Canon 35mm f/1.5 – One project, one lens – a little documentary with a legendary lens

I love using just one lens. No philosophy, it just resonates with me to get to know its intricacies and always know what to do to get what I want. I’m not quite there yet with the Canon 35mm f/1.5. But close. And I’ve been enjoying every moment.

The lens is from 1959, when Asbestos, DDT and nuclear power were still the thing. It contains none of the former, but is quite radioactive at 2.1 uSV/h at the front and 1.2 elsewhere – up to 20x over background radiation. If you always had the lens on you, you’d get as much radiation as a nuclear power plant worker. A regulated one, that is. Not one cleaning up Sellafield, which also happened around 1959.

Centre sharpness of the little Canon is just hard to believe for something so small, so light, so fast, so old, and, at the time, so visionary. It was, after all, the first fast “wide-angle”, i.e. below 50mm, and allegedly designer Mukai Jirō (the same who designed the 50/0.95 two years later) wasn’t even sure it could be done. It could. So well I can’t grasp how the Canon shows no colour fringes, no glow, no nothing. How is that possible?

Through some of the most unbelievable field curvature ever seen outside of a Petzval lens! Wide open, the centre is glorious, but at the cost of everything else. Then again, that is a wise decision for a superfast lens, and stopping down alleviates the problem to an again admirable extent.

But for stopping down, cheaper lenses are around. And stopping down, you miss out on this tasty, creamy, fluffy bokeh the f/1.5 produces. I have a soft spot (should I say, as opposed to my lens, which only has one spot that ISN’T soft) for bokeh character, and I find the Canon produces some of the best bokeh of any wider lens. If the 35mm Leica Summicron pre-ASPH holds the informal title as King of Bokeh, then Canon made the Emperor of Bokeh.

So what to do with this great gem, this rare discovery (only five thousand were made, the last in 1971)? Some documentary photography, of course. A few weeks later, I find myself in a peculiar place in Greece.

The largest free and open camp for vanlifers, nomads and travellers of possibly all of Europe. On a 3km stretch of beach, hundreds of campervans and lorries, modern and old, rich and poor, hippie and conformist, find their place between pines and open fields. Some as loners, some in groups, many with dogs, a few with a cat, and a lot with children. Some stay for a night, others for a season.

Between them and the sea is a hundred-metre-strip of dunes, at the edge of which turtles lay their eggs in spring. Thanks to the travellers, there is not a shard of plastic on the beach. Nor in the camp. Police passes; the camp seems tolerated, for now, which is all the more admirable since the area is a nature preserve. But as long as you do not drive onto the dunes, fell trees, light fires in the highly dry summer, or hog the place, all is well. So far at least.

As I walk along the woodland to get a first impression, a cat befriends me. Half a year old, half his eyes missing, he never leaves my side. I call him Sir Purralot. Then, a woman befriends me, a cat lover, and suggests I check out the Norwegian Girls. That’s not a euphemism, I learn: Two cousins have travelled from Norway to run a little cat rescue station in the camp, feeding the strays and taking them to a vet if needed. They take a look at Sir Purralot but recommend the vet.

Cat in one arm, camera in the other, I take pictures along the way. Coming from one of the most discriminatory countries against alternative living in all of Europe, the Netherlands, this place is paradise for me. Where I’m from, parking a car in specific spots or at specific times of day is a crime! Even if you paid your taxes on that car, on the insurance enforced, and on the fuel to run it. It is then no wonder that most travellers here are from the most oppressive nations towards alternative life concepts in Europe – the Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Switzerland.

In Greece, while actual camping is equally criminalised, it is often tolerated. And merely parking your car, with no tents or furniture out, is not, since that is, quite rightly, not seen as camping. Walking the endless sandy beach and vast dunes, I can’t help thinking we need more places like this.

Many countries are littered with old industrial ruins and abandoned holidays projects. Why not make them available? By far most of the inhabitants of my new paradise take good care of the place. No litter in camp, strays are cared for, and respectful little natural structures crop up: a washing basin out of reeds, a massive dreamcatcher, a lounge complete with open-air beds, and a giant beach pebble mosaic in the shape of a tortoise.

Documenting all this, I fall in love ever more with both the place and the Canon. I could muse what they have in common, being small and rare and giving you a blotch of creative freedom, and having their character and thus attraction to those not attracted by the characterless. But that would be conceited. Instead, I ask myself what I’m overlooking in both during my first euphoria? Sir Purralot seems to have moved in, so I become acutely aware of territorial dogs, whose owners assure me they’re harmless, which they know and I know, but the cat does not and cannot.

The 35mm flares like you would expect from the 1950s, but really, I don’t mind, it adds to its character. The extreme corners are black, which, too, I don’t actually mind, I’m just surprised, but hey, if that’s the deal for record-breaking speed at its time, so be it.

More of a contemplation is the Canon’s price. If you’re not a historian, how much of the character, speed and compactness of this lens could you get in more modern, possibly cheaper alternatives? Indeed, even some Leica Summilux ASPH go for less. Clearly, the Leica is the sharper lens overall. However, it’s much larger. I prefer the pancake dimensions that let me pocket my camera setup. But worse, every time I see pictures with the Leica, I miss something. They’re sharp, they’re technically perfect, but they don’t touch my soul.

The Voigtlander 35mm f/1.4, as small as the Canon but heavier, has the opposite effect on me – its character touches something, but its abysmal sharpness absolutely doesn’t. Similar for me is the Leica Summilux pre-ASPH, Leica’s one-year delayed answer to the Canon and in my opinion quite terrible: very low detail resolution, lots of aberrations, and quite the disappointment after Canon showed what’s doable. As if Leica had a go and gave up with a very ungerman “sis vill do”.

Then there are the iterations of the MS Optics 35 and 36mm f/1.4 and 1.3 – I love the 35mm f/1.4, yet its character is completely different. As a collector, you can have both. As a photographer, base your decision on taste, like I did, or on coincidence – both can only be had second-hand.

And unless you want to go digital (mirrorless), or you want to forgo either speed or compactness, that already concludes your options.

Not that I mind. I’m sitting in the sand, cat on lap, sun in face, and just for this moment, all is well.

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