What Goes in the Camera
written by: Dean Hahnenberg
Joel could smell the woods, the understory. He could almost smell the damp that he felt on his skin. The sounds his boots made crunching into dead leaves. The slight breeze he could feel in his hair. The sounds of the birds singing to each other.
Jennifer, his student, carried the bag that contained his film holders. He wouldn’t let anyone else carry the case with the camera and the light meter. She’d hung around after class a few days before, saying she wanted to go out with him to photograph. He’d told her to wear bug spray and a good pair of boots. Even though the class was an elective, she was the only one interested enough to go out in the field with him.
“I really want to learn how to do this,” she said as he set up the tripod. “I don’t want to just, you know, take pictures. I want to get more involved with the process. Like, go beyond digital, that kind of thing.” She had her digital point-and-shoot out and took some snaps as he set up. “It’s my way of taking notes,” she said. “So I can get an idea later of what goes on with this.”
“You know this stuff is really heavy, don’t you. You sure you want to carry all this by yourself?”
“I wouldn’t go right up to 8×10 like you’re doing.” She paused as he attached the lens to the front of the camera. “I saw some 4×5’s online. I think I could handle that.”
She stood behind him as he looked through the ground glass, the image upside down, something she was still getting used to. Trying to figure out what he was seeing. “It’s basically chaos out here,” he said, then stuck his head under the dark cloth. He made some adjustments to the camera, then folded the cloth back up. “You can see what I’m looking at well enough, I think. This light is perfect, just the sort of day you want.” It had been sunny on the drive out, but by the time they got to the park it had clouded over. “Remember when we had the class on studio lighting? How the soft box gave a more diffuse light than when we used spotlights? What we have here is nature’s soft box.”
“That’s a neat way to look at it.”
He took the bag with the film holders from her and leaned it against one of the tripod legs. Then took a few readings with the light meter, set the f/stop and the shutter speed, inserted one of the holders, and made the exposure. “This stuff gets to be really expensive,” he said as he turned the holder over to make a second exposure. “Especially if I think the shot will be really good. I’ll make a second exposure, just to be on the safe side. Which doubles the cost of the film, which is already expensive enough.”
“I just thought of that.”
He picked up the tripod with the camera still attached, and they walked deeper into the woods. “I don’t shoot a lot in the city,” he said, “not with this rig. I’ve had kids try to steal stuff out of the bag. I’ve had people give me shit for taking up space on the sidewalk. And if you’re under the dark cloth and someone blows the horn, it scares the shit out of you.”
They walked for another fifteen minutes or so, and he felt the weight of the equipment. They came up to a rock wall, and he put the tripod down. “Look at the pattern,” he said, pointing to a fissure in the rock. “See how that line moves across, then down. How those vines cut across.” He looked at the back of the camera, then turned to her. “I have an idea. How would you like to get in front of the camera? I think it would make a good composition.”
“I’m not taking my clothes off, so don’t get any bright ideas.”
He laughed. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.” In art school, everyone knew which few students were willing to pose nude. She wasn’t one of them. He was glad she wore a plaid shirt. It would contrast nicely with the patterns in the rock. He told her where he wanted her to stand. She was at ease in front of the camera and moved just a little for the second shot. “You’re good at this,” he said. “We have the portrait class coming up. Would you volunteer for that?”
“I don’t see why not.” She was taking the third class of the basic photo series. One class on available light, a couple on studio lighting. One on portraits, another on shooting products. The last two sessions were on the view camera, though most of the students wouldn’t pursue it. Jennifer looked to be an exception.
After the next class, she approached him. “I want to go out with you again,” she said. “But this time I want to bring my own camera.”
She walked along with him as they left the building, cutting across campus towards his office. “You brought your little digital with you the last time,” he said.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you.” She got her phone out of her purse and showed him a picture. “I just got it a few days ago. I haven’t even had a chance to do anything with it. I was hoping we could go out again, so I could actually use it.” The picture showed her standing next to a 4×5 folding camera, dark wood, on a wood tripod. “My roommate shot the pic. All I’ve done with it so far is mess around with it, pointing it out the window. I’m still getting used to the movements.”
