Back in the old days (there may have still been dinosaurs,) when I first fell in love with the art of photography and purchased my starter camera, it turned out there was really only one color transparency film, in spite of all of the different Kodak boxes lounging in the air-conditioned comfort of the camera store film coolers. Kodachrome was The Film of Choice for 35mm color nature photography, especially for anyone who hoped to compete in the stock market game. The large format nature guys, and yes, they were mostly guys, were shooting Ektachromes.  Because their film was so much bigger, they were able to take advantage of  the more saturated greens of Ektachrome (yes, each film emulsion had unique color qualities), even though the Ektachromes were actually not as microscopically sharp as the Kodachromes. But bigger was good enough to compensate for any defaults, and so for the comparatively tiny 35mm frame, only the incredible sharpness/acuity, grain, and color rendition of Kodachrome would have any hope of making an editor’s cut on his light table. I’m sorry if you don’t know what a light table is. Look it up. Long before Ektachrome started offering VS film (the VS stood for Very Saturated), long before Velvia was hailed as the best dye emulsion in the history of the known universe, there were the reds of Kodachrome, which flew as the standard against which all other films were judged. As a beginning nature photographer, I soon learned that greens had the best hope standing next to a 4″x5″ Ektachrome if shot with Kodachrome 25. And the reds; well, nothing showcased red like Kodachrome 64.

What? Did I hear a small gasp from those who never threaded a film leader into a takeup spool in the back of a camera and then adjusted the tension to make certain the film was actually moving as it was supposed to? (Back then, even accidental multiple exposures were considered Art.) ISO 25? ISO 64? Yep. Kodachrome was Slow Film designed for Slow Photographers. It’s why I learned to love my tripod and hate the wind within 24 hours of picking up a camera for the first time. With Kodachrome 25 and overcast light, exposures were almost never faster than 1/30th of a second, and more often, 1/2 second or below. Kodachrome 64 was the FAST film, boosting exposures by all of one stop. I spent the first ten years of my photographic explorations with those two films, and felt unbelievably liberated by the introduction of the faster Ektachromes and their acceptance by the editing police. About twice a year I would even be so bold as to handhold a shot, although it was usually a throwaway. Kodachrome 100, 200, and then 400, were introduced, but they had grain, color, and contrast issues, and nothing could touch the smooth tonalities and exquisite sharpness of  25 and 64. They remained the Kings of Kodachrome until Kodachrome 25 was discontinued in 2002; Kodachrome 64 soldiered on alone.  But by then most of us had long since been seduced by the saturated tones (some would say oversaturated) and ease of development of Velvia, which was introduced in 1990, and all but the staunchest Kodachrome Loyals would eventually make the move. And, or course, by 2002, digital photography’s star was not just rising, but rocketing like a guided missile straight at those neatly ordered rows of little yellow and green boxes in those unsuspecting camera store film coolers. Without realizing it at the moment, in late 2004 I shot my last roll of Velvia, and I was a latecomer to the digital party. I still have Velvia in the freezer. Along with most transparency film, the fate of Kodachrome was sealed; we just didn’t quite know it yet. But there was already more than one nail in the coffin.

So as 2010 ends, and a photographic era with it, bang the drum slowly to commemorate what Kodachrome 64 was and what it meant to us as photographers. Even if you never even saw or held a box of Kodachrome, it is part of who you are as a photographer. A moment of silence and gratitude, please, for those millions and millions of Kodachrome slides quietly morphing from emulsion into mildew in Carousel trays in closets in every country across the globe. Our histories and memories are in those trays. If one of those closets and some of those trays are yours, make a resolution to rescue those images and get the important ones scanned onto new media. Your mother’s ever-changing hairstyles, your aunt’s laughing face, the way your father’s head tilts toward your little sister, the heavy black lace-up shoes on your great grandmother’s tiny feet, those wild flower prints of 1972, your family vacation in Yellowstone when you were twelve — they are a legacy you can hold in your hands. In your heart. In the nice bright colors of Kodachrome.

And as you welcome the New Year, raise a glass to those greens of summer and all of those Kodachrome red barns and even redder jackets — and invoke the daring hope that all the world could be a sunny day.

Happy New Year and Sunny Days to All . . .

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/30/us/30film.html?_r=3&hp

http://www.kodak.com/global/en/professional/cpq/features/kodachrome.html