A 21mm is not a cautious choice for a bust portrait. Maybe that is why it interested me.
With a wide-angle lens, distance becomes a delicate decision. A little too far and the portrait loses body. A little too close and the face starts paying the price: the nose moves forward, the edges stretch, the proportions become suspicious. Suddenly you are no longer looking at a person, you are watching a lens do things. And few things are duller than a photograph that says, in catalogue voice: look how interesting this lens is.
That was the risk here. Using the Typoch Ksana 1:21/3.5 ASPH as a gimmick. But I did not want to test an optic. I wanted to see what happened if I let the space become part of the portrait too.
The photograph was made with the Leica M10 Monochrom and this Typoch Ksana, a lens that has got under my skin very quickly. It has a way of opening the scene without making it obedient. It does not flatten the world just to make it comfortable. It gives you air, yes, but it also forces you to decide what to do with all that air. With a longer lens, I could have made a cleaner portrait. The background would have been more compressed, the face more separated, the image more correct. It would also have lost much of what makes me keep looking at it.
The portrait works because the man is not isolated. The leather bench, the blown-out window, the reflections, the vertical lines behind him and that hard light coming in with no manners at all are part of his presence. They are not decoration. They do not create atmosphere. They press.
With a 21mm, the place does not stay in the background waiting its turn. It enters the conversation. The bench stretches out to the sides, the seams draw a kind of dark map, the glass dirties the scene, and the window leaves half the world outside through too much light. The man sits at the centre of that tension, but not as a heroic figure. More like someone bearing the weight of the place without quite granting anything to the camera.
That is what I like. The closeness is not gentle, but it is not violent either. The face keeps its proportion. The gaze remains steady, slightly guarded. The shoulders and hands carry more weight than they would with a longer focal length. There is physical presence. This is not just a face cut out with good contrast, that small religion of the well-behaved portrait. It is a person seated in a specific space, under specific light, in a moment that does not seem to have been arranged to please anyone.
The Leica M10 Monochrom helps a great deal in that reading. Black and white does not appear here as an automatic layer of prestige, another minor epidemic in photography. It removes distractions and lets the matter hold: the wool of the sweater, the leather of the seat, the skin of the face, the glass, the reflections, the grain. Everything has a slightly rough texture. The image is not beautiful in the easy sense. It is denser. Drier. More present.
I am also interested in the way the Typoch Ksana holds the balance between closeness and context. It does not make that flattering portrait that separates the person from the world and places a little bubble around them. There is no bubble here. There is seat, window, light, reflection, noise. There are too many things, as there almost always are before a photograph decides whether it is worth anything or not.
That is why I used a wide-angle lens for a bust portrait. Not to correct the rule, and not to act original, that exhausting human pastime. I used it because this portrait needed place. It needed the person and the space not to be separated by an elegant distance. It needed a little friction.
I like the result because it is not entirely clean. It does not try to soften the scene or turn the sitter into a pleasant figure. Nor does it push him into caricature. It stays in a difficult place: too close to be comfortable, far enough not to distort him, wide enough for the place to keep speaking.
A 21mm in a bust portrait can be a bad idea. Here, precisely, that bad idea holds the photograph together.
More portraits here.


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