Pinhole Camera Photographs 

These photographs are some of the best of a series of images made with a small pinhole camera, the Pin-Zip 126, which uses roll film in the old 126 Instamatic cassette.  It is made of cardboard (of about the weight of that of a box of corn flakes), and fitted with a thin piece of brass with a tiny hole drilled in it, figured to be about f/110.  The exposure is made by raising a slide that covers the pinhole and then lowering it again after an interval. The film is advanced by turning a knob fashioned from an electrical connector, with a nut on the inside of the camera.  Whereas most pinhole cameras must be loaded and unloaded for every single picture, this system allows one to take many exposures without having to retreat to a darkroom to change film.  (However, since the film is pre-exposed in manufacture at the borders of the frames- who knows why - advancing the film until one sees the little exposure number in the tiny window is not very precise.  I have exposed a few rolls in which I lost 20% or more of the image area at the side to the pre-exposure.  Of course one doesn't discover this until the film is developed.)

Since a pinhole camera has infinite depth-of-field, there is no focusing to be done, but a tripod is necessary, as exposures vary from a few seconds in broad daylight to several minutes in window light.  Infinite depth-of-field also means that the camera is ideally suited to extreme close-ups of small objects.  I feel also that, psychologically, somehow, the close-up pinhole photograph suggests the subjective experience of natural vision.

It shouldn't surprise anyone that, with these long exposure times, I've had to restrict my subject matter to the inanimate world.  But for me this is no problem, given my propensity for still life.

This is as good a place as any to insert an artist's statement (that I wrote some time ago) about pinhole camera photography.  It repeats some of what I've written above, but develops it somewhat further.

Little Things:  Pinhole Photographs by Allen Schill

– These photographs were made with a “PinZip 126” pinhole camera which I obtained by mail order for about twelve dollars.  It is made of cardboard about as thick as that of a box of breakfast cereal . In lieu of a lens there is a sheet of thin brass with a tiny hole drilled in it, figured by the makers of the camera to be equal to a lens opening of ƒ/110.  Exposures range from a few seconds in open daylight to half an hour for some interiors, and were calculated with a hand-held exposure meter, compensating as much as two or three stops for reciprocity failure.  For most of these pictures, taken by the indirect light of a north window, they ranged from two to four minutes.  Its use of 126 roll film, Eastman Kodak’s old Instamatic cassette format, frees one of the inconvenience of most pinhole cameras, which only hold one sheet of film at a time.  The camera is secured tightly to a tripod with two heavy-duty rubber bands.  Its perspective is rather wide, roughly equivalent to a 24mm or 28mm lens on a 35mm camera.  There is no viewfinder, so composing is a matter of good aim and experience.

– All this bears upon the subjects chosen and the results obtained.  A pinhole provides a softer focus than a good lens (or even a cheap one), but compensates for this (if soft focus is considered a flaw in itself) by offering infinite depth of field.  That is, unlike a camera with a lens, a pinhole camera will focus simultaneously and equally well on objects at any distance. Aside from photographs that combine the very near and the very far, this lends itself well to extreme close-ups of tiny objects. By adapting to a situation so different from the customary, the photographer is brought around to a novel way of thinking and seeing.  I have had the same experience working with other unconventional cameras - I have had to learn to see somehow as the camera sees.

– For me there is something special about getting so close to such small things - closer, sometimes, than one’s own eyes could focus - that may be a bit like actually becoming very small, like the proverbial fly on the wall, or like seeing everything from a disembodied, free-floating perspective, as in a near-death experience.  I am also reminded of the Aleph (through the story of that name by Jorge Luis Borges) which, according to Kabbalist tradition, is a special point in space through which one can see, at once, the whole of creation, past, present, and future--a sort of ultimate observatory, and a notion that fascinates me.

– As ponderous as this may seem, the making of these photographs is yet a form of play for me.  I see them as variously whimsical, symbolic, dreamlike, or macabre; in any case, meant to be enjoyed.

Allen Schill

© 2014 Allen Schill. All rights reserved.  No part of this document may be reproduced or used in any form without prior written permission from the author.  Anyone is welcome to link to it freely or to quote brief passages, but I would like to be notified.