Leica’s the first real relationship I’ve ever had with a camera. I’d always hated Leica men: I thought of them as really macho men who went to India and poor places in the world and thought they knew them without spending any time there. But my close friend Peter Hujar used one. (He used to tell me that if he didn’t like the lens, he would take it back to the store and try them until he liked one.) So I got my first Leica in 1990. Since then, I’ve dropped them, I’ve broken them, I’ve had them stolen on the subway, I’ve lost them in taxis. When I was working on the Mira Nair film “Monsoon Wedding,” I fell almost 10 feet into an empty pool. As I was falling, I hallucinated that the Leica was my baby. I held it against my chest and landed with all my weight on my wrist and broke it into a million pieces. But I saved my Leica. Over the years, I’ve learned that the lens is a very subjective relationship. The reason I use a Leica is because it actually has a subtext. It depends on what you’re photographing, but the lens shows you not just the surface: the levels underneath are revealed. Somebody told me once how optically this was possible. I just thought it was magic.
cautious science & total surveillance: a memoir
MIT Scientist Captures 90,000 Hours of Video of His Son’s First Words, Graphs It
Cognitive scientist Deb Roy blew the curve for Flip cam-packing proud pops. Since he and his wife brought their son home from the hospital, Roy has captured his every movement and word with a series of fisheye-lens cameras installed in every room. The purpose was to understand how we learn language.
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