As is well known, Germany has three public holidays over Easter when the shops are closed. Amsterdam simply ignored all three of them. Reason enough for a short trip to the Netherlands –
though ‘reason’ is putting it rather generously. My partner and I fancied a bit of shopping and a nice meal.
Amsterdam smells of water, grass and overpriced stroopwafels. My companion for the trip: the Leica M11-D. It was fitted exclusively with lenses designed by Walter Mandler. Anyone nodding right now knows exactly what I mean. For everyone else, a brief explanation: Mandler was the leading optical designer at Leica and later head of the development department as well as vice-president of Ernst Leitz Canada. For decades, he developed lenses for Leitz that still have an unmistakable character today. Some of these lenses are older than some of my readers. They all still work. The lenses, that is – hopefully my readers do too 🙂
What caught my eye? Postcard scenes, seagulls on a car bonnet, a Chinese temple, filter coffee outdoors, bronze lizards on the lawn – and the word ‘Mokum’ on a banner at the Nieuwe Kerk. I had the Amsterdam nickname, derived from Yiddish, in mind, but only really saw it when I was looking through the pictures at home. You can only see what you know – as the old photographer’s saying goes.
Real Mandlers
Speaking of Mandler: we’re not talking about those hyped-up knock-offs from China here – whether they’re deliberately marketed under the legendary name or by Light Lens Lab. It’s very tempting to buy a ‘Leica look’ for a few hundred quid. You can do that. Recently, however, I stumbled across a video in which someone was raving about the “crazy field curvature” of their lens. With even a modicum of knowledge, it was clear: the lens was simply poorly centred. Quality simply comes at a price.
I’m talking here about the original Leica lenses. Mandler lenses go with them as stroopwafels go with filter coffee: they aren’t nostalgic soft-focus lenses, but the result of rigorous mathematical calculations packed into the smallest of spaces. Walter Mandler designed his lenses at a time when aspherical lenses were unthinkable – and yet he built lenses that were among the best of their era. The famous ‘Leica look’ is less a matter of romance than a by-product: surprisingly sharp in the centre for its age, softer at the edges at wide aperture – and at f/5.6 barely distinguishable from modern optics. What remains is a rendering that resembles human vision: harmonious rather than clinical.
These days, people screw Black Mist filters onto their painstakingly engineered, ultra-sharp lenses just to get a rough approximation of that look. I’m fascinated by the fact that I can use these lenses even though they aren’t designed for digital cameras. With Leica, I can decide which optics to use: clinical clarity thanks to modern APO lenses, or a touch of glow to make everyday life seem a little more harmonious than it actually is.
181 years of optics in a pocket
In my camera bag, I had a little museum of lenses:
- Elmarit-M 21 mm f/2.8 (item number 11134 – manufactured between 1980 and 1997). My lens dates from 1991.
- Elmarit-M 28 mm f/2.8 – (11804) manufactured from 1979 to 1993. I own one from 1982.
- Summicron-M 35 mm f/2 – (11308) manufactured from 1958 to 1974. My oldest lens. It dates from 1963. I even used it to photograph the celebrations on the hallowed turf.
- The Summilux-M 75 mm f/1.4 (11815) was manufactured from 1980 to 2007, after which it was discontinued. My lens is from 1987.
So, in total, I had 181 years’ worth of lenses in my bag, and they all work without an adapter on my 60-megapixel digital Leica M11-D. Typical Leica, typical Mandler: built to last. Apart from the 35mm Summicron, all the lenses produce a fairly consistent colour rendition in the images. The 35mm Summicron, however, is the legendary 8-element model – the oldest design and clearly the most beautiful bokeh among the older 35mm lenses from the Leica workshop. But it is also one of the more expensive of the seven Summicrons now available. Perhaps that’s why someone bestowed the title KOB – King of Bokeh – upon the more affordable fourth version. Those on a tighter budget are always keen to invent superlatives. You don’t even need Chinese replicas for that.
Eating, shopping, Mokum
Back to our long weekend in Amsterdam: we took all that glassware down to the canals, even though we were actually only there to shop and eat. The food, in particular, was brilliant. We can highly recommend Choux. It has a Michelin star, so you’ll need to book in advance. You can also get an entirely vegetarian six-course menu – the amuse-bouche included edible tulip petals, amongst other things. The wine pairing was sensationally well-matched, though with six courses it proved a challenge for the inexperienced drinker.
So photography stood on the sidelines and watched. Here are a few too many postcards from Amsterdam, nonetheless. You’ll get over it.
Oh, and I tried Dutch too. “Choed mornink, I hav a reserfation ander ze naeme Chruunveld.” The reply came, as expected, in English. My name confuses people; my accent gives me away. A former Dutchman with a Hamburg accent – nobody in Amsterdam would buy that.
