After waiting the entire day, a box finally arrived from Japan. It had a camera inside, craving to see the light and letting it pass to the emulsion. But when I opened the box, the silence of a component turned it into a lifeless artifact: just a body, with its glass and viewfinder, but no heartbeat.
The missing heart was a CR123A battery. And I was determined to get it at Staples (the store chain). But there was one issue…
Current time: 8:49 PM, 11 minutes before the store closes (of course).
Obviously, I wouldn't have the patience to wait until the next day, so again, I adventured myself in freezing weather and wasted no time. I arrived at 08:57 PM, and once I was in, only a living and breathing camera would make me go out.
Fluorescent lights hum overhead as I scan the aisles, and I start getting anxious. After all, we are not talking about a simple AA battery, but the very specific CR123A, which is not very usual by today's standards. My sweating hands started scanning through the battery section, when I finally found the key to the dark temple.
With the battery in, a small red dot glows to life. The Leica Minilux opens its lid, and says "Hi."
Time to load my favorite film stock, the CineStill 800T (which I deliberately had in my pocket), and then see what the camera is capable of. I didn't choose that by coincidence. I chose a film that thrives in neon, a film that bends colors into something out of a dream, and would pair pretty well with the new Minilux.
But before, a picture of the warrior who helped me find the artifact. Thanks, dude! You got the first shot!
I stepped out of the store, and as the cold air mixed with the warm hum of streetlights, it was time for the second shot. After all, if I’m going to test this camera, I want to push the Summarit 40mm f/2.4 to the limit, so for sure, it won’t be in daylight: it’ll be in the world of Blade Runner.
Every shot feels like part of film, like I’m walking through a scene that already exists and just documenting its presence. I walk a little bit more, and the camera hands me its experience by firing the flash in one of the shots, which is something I would never do instinctively.
Some cameras are tools. Others are invitations. This one? Oh, this one feels like a key to a different version of reality, one where neon spills into the shadows and halation blooms like an afterimage of a dream. The Blade Runner machine has spoken, and I can’t wait to see what it has to say next.
The Blade Runner’s OST (Original Soundtrack) starts playing in my mind. When, suddenly, the camera gained life, its heart was beating, the camera got me by the hand, and cast a spell that controlled me! As I pointed it to a simple door, the shutter button had activated at a very light touch, almost like the camera was telling it: “GO! Now!”.
I can say it started making pictures by itself.
What was at first an unsolicited fire flash became a living thing. Something was pulsing. The Minilux seemed to develop self-consciousness; it was like we both had inherited the experience from all the previous photographers who had touched that little titanium box.
By using its automatic point-and-shoot settings, the Minilux wanted to tell me something with these pictures. It almost seemed like it was screaming in happiness from the dark freedom and the heart I got to it!
“Let the Lux in”
I must get back in control, said I! That was too much.
That’s when we came home, the Minilux calmed down, and started taking photos of me. It was like thanking me for giving life back to it!
We spoke for hours, and when the 36 exposures were finally done, it elegantly rolled back the film (making a very pleasant noise), opened its door, and gently handled me its best, which I promptly developed and scanned.
The Leica Minilux and I are dating, and we are planning to have kids!
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