I believe the term “trash table” came from the guys at the Film Photography Project, but I could be mistaken. Sometimes it’s a hyperbolic generalization, and other times it’s quite accurate. People bring boxes of camera equipment into a shop to sell off or just donate, often full of miscellaneous, mismatched or orphaned equipment. These can hold treasures untold, rubbish, and everything in between.
Nikon, Canon, Olympus, Pentax, Zeiss and Leica lenses get cleaned up and put under glass. Vivitar, Konica, Yashica, Tamron, Sigma, and others likely find themselves in the bargain bin or “trash table”. They are often without caps or filters, and jumbled into a tragic heap of glass, plastic and metal. Many camera stores have a box or table like this. The lenses are often priced at the same low price, sometimes scrawled on the outside of the cardboard box in black permanent marker.
The best place to look for this box is the furthest point from the Leica display. Optical snobbery keeps the bourgeoisie from going near this box, and that allows the rest of us a shot at it. I have found that there is a bell curve to the quality of the contents. Some of these lenses have been surprisingly stellar. Others, however are neither good enough to be adequate, nor bad enough to be interesting.
Beginners learning to use their new old film cameras can try wide angle or telephoto, prime or zoom lenses with little financial risk. As their style and taste develop, they can invest in whatever type of lens best suits them. For me, the trash table is more of a treasure hunt. Finding a $15 lens that unexpectedly performs beautifully is a joy. Several of the lenses I have already written about have come from the trash table.
I had no idea Konica lenses were as good as they are, until I bought one on a whim and spent more on the adapter than I did on the lens. It was fantastic. Right then I decided never to pass up another Konica lens, and I haven’t. My Konica Hexanonymous meeting starts in 30 minutes. (Google Translate might choke on that one…my apologies.)
Upon picking up a $15 Yashica DSB 28mm lens out of the bargain bin, the clerk told me, “I was wondering who was going to buy that…” I took that lens to the Ozarks recently, mounted on a Contax 139. Upon developing the film, I realized I used that lens more than I did the Zeiss Planar 50mm that came with the camera.
I have already sung the praises of a few Vivitar lenses, and they have deserved it. Yashica, Mamiya, Tamron, Tokina and Sigma lenses also represent possible “sleepers”. Some of these lenses have wildly exceeded my expectations, such as the Vivitar Series 1 70-210mm f3.5 lens I reviewed here, as well as a $15 Super-Takumar 200mm f4.
Some of those unassuming lenses have surprisingly become highly sought-after. Lenses that could be found on the trash table thirty years ago are now cult classics. Certain vintage lenses have gained popularity in the filmmaking community, and the prices have risen accordingly. Others have become known for certain characteristics and become popular.
There is a dynamic in play here that I thought worth mentioning. Back in the film era, I tried to create perfect images for my clients. I used the best cameras and lenses I could afford on the best film available. Film photography is a very different animal today.
Digital photography has removed the burden of perfection from film. We now embrace funky bokeh, dramatic flare, artistic rendering, and vintage charm. Imperfections that would have been considered egregious (and would have relegated a lens to the amateur ranks) are now celebrated as vintage character. They have been elevated to artistic expression and part of the analog allure.
Part of the journey I have undertaken with this blog is to discover some of the underdogs of vintage photography. These discoveries have challenged my long-held notions about certain brands. I have had to admit some of my prejudices have been unfounded. Perhaps I assumed that since a certain manufacturer didn’t gain popularity with the professional ranks that their equipment was not high quality. That assumption was simply flawed. I have never been so happy to be so wrong.
