the case and looking at the camera for the first time, I was surprised by the Minolta logo and text on top. Since it was made in 1936, it has a genuine Art Deco design in the look and feel of the camera. My biggest surprise was when I initially pulled the lens out from the body and found the camera didn't have a cloth bellows. Instead, it has a series of stacking cubes that pull away from the camera body, AND these boxes are reinforced with another Art Deco element, metal brackets that resemble an "M" when the camera is laid on its back with the lens pointing up. WOW, Just a fantastic design.

The Minolta Six camera measures 6 inches in width, 4.75 inches in height with the finder up, 3.75 inches with the finder closed, and 4 inches in depth with the lens out, or 2.25 inches with the lens closed. It weighs 1 lb. 5.7oz. without the case or loaded with film. The camera's body is made from a bakelite or plastic material, covered in a high-quality leatherette.

 To pull the lens out to take photos, there are two grips, one on either side of the lens, that you grab onto to pull the lens out and away from the body. You need to expose three stacking cubes before the camera is ready to take the photos. Under the lens are two curved chrome bars you can slide down to prop the camera up so that when the lens is out, it doesn't tip forward and keeps the lens level.

Around the top of the lens is Patents-Nippon, and below is Crown, which is the shutter on the camera. The actual lens is an 80mm f5.6 Coronar Anastigmat Nippon lens. Around the lens is a manual focus ring that focuses from under 1 meter to infinity. The focus line to judge distance is a protruding tab with a line at approximately 10 O'Clock on the lens face. The lens also has a stopping screw that prevents the lens from rotating past the infinity mark on the tab.

 

My camera has only four shutter speeds: 1/150, 1/100, 1/50, and 1/25, along with "b" and "T" for timed exposures. On the top of the camera is a pop-up viewfinder with etched or lined crosshairs to line up horizontal or vertical subjects as needed. The back of my camera sports three red windows with different numbers, which are used to line up with the number on the paper backing to get to the proper frame number. In later cameras, they went to a single window system, which is more common with current 6x6 format cameras using 120 film.

 

To open the back of the camera, there is a latch behind the strap on the left side with an arrow pointing down. Slide the button down, and the camera's back opens. The chrome winding lever was used on the older models. Later they went to a plastic or bakelite knob in the later models. My first thought when I looked at the back of the camera was that it was not a full-frame 6x6 camera, but that was because I was looking at the retracted plastic cubes from the bellows. It is indeed a full 6x6 format camera. Load the film on the right side and bring the leader to the left to take up the spool. The knobs on the bottom of the camera pull out so you can put in the film and take up the reel easily.

 The case for my camera is in great condition. There's a pretty cool instruction tab on the inside of the case, which was made for the three window cameras.

 The crown shutter doesn't have a cocking mechanism. There's just the shutter release to take the photos. I loaded the film. I pulled out the cube below and started to take pictures of the neighborhood with my trusty light meter. Once I reached the end, I unloaded the film and processed the negatives.

My Results:

Here are some of the photos taken with the Minolta Six camera. The photos were a bit flat in exposure and contrast.

Conclusion:

I enjoyed shooting with the camera, but I am still primarily impressed with the innovative and beautiful bellows system in the camera. Not only is it functional, but it is very light and tight and only wears out slowly compared to the style bellows. The flip side is, if something happens to this bellows, the replacement is hard to replace due to the material. I wished there were faster shutter speeds, but I was using 125 iso film, and with the aperture range of the lens, I didn't have an issue.

 I have a great and fun camera for next week's blog post, so I hope you'll stick around to read that one, too. Thank you for your time, and please be safe until then.

Update:

According to Andrea Apra, who corrected and let me know initially, a small cardstock table was provided with this camera. This table was used to calculate the Depth of Field. The card I have in the case with the wrong translation is just instructions for using this table provided with the camera, which I don’t have.

The table has a horizontal scale at the top with the various distances on the focus ring: 7, 5, 3, 2, 1.5, 1 Mtr.

Then, on the vertical column, the diaphragm has various apertures: F 5.6, 6.3, 9, 12.5, 18, 25.

Two pairs of values, the minimum and maximum distance of the DoF, are intersecting at the table's intersection.

This explains how to read the table.

This is the text translated in its original graphic structure of the text.