Why I Built Forma – Reimagining a 75-Year-Old Viewfinder

After more than a year of development, I’m excited to share Forma, a modular, multi-format optical viewfinder that can be tailored to your exact lenses and shooting formats—helping you find your frame before you set up, scout more efficiently, and shoot with greater confidence.

Inspired by the 75-year-old Voigtländer Kontur, Forma uses the same principle of binocular fusion, taking advantage of your brain’s ability to merge what each eye sees into a single image. One eye looks directly at the scene, while the other looks through the viewfinder which displays only bright framelines against a black background. The result is framelines that appear to float over the real world—essentially a form of augmented reality using our own natural vision.

What makes Forma different is its interchangeable, laser-cut frameline cards, which can be swapped in seconds to accommodate virtually any photographic or cinema format, with fields of view as wide as a 24mm lens on 35mm film. The framelines can also be illuminated and colour-tinted with interchangeable gels, making them easily visible in a wide range of lighting conditions.

Today, November 10, I’m finally launching Forma on Kickstarter to share it with fellow photographers. Early-bird kits start at CA$55 (approximately US$40) and include one custom laser-cut frameline card made for your chosen lens and shooting format.

I designed Forma to help me find compositions more efficiently and make more intentional and confident photographic choices. I wanted a tool that would not only help me decide when to reach for my camera and where to set it up, but also train my eye across the different formats and lenses I shoot with, strengthening my own photographic vision.

I’d been thinking about creating a framing tool for years. As I progressed through the different film formats, from 35mm to medium format and then 4×5, I kept imagining something simple, analog, and adaptable. Something that would help train my photographic vision while allowing me to experience the scene naturally, with my own eyes.

Smartphone apps pulled me away from an analog process, while conventional universal viewfinders were bulky and felt like looking through a tunnel. Neither offered the experience I wanted.

It wasn’t until I started shooting 5×7 that the desire became a genuine need. The camera was bigger and heavier, took longer to set up, and was much more cumbersome to reposition. I needed something that could quickly and easily answer questions such as, “Where’s the best spot to place my tripod?”, “Which lens should I go with?”, and even something as fundamental as, “Is this even worth setting up for?”

So, after years of thinking about it, I finally decided to make something myself.

My first attempt was embarrassingly crude. It was a wooden frame that took me about ten minutes to make. It had a series of special markings indicating how far I should hold the frame from my eye to approximate different focal lengths. This was the “breakthrough” idea I’d kept in the back of my mind for several years.

However, after building the prototype and testing the idea in its simplest form, I realized that the concept simply wouldn’t work in practice. When the frame was held close to my eye, it was impossible to keep both the markings and the scene in focus. Not to mention, positioning the frame correctly required far too much effort.

What I did like, however, was being able to look directly at the scene with my naked eye. I just needed something that worked instantly, stayed sharp, and felt intuitive to use.

I decided to keep going.

I remembered the Ricoh Super Ricohflex I once owned. It was a medium-format TLR released in 1956, with an eye-level sportsfinder built into its waist-level viewing hood, operating on the same principle.

When I first tried it, I looked through it as I would a normal viewfinder and saw nothing but bright framelines against a black background. “Great, this viewfinder is broken,” I thought, assuming a mirror or some other part was missing. But then I opened my other eye, and suddenly the framelines appeared to float over the real world. I paused for a moment, completely blown away. So THIS was how it was supposed to work! Such a simple idea, yet so incredibly effective.

Years later, as my camera collection and knowledge grew, I learned that Voigtländer had also created a dedicated accessory viewfinder called the Kontur. Introduced in 1951, it came in versions for 35mm, 6×6, and 6×9, each designed around a particular format and focal length.

I knew this principle would be perfect for the framing tool I wanted to create, but I really didn’t want to recreate the Kontur. In fact, I initially resisted using the principle altogether. I wanted to create something completely unique, which I think is something any artist can relate to. Eventually, though, I realized that creating the right tool for the job was more important than being innovative simply for the sake of innovation. So I decided to reimagine the viewfinder Voigtländer had created 75 years earlier.

I started thinking about exactly what I wanted from this viewfinder and began sketching out some ideas.

I wanted interchangeable, durable framelines—so thin, laser-cut plastic cards seemed like the obvious solution. I wanted to cover lenses as wide as 24mm in 35mm terms—so I’d need optics capable of accommodating such a wide field of view. I wanted the framelines to remain visible in different lighting conditions—so some form of illumination and perhaps a way to colour-tint them. And I wanted to wear it around my neck or mount it securely on my camera—so a quick-release system seemed essential.

The problem was that I couldn’t simply build all of this from scraps of wood, and I certainly didn’t have the budget to hire a designer. What I did have, however, was enough motivation to figure out how to make it myself.

The first thing I did was download FreeCAD, a free CAD program, and start watching YouTube tutorials to learn how to use it. The next day, I bought a 3D printer, and before long, I was making my first crude parts. I knew I’d eventually need to learn laser cutting as well, but I didn’t want to get overwhelmed by thinking too far ahead. I decided to tackle one challenge at a time.

I ordered a variety of optics and began experimenting. Some had a field of view that was too narrow, while others were wide enough but didn’t provide the immersive viewing experience I wanted. Once I’d found an optic that could accommodate my target of 24mm-equivalent framelines, I could begin designing the body, interchangeable card system, illumination, and everything else I’d envisioned.

After several iterations, however, I was ready to give up. I’d come close to creating something useful, but what I really wanted still felt frustratingly out of reach, and I began questioning whether I had the patience to learn the skills I needed to pull it off.

I told myself I’d give it two more iterations.

After the first, I finally had a viewfinder that genuinely worked the way I wanted it to. And after the second, I had what would become Forma.

One of the breakthrough experiences I had while testing Forma was on a foggy winter walk near Toronto. I had brought my Voigtländer Bessa 466, a tiny folding medium format camera, and was using Forma to scout compositions.

While exploring near a bluff, I raised Forma to check a few potential photographs. Within seconds, I’d ruled them out—faster than I could have pulled my camera from my pocket. But instead of lowering it, I kept it to my eye and continued walking, scanning the shoreline through the framelines. Before long, I found a composition that spoke to me—one I probably wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

That’s when I realized Forma wasn’t just a faster way to preview a photograph. It allowed me to actively explore a scene, discovering compositions as I moved through it—letting the framelines guide my eye.

Now I bring Forma with me on casual hikes and walks where I’d normally leave my camera at home. If something catches my eye, I can explore the composition and return with a camera if it’s worth photographing—all while continuing to develop my photographic vision.

It wasn’t easy, but I genuinely feel it was worth it. I’ve sent pre-production units of Forma to photographers around the world, including Japan and the UK, and their feedback has been incredibly rewarding. Knowing something I created is helping other photographers discover new compositions, and making their photographic journey just a little more enjoyable, means a great deal to me.

I hope Forma does the same for you.

Back Forma on Kickstarter: Forma, A Universal Multi-Format Viewfinder
Learn more about Forma: oramodlab.com
Instagram: @oramodtools

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