Small something about things

Quiet clear blue day, and like a stone, morning dropped to afternoon, to evening to now, after nine. Simple sort of day. Polished car and a woman from UK who sounds interested and just gets the gestalt of the Discovery. So in cleaning it so thoroughly, I was reminded of how long I had wanted one, how long I waited before I could buy one and how very fond of the car I had become. There are no vehicles quite like it on the road. The 2003 Land Rover Discovery SE. Five seats, not seven. Everything today looks the same. Infiniti, Honda, Toyota, Lexus et al, who the hell can tell, all look-alikes, rounded wind-tunnel forms now formless and anonymous, blobs with lights and wheels. I look at them and think, “Thin cars.”

The Japanese, then Americans ripped off BMW, Audi and Mercedes in one scoop, taking a curve from this, a window C-bar from that, a rear light constellation from the other – so they are hybrids, cars without distinction, cars with a paucity of style, now looking at big parking lots with a fresh curiosity. What really gets me are the logos, loopy shiny badges taht appear to have copied each other and do nothing to distinguish the brand. The Discovery, with it’s quirky curved little windows on the sides of the roof, two sunroofs, massive rear window, high commanding driving position, doesn’t have the price heft of a Range Rover, but it has real personality, and it is so solid, everything about it is thick and well constructed. A luxury car that is ready for the bush. So, I will be sad to see it go, and I won’t forget it.

Good objects come into one’s life now and again. Perhaps ninety percent of what we own we could live without and never miss it. I know because I have done this more than once. But there are a few items that one grows fond of. I had a Canon 1Ds, several years old now, but a magnesium body, the top of the line Mark II, heavy as hell, but it loved my hands and I held it steady and secure because I owned it and in using it it disappeared despite its bulk, all that remained was the viewfinder and my index finger firing of the pictures. I trusted it implicitly. I also had a Leica M8, their first digital camera, and used it constantly. Although its provenance was the camera used by Cartier-Bresson and the other greats of the twentieth century, used as a “decisive moment” camera, an urban camera, and even a war camera,I never used mine that way. I used it as a landscape camera. It is utterly superb with landscape, yet one never sees Leica landscapes, always the people shots … So the Leica, built by hand is a gorgeous piece of engineering. Leica optics are extraordinary, the finest, and the way the Leica lens “draws” is unique — rich, warm lines, amazing depth and tonal range, full of character. There is a softness, no matter how tack sharp the pictures, there is something human in the way Leica draws pictures.

The Japanese cameras by contrast are fast, efficient and cold, ultra sharp, technically perfect, and without character. They also have far too many menus and options. These do not make good photographs, but they do make many lazy photographers. They are also probably the best tools for the serious photographer. More is demanded of the shooter’s vision. And the handling of post processing which is what photography is today. With everyone owning a camera and posting pictures, poor work is instantly recognizable.

So as we cleaned the inside of the Land Rover, with all it’s pockets and little bins and slots to store all kinds of paraphernalia, its leather and alacantra suede, and knobs and peculiar british oddness, I realized I would not own another, this was my car to drive until it perhaps became too expensive to maintain. It would probably outlive me. Production of these Discovery’s ceased in 2004. This really is the vehicle in which to see Africa, and the old ones from the fifties are prowling the continent today. So there. A bit of car and other mechanical nostalgia for tonight. Not important objects, but an object lesson.

When one buys well and grows fond of something it should be appreciated and cared for, and allowed to age, and adopt the quirks and fingerprints and oils of the owner, develop a patina, get scratched and dented, be enjoyed until we give up the ghost. We also are reminded of the human hands that went into at least part of the making of this cool object and that humane-ness is embedded in the surfaces and workings and feel of it. I hope you know and keep your good objects. There is magic in old things cared for.

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