When I first got my Hasselblad 907, I assumed it would feel similar to a Leica.

After all, both carry a classic silhouette. Both demand manual attention. Both make that quiet, reassuring click. The kind of sound that gently pulls you back into another era.

But after spending time with it, I realized they are nothing alike.

Leica sees the world from a point. Light falls here, and the story radiates outward. Its framing feels like lifting a moment straight out of time.

Hasselblad does the opposite. It presents a plane first. That perfectly square frame feels like an empty stage, and you are the one who must decide what to remove, what to leave behind. Composition is no longer about catching a story, but about choosing one.

Then there’s the color. Hasselblad carries a kind of quiet age as if the photograph itself knows how old it is. Slightly yellowed, soft around the edges, unhurried. Like a memory that has just woken up.

Strangely enough, to most people the images look similar. But those who know can tell instantly: this one breathes like a Hasselblad, that one pulses with a Leica heartbeat.

Sometimes I think of these two cameras as two different eyes in my life. One trained on light and detail. The other on structure and restraint.

And by using both, I’m slowly learning how to see myself.



—— XC Scribbles · 拾柒 XVII 📸