Minolta Hi-Matic 7s, Leica Monopan 50.
This weekend, I was supposed to go on a photowalk hosted by Leica and two photographers whose work I admire, alongside a gallery exhibition. I’d been looking forward to it for a while. Naturally, right before I was supposed to leave, the lens barrel on my rangefinder came loose.
Great timing.
I’ve been shooting film since late 2024, and I’ve used a handful of cameras since then. I love my SLRs and point-and-shoots, but none of them have made me enjoy taking pictures quite like this Minolta.
There’s also a sentimental reason I’ve grown so attached to it: my grandfather owned the same model back in the 1960s. It’s not his actual camera, but there’s something really special to me about using the same kind of camera he once did. It’s a small connection to him that I wouldn’t trade for much.
So when it broke, I was genuinely sad. Probably more than you’d expect someone to be over a camera.
Getting it professionally repaired would likely cost more than the camera itself is worth, and replacing it would have been easy enough. But I didn’t really want another camera. I wanted this one.
So I decided to take it apart and see what I could do.
My Minolta Hi-Matic 7s, in all its glory.
I’ll spare you the details, mostly because I’m not entirely sure I knew what I was doing half the time.
What was I even doing?
The good news is that I managed to get it working again. The bad news is that it doesn’t work quite like it used to. There are a few quirks I’ll have to live with now, but it’s still perfectly usable, and I’m happy about that.
The whole thing got me thinking about how easy it is to replace something the moment it becomes inconvenient. Especially with photography, where there’s always another camera, another lens, or some piece of equipment promising to make things easier.
I’m not against any of that. I’d certainly prefer a camera that works properly. But there’s something satisfying about learning to work with what you already have, figuring out its quirks, and occasionally getting your hands dirty trying to keep it going.
The best camera is the one you have.
I think we sometimes forget that the things we use can become meaningful beyond what they’re technically worth.
My Minolta isn’t particularly rare or valuable. I could probably find another one tomorrow. But it wouldn’t be the one I’ve spent the last couple of years making photographs with, or the one that reminds me of my grandfather.
And maybe that’s reason enough to put a little effort into keeping it alive. I don’t know how much longer it’ll last, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time it gives me trouble. But for now, I can still take it out and make pictures.
That’s really all I wanted.
