The most beautiful cameras ever made were not styled to be beautiful. They were built to work, and the beauty is what happened when the engineers refused to hide how the machine did its job. They still sit under glass in collections not because they out-resolve a modern mirrorless body, but because you cannot stop looking at them.
NYIP started as a correspondence school in 1910 and runs entirely online today—but the old-school discipline it teaches has given me something my cameras can't: structure, critique, and a mindset that works whether I'm shooting with my Canon AE-1 or my Canon EOS 6D.
Before they spent more than seven decades trying to bury each other, Canon and Nikon were partners. The very first Canon cameras of the 1930s shipped with lenses ground by the company that would become Nikon, because Canon could not yet make its own glass. Everything that came after, the autofocus wars, the full frame race, the mirrorless scramble, grew out of that uncomfortable early closeness.
If you missed the big solar eclipse earlier this month, you have a shot tonight and early tomorrow morning at seeing a deep partial lunar eclipse, where about 96% of the Moon will be covered by the Earth's shadow. The result should be a very reddish, blood-moon-like appearance.
I've used a lot of cameras. I have had hands-on experience with basically every Sony release for the past five years, plus the latest from Nikon, Canon, Leica, Fujifilm, and even Hasselblad. My main workhorse and my everyday carry camera is still Sony. Not because they're perfect, but because they give me things no other brand does, like the global shutter in my a9 III or the sheer amount of tech packed into something as small as the RX1R III.
In 1858, a French balloonist who called himself Nadar leaned over the edge of a wicker basket tethered above the village of Petit-Bicêtre, just outside Paris, and made the first photograph ever taken from the air. You cannot see it. That plate, and every other aerial photograph Nadar made in those first years, is gone.
In an age of near-psychic autofocus, what's the point of vintage glass anyway? A vintage Canon FD SSC can be cheaper than a G Master Prime, but let's put the costs aside and look at the biggest motivator: character.
In February 1996, five of the biggest names in photography, companies that spent the rest of the century trying to bury each other, walked onto one stage in Las Vegas and formally launched a film format they had built together in secret. The five of them had already sunk around $500 million into it between them and expected to spend roughly that much again. Fifteen years later almost nobody remembered it existed.
Two centuries of photography prove some pictures are timeless, but today photographers are forced to pick a lane. Or are we?
Two photographs can be equally strong in composition, light, and technique, yet only one continues to unfold after the first impression. The difference often lies in what the elements of the frame are actually doing.
In 2005, if you asked a working photographer to name a Sony stills camera, you would get a shrug and maybe a Cyber-shot pointed at you. Sony had no professional lens line, no professional autofocus heritage, and no seat at a table Canon and Nikon had set for themselves decades earlier. A little over ten years later, Sony was selling the most talked-about full-frame mirrorless cameras on the market, and both of its rivals were scrambling to answer.
Who doesn't love a good theme park ride photo? Faces contorted in delicious mixes of fear, anticipation, and fun make for interesting photos. And while it's easier than ever to buy the photos, sometimes all you get is crushing disappointment in the form of thumbnail-sized photos that look like they were taken with a potato.
In April 1972, at Polaroid's annual meeting, Edwin H. Land reached into his jacket, pulled out a camera folded flat enough to hide in a suit pocket, and in about ten seconds fired off five color photographs. There was no timer to watch, no negative to peel away, no wet chemistry to wipe off your fingers. That was the SX-70, and more than fifty years later, it still looks like it wandered in from a future that never quite arrived.
Panning is an integral part of sports and action photography, but mastering the technique can add interest and intrigue to many genres. I am going to break down the five things I consider when trying to create a good panning image.
Somewhere on or below Everest's northern side, perhaps buried in snow, rock, or moving ice, there may be a camera the size of a bar of soap. If it is ever found, and if the film inside survived, it could answer a question that has hung over mountaineering for 100 years: did George Mallory and Andrew "Sandy" Irvine stand on the summit of Everest in 1924, three decades before Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay?
There is no camera more synonymous with "learning" than the Pentax K1000. For nearly 50 years, it has been arguably the best-known student film camera ever made. But in 2026, it's time to stop looking at the K1000 as a "beginner" camera and start appreciating it as a masterclass in "three-dial" simplicity. It does exactly three things: shutter speed, aperture, and focus. In an era of "feature creep" and menu bloat, that simplicity is a professional asset.
For about five minutes on May 29, 1919, the Moon blotted out the Sun over an island in the Gulf of Guinea and a hard-baked plain in northern Brazil, and two teams of astronomers pointed their cameras at a patch of sky no one could normally see. They were not photographing the eclipse for its beauty. They were trying to measure whether a handful of stars had moved.
For the past couple of years, I've found myself reaching for film cameras more often. Not because they're better than digital—they’re not. For the analog look then? No, I believe you can get a film look with digital, if you know your way around an editing app. It’s really because they remind me why I fell in love with photography in the first place.
When a hurricane spins up over the Atlantic, the most frequent, most continuous pictures of it come from a camera parked 22,236 miles above the equator. That camera is the Advanced Baseline Imager, the primary instrument on NOAA's GOES-R series of weather satellites, and it works nothing like the one in your bag. It never racks focus, it has no shutter in the conventional sense, and what it delivers is not really a photograph. It is a stack of measurements that gets rebuilt into an image on the ground.
The best culling software is the one that gets you to your picks faster without deciding for you. Narrative sorts a shoot by scene, ranks every frame for focus and expression, and shows you why it ranked things the way it did, so the final call stays yours. That last part is what separates it from tools that hand you a finished selection and ask you to trust it.
It’s that time again to sit back and dream about a one-size-fits-all camera that doesn’t actually exist, but really should.
At 5:29:45 in the morning on July 16, 1945, in a stretch of New Mexico desert the Spanish called the Jornada del Muerto, the sky turned brighter than the noon sun. Aimed at that flash, tucked into steel-and-lead bunkers and buried instrument boxes ringing a 100-foot tower, sat roughly fifty cameras. Most of the cameras were unmanned and triggered automatically, although Brixner personally occupied a tracking-camera position at North 10,000. Every one had been focused, loaded, and left in the dark hours earlier, wired to fire on a countdown, because no human eye could be trusted to catch what was about to happen and no photographer could survive standing close enough to try. The world has entered the nuclear age.
In 2022, a camera on the floor of the Izu-Ogasawara Trench off Japan, 8,336 meters down, filmed a small translucent snailfish drifting through its beam. No fish had ever been filmed so far down. No sunlight has ever reached that trench, and the light that does exist down there, the faint blue flicker of bioluminescence, is nothing like the broad-spectrum white the camera carries. When the lights came on, they almost certainly gave that fish a kind of light it had never seen. A great deal of deep-sea photography works this way: the scene has no sunlight of its own, so the camera has to bring it.
Buying memory cards used to be a simple decision: match the slot, pick a speed class, done. That's no longer the case, and not just because of price. Every memory purchase has become a longer-term investment rather than a one-off consumable buy, and getting that decision right matters more than ever. But what does this mean if you're thinking of upgrading your camera, for example, shooting on a Nikon DSLR with an aging XQD slot now, but with a mirrorless upgrade already on your mind? If, like me, you're in that position, the card you buy now needs to outlast the camera it's going into.
In October 2017, a silver plate about the size of a paperback sold at Sotheby's in New York for $360,500. It is the earliest surviving photograph of anyone who has ever been President of the United States, and the man staring out of it had been out of the office for fourteen years by the time the lens cap came off. The question of who was photographed first is messier than a single plate suggests, and every leading candidate carries an asterisk.