The Journey to find the Perfect Camera

Let me start by saying that for many of us passionate about photography, the hunt for the perfect camera may never end. For others, that quest isn’t a paradox at all; the camera you own might be the one. I’ve generally fallen into the first camp, but time and experience have taught me something.

I’m Chas Spiros, a hobbyist photographer in sunny, vibrant Miami. By day I work in finance; by night (and weekends) I’m a husband, father, and little league baseball coach. When I’m not working, shooting or coaching, you’ll find me tinkering around the house, gardening or walking; essentially I’m 38 going on 65 (no offense 65-year olds).

Photography, put simply, is my therapy. Carrying a camera everywhere has become an emotional anchor, and if you’re reading this, that probably resonates. My passion began in Virginia, where I sought to capture the calm of forested landscapes, a pursuit that continues today on Miami’s beaches, chasing fleeting tranquility amid the wonderful chaos that is Miami. I’ve grown to appreciate empty space, anonymity, and quiet contemplation in my images, my photographic voice. James Popsys noted a philosophy in a recent video that I find very relatable; making images that beg more questions than they answer. That’s the visual story I am to create, with a tranquil touch. Taking it a step further, in a world where most of our work is shared on tiny screens with less than a second of attention paid, few things match the joy of seeing a stranger quietly absorbed in observing your prints on a wall.

Finding my perfect camera has been as much a journey as finding my photographic voice. The right camera can both seamlessly convey your photographic voice and feel like tactile joy in hand. Coincidentally, as I’ve honed my style, I think I’ve found my near-perfect cameras yes, plural. My first camera, a Canon Rebel T3i, sparked my passion and gave me permission to share how I see the world. Since then, I’ve owned more than twenty cameras, from Nikon, Sony, Fuji, Leica, Lumix. Each was a stepping stone and you can argue that a camera is just a tool. But when a camera doesn’t feel right in your hand, can’t resolve the detail you need for larger printing, or misses that split-second moment with your kid because of slow autofocus, it matters. To be clear, each photographer’s needs are as unique as our fingerprints. Our cameras are extensions of ourselves  they need to work in harmony with our eyes, minds, and instincts.  This idea becomes even more critical when this passion of ours is also our therapy.

You often hear about gear acquisition syndrome. I prefer to call mine gear perfection syndrome (GPS). I don’t change cameras for novelty’s sake, I’m chasing the one that feels like an extension of me. The Leica SL2-S I owned produced gorgeous images, but couldn’t keep up with my son and was weighty to carry around. My Sony cameras have been searingly efficient, producing phenomenal images, but at times feeling soulless. My Fuji cameras produced more smiles per shutter click, with beautiful colors and charm, though until recently, they lagged in autofocus and resolution that I’ve appreciated with Sony. To date, I’ve just not found the camera for me.

I’ve realized, though, that I’ve been approaching it all wrong. Perhaps for some of us there isn’t the one perfect camera, but maybe two that complement each other perfectly. Cameras with distinct roles that eliminate the dreaded “what do I take today?” paralysis. Until recently I’ve been convinced I’d find the one right camera that does it all, one that can capture action and landscapes, was compact and that I felt joy in every shutter. Maybe at a different stage in life as my needs change, I will find the one. This might sound trivial to some, I understand. However, if you’ve been on the perpetual hunt for the one camera to do it all and still aren’t satisfied, I implore you, budget permitting, to consider complementary cameras. You’d be surprised at how two cameras, distinct in their use, bring out the best in one another and push away analysis paralysis.

My current cameras, the Sony A7R V and Fujifilm X100VI seem to be my harmony. The A7R V handles action and landscapes beautifully, with incredible resolution and lens flexibility, my 40mm Sony, 55mm Zeiss, and Tamron zooms cover most situations. What it doesn’t offer, in my view, is portability, which is where the X100VI shines. Previously, my X100V was my favorite everyday camera, perfect for walks, errands, date nights, or quiet beach walks. My new X100VI takes that magic further with higher resolution, respectable autofocus, and the same inspiring charm. Aside from birding and sports, it covers nearly everything I shoot and does it joyfully. The beauty of having these two cameras is that each plays a supporting role to the other.

Forced to choose, it’s a no brainer, I’d choose the X100VI because it satisfies a majority of my needs. The camera is pure inspiration in hand and I’ve grown fond of the ease of working with Fuji files. The RAW files provide great latitude and color, while the JPEGs are ready-to-share when you find a recipe to suit. I feel deeply connected to the photos I capture from my X100VI as the joy I feel is linear across process and outcome. As much as I appreciate my A7R V, with the advancement in Fuji’s medium format platform, cameras such as the GFX100S II seemingly might be capable enough to replace it. I adore the idea of being able to satisfy all my photographic needs within the Fuji ecosystem. Time and again my journey leads me back to Fuji cameras. Equally inspiring to the cameras is the Fuji community itself. The camaraderie, encouragement, and passion shared through platforms like Fuji X Passion remind me why I love this craft and why I choose this as my therapy.

Lean into the journey. Find a camera or cameras that match your unique voice and permit joyful creativity.