Exploring medium format analog photography can bring a lot of joy, especially if you need a breathe of It was the unusually dark winter of 2023/2024 when I felt something was lacking in my everyday photographic experience. I was under the impression I was taking too many digital photos. They were too sterile, too technically perfect for me not only to enjoy the end result but, most of all, to indulge in the process. I made efforts to creatively use my 35mm cameras, predominantly the still excellent Contax 139 Quartz, but it brought me little joy. Contax was wonderful for travelling and journal-like documenting sites and people, but that was not I was yearning for.

Then, one early March Saturday, I went to a nearby park carrying my Zenza Bronica SQ-Ai to try to catch the scarcity of foliage and the sleepiness of animals and humans alike on a dark, foggy day. They results enchanted me and provide a strong boost in confidence that the medium format offers an intimately rewarding experience, bridging the mechanical and the artistic under favourable circumstances. The Zenza was, however, too heavy and too large for carrying it around and using it spontaneously. The shots I made in the park were made possible by the laziness of the day, time to compose them, adjust all the settings and use a tripod to get bullet-proof results.

The park outing and the weather I experienced throughout the day made me think of my frequent journeys to Lübeck, the former inner-German border and the contemporary Danish-German borderland. Toghether with my students, we talk there about the legacy of the Hanseatic League, which provided an early sense of broader cultural unity in vast parts of medieval Baltic Europe, the turbulent history of European nation-states, always fighting with one another, and the Cold War division of the continent, serving as the most recent example of how devastating and painful the lack of unity of small political entities can be.

Former East Germany has been taking a growing amount of space in my courses at DIS Study Abroad. Its history keeps providing me with new topics, both relating to the complex European history and the current challenges, such as the rise of populist movements in the European Union and longing for the bygone days, shared by millions of people all across the continent. It is all encapsulated in a country that, many would say, should have never existed and yet it became home to millions of German whether they wanted it or not. For this reason, its ghost still looms over large parts of Central Europe so absurdly inconspicuous yet tangibly dangerous.

Delving into the East German reality from late 1940s all the way to 1990 — the year the country disappeared, annexed by the Federal Republic — helped me discover many marvellous works of culture from all across the Soviet-dominated countries. The particular gems were daring movies, like Spur der Steine and Das Kanninchen bin ich, debating the moral legitimacy of the communist rule in the German Democratic Republic and how the changing interpretation of the only ideology allowed in the country affected people’s lives and their personal choices. The movies’ value lies also in beatiful camerawork which is a merit in its own right.

Building on those personal discoveries, I came across a masterpiece of black-and-white-Polish cinema, Patrząc pod słońce. It tells the story of a couple spending their holidays somewhere on the Baltic Sea coast. One can tell there is a heavy cloud of tension between the woman, young and curious, and the man, somewhat too used to his own ways. One day when he goes fishing, the woman takes a bath in the lake and feels she is being watched. Initially concerned, she lets the curiosity take the better of her. She finds out the watcher is an oddly behaving man. It is hot and yet he wears a thick sweater. He seems only moderately interested in the protagonist, looking at her predominantly through the lens of his camera. This camera, naturally, caught my eye. After researching it for a while, I identified it as an early version of the medium-format Pentacon Six.

This is where my personal fascination began. I went on looking for rather scarce information about this piece of East German engineering, usually stumbling upon reports of users complaining about its unreliability. It is heavy and suffers from not-so-ergonomically designed grip and controls. Its common disease are kissing frames due to the unreliable film advancing mechanism. It needs to be in constant use to prevent the lubricants from going stale. It can only sync flash at around 1/25s, making it difficult to use in the studio. One last small inconvenience is the lack of built-in lightmeter. It can be easily overcome with the help you your smartphone, though. Among many apps Lghtmtr is the one that ticks most boxes. It is lightweight, simple and free. I even recommend it to my students whenever they use their old Prakticas. Although these cameras do have a light meter, their reliability and accuracy are somewhat dubious.

Despite all the shortcomings, I could not resist buying a Pentacon Six of my own. I went on searching and found a few listings of cameras and lenses in very good aesthetic condition. I knew that no matter which unit I would go for, it would require thorough servicing. For this reason, I could get a comprehensive set for half its original price. It immediately created the question of finding a repair place, which was far more challenging than acquiring the camera itself. Since it is not a Pentax, Hasselblad or even Bronica, most places neither possess necessary experience nor are willing to give it a try. Apparently, there are some places in former East Germany but by the time I came across them, I had gone a different route: I had found a place in Ukraine which builds on the experience of the Kiev 88 camera which the Soviets had created based on the original Pentacon Six design. It is clunkier and uglier, but its guts are essentially the same as the East German ones. So, the whole set went to Kyiv, was serviced there and returned to me with the help of my Ukrainian friends. A great testimony to how the Ukrainian postal services work despite the ongoing Russian aggression.

