Saturday, November 8, 2014

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

I'm learning new things about the LX100 all the time. Steve wrote at the comments of the LX100 observations piece that when the camera is switched on and the OIS system is working, there is a low hum, at the threshold of hearing.

I hadn't realized that the hum was there. I guess I was focused on seeing, not hearing. You can hear the hum when it is otherwise silent and you lift the camera to near your ear. Rather pleasing sound, it you ask me. It almost feels as if the camera was alive, some tiny creature breathing inside.

This reminded me of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels and the iconograph: "Unlike a normal camera, the iconograph contains a tiny imp who quickly paints the pictures (also called iconographs) of the subject at hand."

Further, I remembered the day when I got the LX3. Taking the camera out of the package for the first time I noticed that the lens rattled inside the camera. I was worried that it may be broken, until I understood that this is the way it has to be for the lens to work.

Later I paid no attention to this. And the camera worked for over 200,000 photographs. Finally the camera broke in a thunderstorm, and the lens refused to extend properly. Even then my LX3 was of use: Francisco used it to resurrect his broken LX3.

I leave it as an exercise to the reader to find out what is the connection of the title to the Discworld novels. If you are a fan, you may know it already.

(Posting title is from the poem Warning by Jenny Joseph.)

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