Is the one that you have with you, be it in your hands, around your neck, or in your pocket.
I firmly believe that tools do not make a craftsman. A camera is a tool, a means to an end – to capture an image or present an idea envisioned by the person behind the lens.
I have little interest in using the latest technology or expensive gear. Neither am I a highly technical photographer; though I’m intrigued by the inverse relation between aperture and depth of field.
As long as a camera produces quality images, is easy to operate, and light enough to not give me a headache if I were to carry it around my neck for hours, I’ll use it. This is why I love my first-generation Fujifilm X100 and the X-T20, both in the classic silver-black design reminiscent of old film cameras.
When I was a child, I would often climb onto a chair to retrieve a pink container in my parents’ wardrobe. Clasping it tightly in my hands, I would nudge open the tight lid and sink my fingers into the light blue beads that I had been warned to not eat. Sitting amidst those tiny balls of silica were boxes of slides and my dad’s Mamiya SLR. I loved marvelling at this black and silver object with tiny numbers etched onto its body. I also liked how sturdy and hefty it felt in my tiny hands.
Ironically, this was how my love for photography began, with the tool.
About the featured photo: It was pouring that evening, so I had put away my camera in my bag while my iPhone remained in my pocket. I had stopped to photograph the disintegrating facade of a colonial-era building in Yangon, Myanmar. Brisk footsteps approached. I waited, and took one shot when the ladies entered the frame.