Goodbye, Minolta
A farewell love letter to my first film camera
I inherited the Minolta 7000 from a family friend, and it became the very first tool I used to explore photography. At the time, photography was just a mandatory subject at university. I wanted to be an illustrator, but I needed the credit to move on to the next semester.
I started experimenting with the Minolta, not really understanding shutter speed or aperture (yet). It felt more like a game than a craft. But I began spending more and more time with her.
My very first pictures were in black and white. Like everyone starting out, I photographed my friends, nature, and a lot of what I used to call “sadness scenes.”
I remember one night I stayed on my balcony trying to capture car lights, something I hadn’t even attempted with a digital camera at the time. I didn’t use a tripod (wild, I know), just rested the camera on the balcony floor and somehow managed to get some interesting shots.
Another time, again on a balcony (apparently my favourite place), it was snowing. I caught birds eating persimmons from a tree in the garden. I felt like a National Geographic pro, crouched there, holding my breath, trying not to scare them away.
Later, during my exam, my professor told me I had a good eye. Until that point, I had no idea. As usual, I wasn’t even aware I liked something until someone else noticed I might be good at it.
Since then, I’ve always come back to play with my Minolta. Over the years, I added more (and more) film cameras to my collection, but I always ended up bringing her with me on my travels.
On this last trip, it turned out to be her final journey. Funnily, and sadly, on the very last day she worked, I had one picture left to finish the roll. But the camera shut down completely. Sometimes I can be stubborn, so I kept trying. Eventually, I managed to take the shot I wanted. With a very cranky sound, the camera began to rewind the roll. The noises were worrying, but it completed the task. And then she stopped working.
I like to think it was her final gesture, like an old friend proving she could still do it one last time, even if she was tired.
I was, and still am, sad about it. I’ve looked into buying another one, even though it’s not a fancy camera, not a trendy “must-have” piece of gear. But everything I’ve found on eBay feels off. Too worn, too broken, or maybe I’m just fussy, maybe I just want my camera to work again.
Out of all the photos I took in Japan with different film cameras, the ones from the Minolta are still my favourites. The colours, the sharpness, and of course, the meaning behind that very last image. It’s more than just a photo. It’s a memory, a moment, a final goodbye.
She may not work anymore, but she gave me the most important thing:
a beginning.
Agree with Elliot, so well written and accompanied by such gorgeous photos.
Such a beautifully written post, with beautiful photos. I’ve thought about buying a backup Canon 50E when the inevitable happens but like your Minolta, it won’t be *my* 50E.