The Artist’s Camera Is More Than Metal And Glass
I have this little tick whenever I see a picture of someone’s original Canon F1. I look for an image of its back so I can check the serial number to see if it’s lower than mine. So far…nope.
Pretty sure I bought one of the first ones imported into the USA. It has the Bell & Howell import sticker in the film compartment because they were the importers of Canon cameras here in the 60s/70s. According to the code inside the film compartment (you can’t go by the serial numbers) mine was made in June 1971 in Oita Japan. I bought it in July with money I made summer working at Burger Chef, and from selling my Miranda Sensorex. Production had only begun in March of that year. It was my first professional grade camera and I was so proud to get one when I did because they were so hard to find. It became my constant companion in my senior year of high school, and my workhorse during the time I was trying to make it as a photojournalist. It has been all over the country with me, and an artistic companion from my teens to my 70s.
I find myself using my Canon F1N more often now, it feels just as solid as the F1, and the F1 is so precious to me anymore that taking it out and about from time to time worries me about it getting damaged or stolen off me. But there are days I just have to have it in my hands, and it will always be the one camera I will never get off of no matter how much money I might suddenly need. I’d sell the Mercedes first. I’d sell the house first.





































