Embracing the Scroll: Unconventional Panoramas with the Kodak No 1a
There’s something captivating about the heft and click of a vintage camera. Actually, I enjoy the feel of about any older film camera, particularly the really old ones. As an avid collector of antique cameras, each one tells a story, not just in the images they capture but in the hands they’ve passed through. One of the additions to my collection some time ago was an Kodak No 1a Brownie. This is the “classic” Brownie type box camera. No frils, no gimmics. A box, view finder, and shutter release. This was the epitome of What You See Is What You Get.
The camera was designed for 116 format film, a type of film that isn’t so easily obtained today. It’s larger than 120 format, which is a benefit for me, since 120 film will fit the 116 frame with the use of adapters.
The Kodak No 1a wasn’t just a camera; it was a companion to the amateur photographer, a witness to the candid spontaneity of early 20th-century life. Its simplicity democratized photography, capturing slices of time in a way that was revolutionary for its period. But as 116 film faded into obscurity, replaced by the slightly more petite 120 film, these cameras could have easily been forgotten. Yet, there’s a certain romance to reviving this vintage tool, rekindling its shuttered dreams with rolls of 120 film. I really enjoy these old cameras for the stories they must have told. These cameras were a wonder at the time, with each picture taken intended to be cherished.
116 format film rendered large negatives, typically around 2.5 inches by 4.25 inches, ideal for capturing crisp details straight out of the camera. In contrast, 120 film, which has become the standard for medium format photography today, produces images around 2.25 inches by 3.25 inches—smaller, yes, but still remarkably detailed and often considered “high definition.” While the sizes are different, using 120 film in a 116 camera isn’t just about fitting it in; it’s about seeing how those differences can create something new.
It wasn’t in a moment of careful planning or research that I stumbled upon the panoramic scroll technique; it was pure happenstance—a delightful mishap. In are, there are no mistakes. Loading the 120 film into the Kodak No 1a and advancing it as I would normally, I realised after developing that each frame overlapped with the previous, creating an entire film of double-exposed images. It was like a scroll, with one image fading into the next.
What I found was that the overlapping exposures of this accidental method did not disrupt the narrative; it enhanced it. Each frame adds to the next, creating a continuous visual journey that’s more akin to a cinematic sequence than a series of still photographs. It turns a walk through a bustling city street or a quiet trail in the woods into a fluid experience, where beginning and end points merge in a dance of light and shadow. In this case, it was a series of nearby water towers, and the effect was truly marvelous. The only issue I found was that my scanner, which looks for an edge to each negative to correctly scan it, did not know how to scan one continual negative, like a film strip.
While we could replicate this scroll effect with digital tools, there’s an authenticity in the analog process that can’t be mimicked. It’s a tactile and visual reminder that technology, no matter its age, has the power to surprise and delight us, to offer up unexpected avenues of expression. It’s why I treasure each addition to my antique camera collection and why I’ll always champion the charm of film in a digital world. Indeed, this is a type of photography that I am looking to try again, and I’m already scouting out places and locations.
This particular unexpected experience with the Kodak No 1a and its scroll panoramas has been a reminder that beauty often lies in the unplanned, the imperfect. It’s about embracing the quirks of each camera, each roll of film, to tell stories that are as rich and varied as the history they carry. As fellow collectors and photographers, I encourage you to pick up that old camera you’ve had on the shelf, load it with film, and let chance guide your hand. You might just uncover a new way of seeing the world.