I have resisted saying this long enough but I cannot continue any longer, so let me shout it out: Pentacon Six is a beautiful, exquisite camera. It retains the reserved, swelve shapes typical for industrial design of the late fifties and early sixties, giving the user the tactile pleasure of interacting with mild, friendly curves rather than rough, aggressive edges. For this reason, although the body is made from metal, it provides me with a sense of warmth and cordiality, inviting me to fully immerse into the shooting experience. It is a bit like wearing a good watch inherited after your grandparents: you appreciate the craftsmanship of the decision and the precision of the mechanism every time you wear it.

I distinctively remember my first walk with this camera. It was a bright summer day in Copenhagen, with people pouring into the narrow streets of the historical centre where my university is located. There was joy and laughter around which only encouraged me to spontaneously capture spontaneity of a northern city enjoying one of very few moments of warmth and sun.

By the end of the first roll, the sky turned lead in a blink and a wall of rain rammed the streets and pavements. Just seconds before it began I took a shot of an ultrarare NSU Prinz outside of the Nørreport Station. Since the P6 and the system’s lenses are by no means weather-sealed, I had to put my personal explorations to a halt.

After the first enchantment came first signs of potential hardship. A few days later I was doing my first studio session with the P6. As the flash sync speed is just about 1/25s (about because there is only a lightning pictogram between 1/15s and 1/30s), I had to work exclusively with constant light sources. This was, actually, the good part of the exercis as the slightly altered conditions created different dynamics in the studio and required of me to rethink the usual setup and come up with new ideas for composition. The slightly difficult one was experiencing what many people had reported about: the kissing frames. As I was going through the developed negatives, I noticed some photos being unusually close to each other, sometimes even overlapping. Although most frames were usable after doing some cropping, some very promising ones turned out irretrievable.

Truth be told, this problem can be overcome by patience. One can easily find tutorials on how to insert new film tightly so that the advancement mechanism works correctly, like this one. They all advise to be methodically slow and attentive. I, on the other hand, recall changing the negative hectically, instinctively treating the P6 like the Zenza Bronica I had owned for a few years already. If only I had been more meticulous in the process, I would have not a long series of overlapping images. Yet I do not want to be too harsh on myself — it is all part of the film shooting charm. The analogue process requires much involvement in every step on the way, which feels like a liberating experience in times of the digital you-can-edit-me-whenever-and-however-you-please workflow.

Another thing that one needs to pay attention to avoid unpleasant surprises when shooting with the P6 is the film advance knob. It needs to be pulled all the way and then brought back to its initial position in a slow, gentle way. Doing it quickly and somewhat carelessly might result in distorted spacing between frames (ut supra) or can even damage the whole film advancement mechanism. Places like Foto Service Olbrich can address this problem but it is bound to come back and haunt you again after some time.

The shooting experience is otherwise smooth and intuitive which I saw immediately after developing and scanning the first rolls of film. Quality of the correctly taken frames was short of mind-blowing. The Carl Zeiss Jena 80mm f/2.8 I used rendered details that I rarely see from an analogue lens, regardless of its provenience — Eastern bloc, West Germany, Japan included. The texture and the level of details were further enhanced by the scanner. Nikon LS 9000 ED is perhaps an inherent part of any analogue medium format setup as it contains something many other devices, including the Plustek OpticFilm 120, do not: autofocus capability of the scanning lens. This, paired with glass negative folder, allows me to bring out the best of the pictures I take with all my vintage equipment.

The last thing I was lacking to fully enjoy my Pentacon Six was a proper strap. It came without one and, since the camera is rather heavy and not very handy, constantly carrying it around in my hand would have been neither convenient nor safe. The P6 uses Pentax 67 / Hasselblad lugs which makes good quality straps difficult to find and expensive. Luckily, I reminded myself of Ricardo da Silva and his Dead Cameras shop. I had bought his straps before and had always been happy with their outstanding quality of craftsmanship and versatility of everyday use. Ricardo quickly advised me on the strap I should get and a few days later it arrived in Denmark (impressive given I came all the way from Portugal). There is some distinctive softness of the materials Ricardo uses which makes me come back to Dead Camera every now and then. The strap I got complements the Pentacon Six so well it has become an inherent part of the shooting experience.

Speaking of shooting experience: the Pentacon Six makes me appreciate the purely mechanical design it represents — from film advance cogs and focusing to adjusting exposure values and releasing the shutter. The latter gives an audibly punching clap but it does not cause the camera to shake. It is probably due to its heftiness which overpowers the sizeable mirror by a considerable margin and helps you make sure that your hand-held photos will turn out sharp and crisp even if you use somewhat low shutter speeds (1/60s, perhaps even 1/30s) and high focal length lenses. The lenses deserve a separate post as their quality exceed the often modest prices for which you can get them. For now, let me just say the Carl Zeiss Jena lineup ticks most of the boxes. It can even be adapted to modern digital camera mounts, such as Canon EF-S, Canon R and Sony E/FE.

As I am writing these words, I am preparing for another trip to Lübeck. My P6 is lying next to me, waiting to be tucked into my rucksack. ‘Tucked’ is perhaps out of place here, since such a hefty camera can only be put into any bag with some efforts. This love requires patience and attentiveness but it is so rewarding it must be true.

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