When I was a child, this was my very first photo-camera:

The

Kodak Instamatic 104

, which was very popular in the 1960s and '70s (according to the internet), and it wasn't a toy. It was a proper entry-level, consumer-grade "point & shoot" photo camera (something simple and affordable for the masses) ... - and it still works

perfectly

to this very day.
 
Actually, it was my parents' camera (at first), but every now and then I would take it out of the forbidden drawer of the hideous monstrosity that was the livingroom cabinet ... and admire it.
 
It came in a black leather case, which was secured so tightly in place by the buttons and the wrist-strap on the side of it, I always believed the leather was an actual part of the camera. That's why I never dared to completely remove it.

(Eventually, though, I

did

.)

The camera required a

126 film

, which was a cartridge-system for easy loading:

Spoiler:

it kinda sucks.

About two weeks ago, around the time when the weather finally changed here, and the promise of autumn was in the air at last, I briefly went down a weirdly depressing rabbit-hole of past analogue photography and contemporary "toy"-cameras. I don't know why. It was one of those things, I guess. Anyway...

This particular film is no longer being produced (manufacturing ceased in 2008, according to Wikipedia), so the camera is essentially

useless

now.
 

Well, technically speaking, this is not

entirely

correct, because there are 3D-printed 126-to-35mm adapters available now, so - in theory - one can still use this camera with a standard 35mm film. However, it's a huge pain, because, in order to get the film into said adapter, it requires the use of a darkroom (or at least a changing bag for film) and black adhesive tape. So, one

REALLY

has to have a strong desire (and the patience) to keep using this camera today.

Anyway, the point of this pointless-as-usual blog entry is that I remembered that I still had an original 126 film cartridge left in that camera. Albeit one that had already

expired

...

34 years ago

.
 
Since the weather had changed to something more agreeable, I decided that I should probably go outside for a walk and finish shooting that film, so I can finally have it developed (and be done with it).
 
Much to my initial surprise, out of the 24 exposures this film has, there were still 12 frames left untouched. And that's when I remembered the problem I have with photography in general (and the analog variety in particular)...

To quote a line from Adam Ant's 1981 hit-single

Stand & Deliver

:

"What's the point of robbery, when nothing is worth taking?"

I honestly cannot tell, whether this is a symptom of depression ... or a sign of impeccable taste (I say the latter), but I have always felt (and still do) that the exact same thing is true, when it comes to taking (expensive analogue) photos:

What's the damn point?

Everything is so gawd-damn UGLY.

 
Sure, special occasions that you absolutely

need(ed)

to remember aside. But other than that?

Twelve years ago (I had to look this up on FaceFuck, because I have no sense of time), I had already

tried

to shoot that film, but only managed to take 12 photos. I even carried the camera with me to the moor, hoping for some tolerable landscape pictures, but even there I couldn't convince myself to take more than those 12 completely half-hearted snapshots.
 

Coincidentally, that was also the day when I found an old family-photo-album that somebody had left on top of a trashcan. (And, no ... I did not take it home with me.)

I do kind of wonder about the brown-haired boy in the bottom left corner.  I am curious to know what became of him. Because, when I look at these family photos, I can see an entire

horror movie

playing in my head.

Once back home, I searched online for a lab to finally have that film developed. Here are the results:

I wasn't able to colour-correct any of the 2012 photos from the moor. The best I managed to get out of these were grainy b/w pictures ... which I actually do like, because they are more atmospheric like this, and a semi-creepy black & white mood suits these kind of settings much better anyway. (But, on the other hand, that's really just a coincidence and nothing more than a sad excuse for not being able to produce better results. Perhaps a different software and skilled hands might have worked wonders instead?)
 
The photos from this month, however, (the ones taken in bright sunlight) turned out surprisingly well. Keeping in mind that the film had been expired for over 30 years at this point, I must say, I am a little impressed.
 
Though, overall, the photos

are

kind of blurry, so maybe the

Instamatic 104

has to be considered a "toy"- camera after all??? Either way, it still works.

Pointless blog short, the weather is nice now, so I went for a walk with my childhood camera, determined to finish that film. I vowed to take pictures of random ANYTHING, just to burn through it, but it was hard. And sooooo damn depressing. On top of that, there was this old voice in my head that kept telling me:

"Don't waste it!"

But THAT's analogue photography in a nutshell.
You're constantly asking yourself:

"Is this shot really worth it?"

,

and the answer is pretty much ALWAYS:

"No!"

So, to bring today's blog entry to an end and circle back to SOPOR: the only reason why I even kept the

Instamatic 104

camera all these years is ... when I was little, I took a picture of the clouds from my bedroom window (where I spent most of my time).
 
When you turned the photo upside down, it kind of looked like a road in the sky. At least at first, because when you examined it for just a second longer, you'd realise that this road falls to pieces and cannot actually lead anywhere. Not even in your imagination. I always found this image to be incredibly depressing. Beautiful, in a way ... but also depressing. I guess, that's why I kept the photo. It held a strange/sad fascination.
 
Many years later I discovered its purpose, when I used the picture as the background for the coverart of the album

SONGS FROM THE INVERTED WOMB

. Ironically, no-one could actually

see

this road in the finished image, but I knew it was there. That was enough.
 

(By the way, the photo of our dear Auntie Va on the cover is an actual double-exposure, not Photoshop. It was one of those accidents that analog photography is so very prone to. At first I hated it, but then I decided to use it after all. It was oddly fitting.)