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#leica #voigtlander

** The Insurmountable Voigtländer Barrier**

After owning two 50mm Summilux lenses, I finally arrived at a conclusion and let them go.

The precision and melting bokeh of the ASPH lense felt almost like an AI-generated imitation, and while the classic 2nd generation reissue offered the aesthetic I was after, the barrel distortion soured the experience for me.

Both lenses offer undeniable, world-class performance. However, I found myself taking photos that only served to highlight their distinct traits. I realized I wasn’t mastering these tools, so I ultimately let them go.

I sighed, wondering if I should just return to my trusty Color-Skopar 35mm f/2.5—the lens I bought with my late Leica M-E—as I peered into a lens showcase. That’s when I saw it: the Nokton Classic 40mm f/1.4. It was the first time I’d seen one in person. It looked like a slightly larger Color-Skopar, and the price tag seemed like a typo. I had scoured the Voigtländer website for years, yet I had always assumed "Nokton" meant "big and heavy," and the peculiar lens length as 40mm had kept me from ever looking into it.

A kind staff member allowed me to try it on their M11 and after a few shots inside and outside the store, my intuition turned into conviction. "It has the same color palette as the reissued Summilux, but without the barrel distortion." I have no idea where the 14-fold price difference actually lies. To top it off, when fitted with the dedicated LH-6 metal hood, it sits perfectly flush with the base of the Leica body, meaning no wobble when set on a desk. The only drawback is that it’s only available in black, but otherwise, it is flawless.

In the end, I bought it, and my long-time companion, the Color-Skopar, has been relegated to reserve status for its golden years.

The name "Mitsumine" (meaning "Three Peaks") originates from the three majestic mountains to the south—Mount Kumotori, Mount Shiraiwa, and Mount Myoho—which form a beautiful continuous ridge. The terrain is composed of hard rock, such as chert and limestone from the Chichibu Belt, creating steep summits covered in lush, diverse mixed forests.

The Okumiya (inner shrine) located on Mount Myoho is the sacred site where, according to the Nihon Shoki (Chronicles of Japan), Yamato Takeru—the son of Emperor Keiko—enshrined the two deities Izanagi and Izanami. In the 8th century, Kobo Daishi (the founder of Shingon Buddhism) carved a statue of Kannon at the site where the main hall now stands, which served as a center for shugendo (ascetic mountain worship). This led to a long history of Shinbutsu-shugo (the syncretism of Shinto and Buddhism). Following the government-ordered separation of Shinto and Buddhism in the Meiji period, the site was officially renamed Mitsumine Shrine, as it is known today.

The Haiden (offering hall) is adorned with vibrant carvings of lucky charms based on Chinese folklore, giving it a truly magnificent and opulent appearance.

Established in 744 (the 16th year of the Tenpyo era) by the high priest Gyoki Bosatsu under the imperial decree of Emperor Shomu, it was founded as a temple to pray for the guardianship of eastern Japan. The name "Yakuoin" originates from its original dedication to Yakushi Nyorai, the Buddha of Medicine.

While the mountain trails are bustling with people as far as Mt. Kagenobu on the neighboring ridge, the surroundings grow quiet as you approach Jimba. Stepping off the ridge path, the evening sun filters through at an angle, creating striking patterns throughout the forest with layers of golden light.

The arrival of Commodore Perry's fleet from 🇺🇸 in June 1853 profoundly shocked the Edo Shogunate, which had maintained its policy of "sakoku" (national isolation) since its founding, leading to the urgent consideration of strengthening the maritime defenses of Edo Bay.

The construction of Odaiba forts to guard the inner harbor of Edo was soon decided upon. Drawing reference from Western treatises on fortification and gunnery, the plan mandated the construction of eleven Odaiba forts across the sea area extending from Minami-Shinagawa Ryōshi-machi (Shinagawa Suzaki) to Fukagawa Suzaki.

Construction commenced at the same year and proceeded around the clock.

Piles (pine and cedar) and stones for construction materials were transported by sea from various locations throughout the Kantō region. Earth and sand were carried from the nearby leveled hills of Shinagawa, with the number of transport boats reaching 2,000 per day on occasion. During the construction of the First, Second, and Third Forts, the laborers involved in earth collection alone numbered up to 5,000 people, and the total construction cost became an enormous sum, estimated at about one million ryō.

The first three forts were completed in July the following year. Another two, along with the land-connected Goten-yama-shita Fort (which was added during the process), were finished in December. Construction on the Fourth and Seventh Forts was started but abandoned halfway through, and the Eighth Fort and all subsequent planned forts were never begun.

Elliott Erwitt's photographs are always dramatic, whether he features people, dogs, or landscapes. Everyone has seen one of his most amazing photos of a small dog wearing a hat, but this one, decked out in roses, is just as captivating😊

Happy 100th birthday.

@AoyamaSpiral

#Leica100

The Curse of Leica

Given that the brand's symbolic composition is the spiral staircase and bicycle captured by Cartier-Bresson, I'm sure everyone, including myself, would applaud their sense of choosing Aoyama Spiral as the venue for its commemorative event😙. However, even if assigning a celebrity photographer for each event is in line with headquarters rules, I find the selection this time disappointing... It's precisely because he's a smart artist that he's able to manipulate his character to meet expectations, and his skillfulness only makes me feel more helpless😆.

Happy 100th birthday.

@AoyamaSpiral