hyalineskies

Anyone involved in pop art or photography has (or, at least, should have) heard of Lomographic Society International and their toy cameras. Thanks to clever marketing, the Austria-based LSI resurrected an old Soviet-era relic, the Lomo LC-A (Ломо LC-A), selling its lens flaws, vignetting, occasional light leaks, and generally poor build quality as individual characteristics for those equally “unique”. That said, the popular LC-A takes wonderful lo-fi photos that do have a trendy, postmodern character that is played up probably a bit too much in current design trends.

Before LSI, the Lomo LC-A, along with other Russian cameras, had a niche following of amateurs and professionals alike, modifying and using the Lomo to achieve a purposefully flawed result. The Lomos, joined by the Smena (Смена) and Zorki cameras, all of which were second-world counterfeits of Western European designs, were manufactured by the millions for the Soviet proletariat. Due to their abundance, one could easily purchase the LC-A, among others, for dirt cheap: an LCA around $60, a Smena approximately $10, and the Leica-clone Zorki rangefinder for around $70.

Thanks to LSI and impressionable hipsters everywhere, the Lomography craze spread, and with it Lomo-based photographers bypassed LSI’s $160.00 LC-A prices for enterprising Russian auctioneers. The Russians, eager for the profit, sold off the obsolete pieces at minimal cost until they caught onto the trend. Now, an LC-A on eBay only goes for slightly less than one from LSI.

Oddly, maybe due to trendiness (and also due to the skill required to operate a fully-manual camera,) other Russian cameras have seen less of a price hike. After wanting a Soviet-era camera for myself, I came across the Smena cameras. Fully manual with glass Lomo lenses, I bought a Смена Симбол (Smena Symbol) for $38.00 shipped from Russia. At the time, the cheapest Ломо LC-A was going for nearly $100.00 plus international shipping.

After three rolls of TMAX, I can’t believe how much of a bargain this little thing was. The lens vignettes slightly when wide open, allowing me to achieve a neo-retro appeal, but stopped down to f/16 with ISO 400 film, photographs are far from poor. The true manual controls - down to the manual focus where you pretty much have to guess the distance to your subject - make any serious composition a challenge and any casual shooting an amusing game. The solid plastic-and-metal camera has gained a permanent spot in my bag. Although the Смена manual states its purpose as being a “camera for amateurs,” in an age where automatic digital cameras do all the work for the user, the convoluted controls, guesstimate focus ring, and Russian-unit aperture setting would stump a common user of today’s electronics. When using the Смена, the sunny f/16 rule is your friend, as there’s no light meter.

Oddly enough, I’m not the only one in love with it. Since I received it last week, the little Смена has generated attention from all types of people, from sorority girls in the Michigan League to restaurant employees on State Street. Even my journalism professor, who ran Knight Ridder’s Moscow bureau before coming to the University, said that he “bought a few [Lomos] in Russia.” To some, the Смена is fascinating; to others, it is an old friend. To me, it has become a part of the things I carry daily and is probably the most fun $38.00 has purchased in a while.