Together we are one, a whole continuation of each other. The symbol of everything created that inevitably encompasses the beginning and end, minus and plus, top and bottom. Together we watch people not accidentally met by us on the streets of granite and grey Porto.
My camera is called Shadow, the Shadow that accompanies me everywhere and makes it so natural that I cannot even allow myself to think about the existence in its absence.
My Shadow is much older than me, the number stamped on the bottom cover unequivocally speaks about the year of its release. But the old cameras, unlike us, people, do not grow old, but only gain experience.
Shadow is very picky and like any beautiful woman, she, knowing her own worth, allows herself not to hide her shortcomings and appetites, her desires and demands addressed to my modest person who had the courage to master her.
Shadow strongly disclaims its formerly most important function — a masterfully arranged automatic exposure mode, which Pentax engineers once relied on. She says that her beauty is not at all in it, and at the moment when she tells me this, I suddenly feel her weight, I feel the smooth lines of the handle firmly held back by my hand, I feel the cold radiated by night black steel.
“I am reliable as nothing of all that you possess,” Shadow tells me and demands that I bring her to my eyes and set the shutter at 125. The click and titanium construction of the mirror hangers goes down noisily.
I love her for it all.