Light Meter Test

Photography literally means “light writing”. It comes from the Greek language; phos meaning light and graphie meaning writing. Whether using film cameras or digital, light is the core ingredient that makes the photo. Cameras use a light meter to measure how much light is in the scene. In auto and semi-auto modes, the camera can’t tell if something is actually black and white so it tries to balance the exposure around the mid-tone which is neutral grey.

Auto/Semi-Auto Mode

First, I set my camera to Program Mode (P), a semi-automatic setting where the camera handles both aperture and shutter speed. I kept ISO at the default and made sure the exposure compensation was set to zero. I took three separate photos, framing each so that each tone, black, grey, or white) filled the viewfinder entirely.

When I reviewed the images, I noticed that all three looked fairly similar in brightness, despite their real-world differences. The black cloth looked too light, and the white paper looked duller and darker than expected. The histograms for each photo were also almost identical, clustered around the middle of the graph.

This made it clear: the camera’s light meter was trying to balance each scene to match a mid-tone grey, rather than recording the true tone of the subject. A black surface, a grey floor, and a white paper were all treated the same, even though they clearly weren’t.

Manual Mode

After testing in Program Mode, I switched my camera to Manual Mode (M). I set the ISO to 400 and the aperture to f/5.6, then adjusted the shutter speed for each photo until the exposure looked right in the viewfinder. I photographed the same three subjects, black cloth, grey floor, and white paper, framing them exactly as before.

This time, the results were much more accurate. The black cloth stayed dark, the grey floor appeared as a true mid-tone, and the white paper looked bright, just as I expected it to. When I checked the histograms, they clearly reflected these differences:

The black cloth histogram sat further to the left.
The grey floor was positioned neatly in the center.
The white paper shifted further to the right.

Adjusting the exposure manually gave me much more control over the final image, and the histograms confirmed that the camera was now recording the tones correctly, rather than trying to average everything to a mid-grey.

Reflection

At first, I struggled to fully understand this exercise. It was hard to get my head around how the camera’s light meter interprets a scene and why the images looked so similar in auto mode, even though the subjects were completely different in real life.

Once I switched to manual mode and started adjusting the shutter speed myself, the results finally clicked into place. Seeing the histograms shift, with the black photo sitting to the left, the grey in the middle, and the white to the right, helped me understand how much control I actually have over exposure when I’m not relying on the camera to make decisions for me.

This exercise really highlighted the difference between allowing the camera to guess the exposure, and making those decisions as the photographer. Although it took me a bit of trial and error to work it out, it’s made me feel more confident using manual mode going forward, especially in situations where the lighting is consistent.

2.2 – Viewpoint

This exercise helped me understand how focal length and viewpoint together affect perspective distortion in photography. The task was simple but eye-opening: I took one tightly framed portrait using my longest focal length, then moved closer to my subject while zooming out to my shortest focal length—keeping the framing identical in both shots.

I chose a portrait setting with a background that had depth. My subject stood still while I first used my lens to capture the initial shot from a distance. Then, I walked toward them while adjusting my lens to a wider focal length, ensuring they remained the same size in the frame.

Flipping between the two images, I was surprised by how much the background had changed.

First Shot (Long Focal Length): The background appeared compressed and distant elements seemingly closer together. The subject’s features looked natural, and there was a nice separation between them and the background due to the shallower depth of field.
Second Shot (Short Focal Length): The background expanded dramatically. Objects that had been far away now seemed much further apart, and new elements crashed into the frame. The subject’s face also appeared slightly distorted, features like the nose seemed larger, and the perspective was more exaggerated.

This exercise reinforced that zooming in from the same spot doesn’t change perspective, moving your viewpoint does. A long focal length compresses the background and creates a more natural portrait, whereas a wide-angle lens exaggerates depth and can distort facial proportions.

Understanding this is a game-changer for composing portraits. If I want an intimate, cinematic feel with beautiful background compression, I’ll reach for a longer lens. If I want something more dynamic and immersive, a wider lens with a closer viewpoint can add energy to the shot. This simple but effective exercise helped me see how small technical choices completely alter the look and feel of an image.

2.1 – Zoom

This exercise explores how zooming in alters our perception of a scene, moving from a broad context to isolated details. Inspired by films like Blade Runner (1982) and Blow-Up (1966), I examined how focal length changes not only the framing but also the meaning of an image.

I selected a scene with strong depth. From a fixed position, I captured a sequence of five images, adjusting the focal length each time without physically moving. The sequence progresses from a wide-angle shot to a tightly cropped detail.

After looking through the photos, I noticed:

The illusion of movement through the scene, as though stepping closer.
The transition from documentary-style representation to abstraction.
The way zooming changes the relationship between elements, i.e. backgrounds disappear, subjects become isolated, and meanings shift.

Deckard’s “Esper” equipment in Blade Runner enables him to zoom into photos, supposedly revealing secrets. However, detail fades into grain at the highest resolution, a reflection of photography’s physical limitations. The main character in Blow-Up enlarges a negative in an attempt to solve a mystery. However, he gets less clarity the more he zooms. This calls into question the notion that zooming increases comprehension. Even at the highest resolution, Google Arts & Culture’s extreme zoom capabilities on well-known pieces of art cause the paint and canvas to break down.

For my final image, I chose the last shot in the sequence, which focused on the open end of an alleyway. While the initial wide shot captured the full length of the alley—emphasising its depth and surrounding textures—the final close-up revealed a quiet moment: a woman taking a photo of above down the alleyway, her movement framed by the narrowing passage. This subtle detail shifted the image from a broad environmental study to a more intimate, narrative-focused composition. This is a good example of how zooming and selective focus can turn a space into a story, drawing the viewer’s attention to a single moment within a much larger scene.

This exercise reinforced the idea that zooming is not simply about ‘getting closer’ but more about shifting perspectives. As Cavell suggests, perhaps we are already close enough; it is our way of seeing that changes.