I was given my first digital camera around age 11. The Kodak MC3 took photos at a resolution of 640x480 and recorded video half that resolution at a maximum of 20 fps to a CF card with a whopping 64MB of memory. It was also an mp3 player.

I thought the MC3 was awesome. When we went on trips all I needed to pack was my GameBoy and that camera/iPod Frankenstein. I’d fill up the card with pixelated pictures and video clips, delete them, and fill it up again. One day I asked my dad if there was a way to rearrange the video clips and combine them into one thing. He took me over to our iMac G3 and showed me iMovie.

I outgrew the MC3 and upgraded to a Lumix compact digital camera in high school. Then bought a Canon T3i DSLR in college. I adored the T3i. It was no 5D, but it produced excellent photos and video. Inevitably, I outgrew the T3i as well.

Post-graduation, I was doing freelance video work and it made more sense to rent gear anyway. This freed me to tailor the equipment to the job and gave me the chance to try out different cameras. But I had to return them at the end of production. I missed having a camera that was mine. A tool laying around, waiting for the urge to create to strike me so I could scoop it up and make something.

I wanted a swiss army knife. My camera needed to enable me both as a photographer and a cinematographer. It couldn’t be too big because I wanted to travel with it. It needed to be full-frame to take full advantage of my antique lenses. Nothing caught my eye. Everything had tradeoffs I couldn’t live with. Then the Sigma fp was announced. And that was it. What I'd been waiting for.

It’s hard to explain the joy of having the proper tool at hand. The feeling of seeing a photo and knowing you can capture it because a capable camera is in your bag. The feeling of wanting to record a pointless vignette and realizing you can because a camera waits on your desk. The feeling of writing a script with the knowledge that once you’re done you can just shoot it.

It’s a kind of creative relief. The comfort of clay in the potter’s hand, or a brush in the painter’s. A conduit of potential. A reassurance that you can go out and make.

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