dede dos film Speaks | Breaking Down While Still Shooting | Nikon Nikonos | Knowledge #487

Creators who are passionate about photography share stories of their cameras and the narratives behind them. The presence of a 'beloved camera' reflects each individual's philosophy and values. In this installment, we feature dede dos film, an avid user of the Nikon Nikonos.

As the allure of film photography is being rediscovered in recent years, more creators are embracing the unpredictability inherent to the medium. Here, we delve into the unique, uncertain, and beautiful qualities of film photography, as dede dos film engages with the amphibious Nikon Nikonos, surrendering to the flow of nature.

The Nikon Nikonos is a legendary amphibious film camera series developed by Nikon. Originally designed for underwater photography, it is renowned for its exceptional waterproofing and robust construction. Rather than pursuing perfect results, it is one of the few cameras that can elevate 'chance' into a work of art.

I first encountered the Nikon Nikonos a few years after moving to Okinawa. Work had slowed down a bit during the pandemic, and I suddenly felt like picking up surfing again, something I had done over twenty years ago.

Once I started surfing, I wanted to photograph surfers, so I began searching for an underwater camera. That’s when I came across surf photos taken with the Nikon Nikonos on the Lomography website.

The photos were raw, imperfect, and yet left a strong impression. I immediately looked up the Nikon Nikonos, and for no particular reason, I was drawn to it. It wasn’t about specs or features—I simply loved how it looked.

Before I knew it, I had won one at auction.

It's film, not a digital action camera. Honestly, at first, I thought it would be a hassle. But, strangely, it suited me.

The Nikon Nikonos never does exactly what you want.
I want to enjoy surfing and take photos, so I bring it into the sea slung over my shoulder. After catching a wave, during the paddle back out, a sudden photo opportunity appears.

When a local surfer passes right in front of me, I just snap the shutter. But at the same time, this camera often disappears on me.

Sometimes the strap comes off in the waves, and before I realize it, it’s no longer in my hands. I’ve watched my Nikon Nikonos sink to the ocean floor more than once. And recently, another one broke. This time, it wasn’t flooding, but saltwater seeped in from an impact while surfing.

Quietly, but surely, it was finished.

Even so, I find myself wanting to welcome yet another Nikon Nikonos. I can’t really explain why I keep coming back to this camera.

But there are things that only appear with the Nikon Nikonos. Flares and ghosts. The way light seems to break.
Sometimes you can aim for it in backlight, but honestly, you never know until the film is developed.
You don’t know if it’s properly captured, or if everything is ruined.
It always remains ambiguous.

But sometimes, light appears in ways I never imagined. The blurred light or unexpected ghosts can turn what would otherwise be a failure into a decisive moment for the photograph.

For me, that’s the 'bonus.'

To me, the Nikon Nikonos is less an amphibious camera and more like the process of a tadpole becoming a frog.

Moving between water and land, never fully belonging to either, always in transition. That ambiguous state is the most interesting. I want to be by the sea and in the mountains. For someone like me who always wants to do too much, the Nikon Nikonos is just right.

Neither here nor there, but free, able to go anywhere in a slightly imperfect state. So, this is not just a camera.

It’s a device for moving between the waves and the mountains, a tool for accepting things that don’t go as planned. In that place where the light shimmers and forms unravel, I want to keep searching for what can’t be perfectly captured.

The next Nikon Nikonos will probably break again.
Even so, I’ll take it back to the sea.