Through Glass - Not Screens
Introduction
In a world of instant filters and automatic everything, taking a photograph once meant something slower, and perhaps more alive. It was about seeing, not just capturing. For those who learned through glass viewfinders and film, photography wasn’t a process of correction but of connection.
In this essay, as a veteran photographer, I reflect on how technology has changed the way we look at the world, and why, the simplest good cameras may still bring us closest to true art and lasting imagery.
The Technology
There was a time when photography felt different, not just in how cameras used to work, but in how we saw things. I remember the days of shooting weddings with Canon FTb’s, all manual, mechanical, solid in the hand. The FTb’s were my workhorses, though they weren't the latest even then but they weren't missing anything, they did the whole job.
When Canon then released the T90 - multi-modes, fancy metering patterns, 5 frames per second, they changed expectations for ever, even though this is before auto-focussing; I thought I’d found the future. And yet ... I carried on using the FTb’s. They did exactly what I asked of them, nothing more and nothing less, the T90 came out only occasionally.
Today, my main cameras are Canon 5Ds DSLR's, we also have mirrorless R7's for wildlife, where their speed and autofocus shine. But for most things, especially people, the DSLRs still win. It isn’t nostalgia; it’s connection.
The Viewfinder and the Vision
A DSLR’s optical viewfinder shows the world as it truly is. What you see through that prism is the unfiltered light itself, unprocessed, immediate. When I look through it, I’m with my subjects. I’m part of the moment, not an observer watching it unfold on a tiny screen.
My attention is where it belongs — on the people, the emotion, the light.
With mirrorless cameras, I’m looking at a video feed. However sharp and bright it may be, it’s still an interpretation, a layer between me and the world. The histogram tweaks itself, exposure previews shift, focus aids flash, all useful perhaps, but each one a small distraction from the subject. The more the camera tries to help, the more it takes me away from seeing.
The Craft of Imperfection & reality
Quality Photography is an artform, a dialogue between intention and uncertainty. In the film days, that balance taught discipline and skill, whilst preserving talent. We learned to read light, anticipate expressions, and think before pressing the shutter. Mistakes were part of the education; they shaped how we saw and taught us what to do.
Now, automation smooths away those lessons. Histograms, focus tracking, dynamic range recovery all make it almost impossible to fail in simple terms. And yet, without the risk of failure, how do you grow, how do you become an artist, not operator?
If every exposure can be fixed later, where’s the incentive to understand it now?
I see it often in modern wedding work: images so processed they could have been made by software alone. The colour, the grain, the imperfection, (reality), the connection with reality polished away until the photo becomes a digital collage. It might be technically exposed & focussed correctly, but the feeling is empty, detached and just the same.
A real photograph breathes, it’s not about technical errors we have to get that right, it's about real-world, real-life accuracy; it’s about emotional honesty. The small flaws, the play of shadow, the slight unpredictability, that’s where the life is, what was there and makes a lasting impression.
Tools and Intention
Automation doesn’t teach you art; it only teaches convenience. And convenience has never made anyone a better photographer.
When I learned, it was with a monorail large-format camera. Every frame demanded care. Every decision — aperture, focus, film speed, angle — mattered. That process formed instincts that no menu system can replace.
Mirrorless cameras make it easier for beginners to produce decent images, and that’s fine. But for those of us who chase something deeper — who want to feel the photograph before we take it — the simplicity of a mechanical tool is irreplaceable.
Photographs that Matter
Take two hundred correctly exposed, sharp, colour-balanced images, and I’ll nod politely. Take ten that stop you and make you look; where the framing, the light, and the human expression collide - and you’ll remember them for years, and look at them over and over again.
Those aren’t accidents. They’re not the result of smart sensors or AI correction. They come from the photographer’s presence - from being there, not behind the technology.
The Connection We’ve Lost
When I raise a DSLR to my eye, I’m looking through glass. I see the real scene, not its digital shadow. There’s a heartbeat in that simplicity. It demands that I trust my instincts, that I know my craft, and that I accept whatever comes from pressing that shutter.
Mirrorless cameras are extraordinary tools, never deny their capability, but they also encourage & create detachment. They make us operators rather than observers, technicians rather than artists.
If you’ve only ever known the world through an electronic viewfinder, try picking up a camera with an optical one. Feel the weight, hear the click, and watch light come alive on its own terms. You may discover that the connection you’ve been missing isn’t nostalgia. It’s the essence of photography itself.
Through glass, not screens. That’s where we truly see.
About the author
Andy have photographed weddings and people for many years, from the days of film to today’s digital world. He still prefers cameras with optical viewfinders and believes good photographs come from seeing and understanding the light and the subjects, not relying on software to fix it later.