Talking dust

I wish it were so.

I wish that the dust I so harshly removed from my grandfather's old box camera could tell me it's stories. I would like to know the origins of every grain. If the motes could only be held up to my ear, I would listen to them speak of Casablanca, Egypt, The Sudan, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona...

Today I sat down and began to remove all of these silent stories from the shell of an Agfa Cadet D6. I believe that this was the camera that my grandfather, Matias Mark Yzaguirre carried with him through World War II. He had also served in the Korean War where he was eventually honorably discharged with shrapnel or maybe a bullet in the leg, I'm not sure. We didn't speak about those days much.

I have been meaning to "refurbish" this old camera for a long time now, since his passing in fact. With a rather large bank of time at my disposal this week I sat down to begin the work today. Somehow this task flew to the top of a large list of probably more practical things to accomplish. I didn't care. I set to it anyway.

My aim is not to set this as some display piece. I didn't want to polish it or airbrush the black back into the bakelite. I wanted to clean it up, find a way to retro-fit film into it and see about putting it to use. That's what a camera is for, as long as it can be managed. I began by cleaning the ground glass viewfinder on top and side. I removed the "cone" insert where the film is stretched. Luckily, the take-up spool is still intact. It's larger than normal 120, which is the closest readily available film. I checked the shutter mechanism, removed years of fine silt from the innards and began to think of where this dust had come from. So many place around the world that I may never see. This cardboard box had been there and survived it.

When my grandfather lied about his age in order to serve in the US Military, somehow he thought to buy this and take it along. The images that he produced with it are very beautiful indeed. I have seen them briefly. They were carried away across the country after his death, with the promise that the family would be able to see them someday. Myself and my cousin offered to take the images within the photo albums and scan them, reproduce them for the entire family. Share them and then send the originals back. This idea has been thus far ignored by my uncle, who has selfishly taken the books. Maybe someday he will come around. Until then, I don't think I want to talk to him about it, or really anything for that matter. My heart is cold and bitter to him now that he has seen fit to do this. Maybe it's my issue. So be it.

I kept pressing into the box, trying to find a way to clean the interior of the simple lens. The glass looked like it had mold or maybe just dust caked after the years. I could only get to a small bit of it until I removed a snap ring holding it into place. I excitedly cleaned the entire lens, turning it in my hand like a toy magnifying glass.

I'll be finding bits here and there to make it work. For now, it has a fresh interior and exterior and is nearly ready for film. The project is nearly complete and it hasn't even taken three hours. I'll get it working and shooting today I think. Then maybe we will see what my dust has to say.