He had a pretty good idea what it all cost. He wondered where she got the money. Though he knew they didn’t, a lot of the students he taught looked like they lived on the streets. She dressed better than almost any of them. He saw her car once, a late-model Hyundai, much nicer than his old Honda. He was sure she wasn’t on scholarship.
A week later they went to a different park. “I got the film developed from the last time,” he said. But I haven’t had time to make any prints. I’ll get around to it.” He brought his 4×5 this time, a different brand of camera than hers but the same type. “You made the right move, going to this format. It’s a lot easier to carry around.”
She hung back when he set up, not wanting to copy what he was doing. She took a couple of shots with her digital, then set up her 4×5. He got off a shot, moved the camera and took another, then moved the camera again, all in the time it took her to get her camera on the tripod and get the lens attached. “I’m so slow,” she said as he put his camera back in the case.
“I was the same way when I started,” he said. “You get used to it.” He watched her struggle for a few minutes, then came over. “Can I take a peek?” He liked what he saw.
Most of his students took the photo classes so they could photograph their projects, their paintings, sculptures, jewelry. Some wanted to take photographs, but very few had an eye for it. From the assignments she’d turned in, he knew she had an eye. He helped her with the front tilt, the movement you used to position the lens at a forward angle to pull the foreground into better focus. She took a few light readings, then exposed her first two sheets of film. They picked their cameras up and walked a little bit further. She did one more setup, then looked at him. “I think I’ve had enough,” she said. She started packing up her gear. He’d already put his gear away. She finished with hers, then gave him a hug. He wasn’t expecting it.
They didn’t say much on the walk back to the car. A few days later, she came by his office. “I have prints from the first time we went out,” he said, and opened a storage box. “Not a bad day’s work. You came out looking very good.” He showed her the matted print. When she went to hand it back, he put his hand up. “That one’s yours. If you want it, that is. I always give my subjects a print. Since I can’t pay you, it’s the least I can do.”
“Well, I’ll accept it. Thank you.” She knew he was represented by one of the galleries downtown and that he sold prints there. Not enough to support what he was doing. That was the art biz. If you weren’t on top, you struggled. “I’m not sure where I’ll put it, but I’ll definitely get it framed.”
“You can sit down if you like. I’m off for the rest of the day.” She put her books on his desk and settled in. “If you don’t mind, I have to ask. What do you see yourself doing with all this photography? You know that for most people there’s no money in it. I’m far enough along that I can sell some of my work. But I teach. There aren’t that many jobs like this, and not that many places still teaching film. I’m not even sure how I got into it, other than I really love doing it.”
She laughed and said, “You’ve just answered your own question. It fascinates me. I think of light entering the camera, hitting the film, the silver. Making an image, the potential of an image. Then the rest of the process, negative to positive. What goes in the camera, how you choose what to put in there. What you get out is only as good as what you put in. It’s all grounded in the physical: lens, silver, light. And it’s almost like a dream.”
“I’ve, um, I’ve never heard it put quite that way.” He paused for a few moments, then said, “That still leaves the question of what you’re going to do when you get out of this place. What comes next? You don’t get to be a student forever.”
“My parents are about ready to kill me. I started in pre-law. To make my dad happy, I guess. He’s a COO, well, I won’t bore you with the company. Well, OK, the power company. My brother’s in third-year law school. I think one kid’s enough to make him happy.” She looked down, then back up at him. “I know you’re separated. It must be tough. It’s none of my business, but I hope it works out.”
“Well, we were trying, sort of, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“I’m sorry. Like I said, it’s none of my business.”
“No, that’s OK.”
“I’m taking my time going through school. Something else that pisses dad off. But mom’s OK with it. She says I should live my own life, follow my gut, do what I feel I need to do. Right now, this is it. I like school, I like my classes. I like trying to create things. I think photography is my, well, it’s what moves me. But I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
She got up and started to pick up her books. He came around from behind his desk. She put her books back down, walked up to him and hugged him. This time, he thought that she didn’t want to let go. “We have a policy against this kind of thing,” he said as he tried to back out of her embrace.
