Day 71 of 100, Nordjylland, Danmark
I got a new camera today. It’s a new X-Pro2, identical in every way to the other I was using, except for its new metallic gunmetal trim, instead of customary black skin. Fuji calls this color Graphite. It comes with a 23mm F2 lens and vented hood in the same gorgeous tint.
The X-Pro2 I’d been using until a month ago had a busted viewfinder. The switch that disabled the optical viewfinder when you put it into electronic viewfinder mode, broke. So flicking the viewfinder to electronic, you’d get a digital image overlaying the regular one through the glass. You couldn’t see the digital overlay at all in sunlight, but it was pretty disorienting by night. I needed a new Pro2, but I wasn’t figuring on getting this one. Thank you, Fujifilm Nordic!
This graphite version was introduced at the start of the year, and I couldn’t believe how incredible it looked. For me, the Pro2 is just about perfect, hitting that sublime sweet spot where design, function, refinement and robustness intersect. I love its spare, unassuming blackness. It calls for no attention, asking to be forgotten in hand. The perfect proposition for a camera.
But this…. this graphiteness.
A simple color change that makes the heart race.
It might be association. I used to own a sweet little coupe in this colour – a 1988 Honda Prelude, if you want to know. She was 17 when I sold her, and still handled like a dream. How that engine growled, reluctant and silky, when downshifting into a turn. That long clutch, light accelerator, and the joy of tight turns in a four wheel steer. I’ve had dalliances with plenty of vehicles since, but that none come anywhere close.
We made journeys to the ocean, that low grey ghost and I. We’d drive for hours, down the coast and back again, racing the sun, drinking salt air and sinking light.
She was smoke and metal, just like my new camera.
And that new camera? Marvelous like my last, and it shimmers like dark frost on a winter morning.