A False Start

My old Soviet Start camera is my problem child.

It was fine at first– the initial roll was a beauty and I couldn’t wait to lug this glorious brick all over the city.

Then, in the middle of the second roll, the jamming started.

The camera works in a strange way: after a picture is taken, the viewfinder goes dark until you wind to the next frame. When the camera is working, this isn’t a problem and you’re never in danger of missing a moment because your film isn’t wound. When the camera jams, winding the film doesn’t open the viewfinder. This makes it impossible to frame or focus a picture.

That’s a big problem.

At first, I managed. Usually the jamming resulted in sharp shards of light leak, which led to fortuitous roughness in my images. I like that. The unpredictability of film is part of the appeal.

Then it started jamming frequently.

Then it stopped winding completely.

I got it repaired at a camera shop in Istanbul. It broke again. The camera man repaired it again for free.  I adjusted to the fact that this camera was just wonky, with weird quirks, and sometimes it just wouldn’t work.

The Start is a heavy camera. I became reluctant to carry around a big metal machine that might only work for one or two images before becoming dead weight on my shoulder.

It’s a shame. I had hoped that the Start would be a dependable alternate 35mm camera to my Pentax. Instead, it’s a pretty, broken machine.

Yes, it’s broken again. I’ll take it back to my camera man. But I am still craving a nice old 35mm camera that I can depend on.

The Start is beautiful. It’s 50 years old, full of history, truly special. Even through all the frustration, I love the camera and I would be thrilled if it began to work again.

Until then, it will sit on my shelf, looking lovely and seeing nothing.