A Little Film from Santa Fe

I've been scanning the Leica images from New Mexico. I loved running around with that sweet little camera, loved the way it felt and the access it seemed to give me to things.  But man, scanning film, getting it into Photoshop to clean up--it takes a bunch of time.  And after all that, there are a few images.  They are wonderful things, but here I'm not sure you can tell the difference between film and digital.  To wit--I've been looking at the Leica Monochrome, a digital camera that only takes black and white pictures.  There are positives and negatives.  The upside (I think) is that it is the same size as the Leica M7, at least the dimensions.  It is heavier.  The downside is that it costs around $7,000 new.  My camera repair guy kind of scoffed when I talked about it saying the files were great but that there were no affordable printers that could print out the resolution of those files.  That makes some sense to me.  He might be right.  There are digital film printers now that will print a digital file onto photographic silver paper, but I think that, too, will not have the same resolution.  I may rent one for a week just to see if I like it.  That would be the prudent thing to do.  I saw one on eBay for about half price and almost bought it in a panic moment.  I am impulsive that way.

This was one of the first images I took when I saw the boys and girls getting out of the limo into the street and park of the Santa Fe square.  Speakers were blaring some alien music and grown men in western wear surrounded the kids. It was a bizarre scene for a boy from the southeastern states.  This picture will look better in twenty years I know.

I have been at the beach this weekend playing in the ocean and eating and drinking like a teenager.  Well, not quite.  My friend is a very bad influence on me and we have been starting our days with mimosas and brunch.  But I have surfed and waded in knee-depth water against a strong current for miles (exaggeration) and have biked and walked upon the white sands of the beach for hours.  But the weekend is over and it is time to answer the factory whistle once again.  I am anxious about going because my hair has turned blonde over the weekend, the beautician's work being undone by salt and sun, but I look good as a surfer boy as some women, strangers to me, have already attested.  It is good to be a teenager again and have summer days of frolicking fun.  I'll try to stay that way.  As always, of course. . . we shall see.