SX-70
Documenting life, one sheet at a time
I bought the first camera years ago, an antique already, an object of beauty for me. The guy at the camera store assured me that it still worked, so I bought packets of the expensive film. To my delight, the camera really did work! But mostly, it lived on my desk to be admired. A Polaroid SX-70, a light aluminum framework with weighty electronic guts inside. On the outside, the case featured pieces of tawny leather on the outside, this feature selected by legendary industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss. This detail might seem solely an aesthetic choice—and the warm leather tone does create an elegant contrast to the cold metal and black accordion folds, but as with all his work, it is also functional: the leather feels pleasingly soft and keeps the camera from slipping in your hands.
For the uninitiated, the Polaroid SX-70—produced from 1972-1981—was an instant camera into which the user inserted a cassette containing ten square-format sheets of film paper. The speed of image development was an innovation, but long after the camera was discontinued, the unpredictable lighting effects and lush color palette made the SX-70 a cult classic.
Some years after I bought the first camera, I happened upon a second one at a flea market and bought it. By and by, the release mechanism on one camera failed, but I still had one that functioned well enough. Inspired by a friend who took photos of her daughter each morning on their Brooklyn stoop, I began taking photos of my daughter, trying to capture spontaneous moments not typically documented in family albums. I never knew quite what I’d get. Once every ten or twenty shots, a bit of magic happened. Crying infant; angry, sad, petulant, creative, curious toddler, then grade schooler and onward till the day in 2005 when we moved back to Brooklyn when she was seven. Soon after that, my daughter disappeared when any camera was pointed in her direction. I am still overwhelmed by the textures and colors, the way the film captured a true moment and transformed what could have been a snapshot into something that feels like a painting.
I am glad to have all these moments. As any parent knows, not every day is a joy, but I miss those hard days of her early life now that my child is a young adult. Let me add that while the years of her adolescence were often painful, I miss them too in the sense that if I could have a do-over I’d like to think I’d make fewer mistakes.
In 2006, Clark was injured in a bicycle accident while riding in Prospect Park. His helmet protected his brain and skull, but his face took a beating, like a boxer after nine rounds (in fact, Clark boxed as a young man). He asked me to document his recovery process, and since this was before I owned an iPhone, I used my SX-70. Perhaps we are a morbid family, but for me, there is true beauty in observing how his body healed after smashing his face into rough pavement. The lurid colors in the first image faded quickly and soon enough, as after his recent accident, Clark was back on his bicycle. My only regret is that I didn’t take more photos.
Word spread quickly when Polaroid discontinued the film some years ago. Like other SX-70 fanatics, I tried buying old stock online, but much of it was spoiled. Now my camera is back to being an object of beauty on a shelf, a marvel of industrial design. I keep it dusted and hope that one day some company will reimagine the SX-70 for our retro-loving age.
Thank you for reading and as with all posts here, I’d love to hear from you! More to follow each Friday at noon. I hope you’ll subscribe and share with other readers. You can find out more about my memoirs Perfection and Eva and Eve here and purchase here. I work privately with writers on creative non-fiction projects. If you are interested, you can contact me through my website: juliemetz.com. A first consultation is free of charge.
Such a lovely post, Julie. Beautiful and moving.
Truly like paintings, almost hyperrealistic! Just wonderful. (I wonder whether Polaroids keep loosing colour, like printed photos from the 60s and 70s. One should digitilize the best of them, bits also fade, but much slower than molecules.)