She wouldn’t let go. She buried her face in his chest, then looked up at him and gave him a quick kiss. “Like you said. I won’t be a student forever.”
“I have at least ten years on you,” he said.
She squeezed tighter and said, “Seven. I looked you up. You don’t look like you’re almost thirty.”
“And, well, we, you know. Like I said. I could get fired.”
“I know about that, too.” She let go and backed away from him, afraid to look him in the eye. “I’m cool with it, but I think I understand. But, well, let’s get to be better friends. At least that much. And maybe, well, we’ll see about what happens this summer.”
He tried to treat her like any other student during the rest of the semester. But he couldn’t help noticing the sly looks exchanged between some of the other students. When she asked again to go out shooting, he almost turned her down, then decided that he would see if she improved with her camera. She was still a bit slow, but she was getting the hang of it. The first prints she showed him needed work, so during one of the open darkroom periods he showed her a few ways to improve her printing, making sure he also gave advice to the other student who showed up. At the end of the year, she got her A, but objectively she’d earned it. She had the best
portfolio in the class.
She went home for the summer, while he taught a mini class in beginning digital. In the fall, she registered for his advanced printing class, then dropped it the first week. He never asked her why. But she would come by his office to show him what she was up to. “I’m getting away from the photography,” she told him one time. “You were right. It costs a fortune. I’m keeping the camera and the rest of the stuff, but I think it’s going to be more of a hobby than an avocation.”
She went out with him a few more times over the next school year. She became comfortable with her camera and surprised him sometimes with her compositions. She came by his office one last time after graduation. “So, you decided to do something real,” he said, half laughing. “I hope I wasn’t too much of a negative influence on you. Pardon the pun.”
“Not at all,” she said. “Well, um, did you ever work it out…”
“Um, no. The divorce is almost finalized. We tried. We worked at it. But it just wasn’t going to happen, I guess. Working it out, I mean. We were both still students when we got married. I think we were just too young.”
She didn’t say anything for a bit, then said, “I wish we could have done something. I mean, other than the class stuff. But, well, you didn’t seem like you were into it.”
“I couldn’t. You know that. I would have gotten into a lot of trouble. I’d end up selling little point-and-shoots like yours in a department store.”
She laughed. “I graduated to a DSLR. I still use the little one for, I guess you could call it taking notes. I take a pic of every one of my camera set-ups.”
“So, what’s next?”
“You’ll laugh. But my dad was right. Artists don’t make squat. I’ll take some make up credits over the summer, then it’s off to business school. MBA, here I come. I can get in at my dad’s old school as a legacy student. He still has pull.”
He wanted to tell her how he felt about it all, but the words wouldn’t come.
They decided to keep in touch. They would text. Later they friended each other on Facebook. By then, he’d met Barbara, an instructor in the French department, at one of the faculty whatever-they-were. At least for once the food was good. “I’ve seen you around,” she said. “You’re the one with the funny camera.” She had come off her own divorce and wasn’t ready for another relationship, so they kept it light for the first year or so, then got more involved. It took a while, but she was the one who asked him to marry her. It cracked him up when she got down on one knee.
Every so often he’d look at Jennifer’s Facebook page. He saw when she got her new degree, when she started at her father’s company. When she got married.
One day, almost ten years after they first met, he was looking at Jennifer’s page again, when he noticed Barbara looking over his shoulder. “Who’s that you’re looking at,” she asked. “You’ve been looking at that page for like several minutes now.”
“Oh, just one of my old students,” he replied. He didn’t tell her what he’d been thinking. “It kind of brings back what I was teaching back then. Not many people taking film classes anymore. Just a few diehards. The alternate process folks. You know, non-silver. I get maybe four a year.” He paused, then closed the page. “She was one of my best students. Then she decided to do something sensible with her life. Unlike you know who.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I’d like to make more money.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it looks like she’s doing well.”
- What Goes in the Camera - August 4, 2026
