To full frame, or not to full frame, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The outrageous expense of a pricey hobby,
Or to take arms against a sea of advantages
And by opposing, embrace mediocrity.
To shoot crop - to shoot full frame,
No more; and by full frame to say we end
The expense of glass and care
That format is heir to: 'tis a saving
Devoutly to be wish'd.
To shoot crop, to shoot with a phone;
To shoot with a phone, perchance to capture something worthy of respect and reward —ay, there's the rub:
For in that smaller format what grand photos may come,
When we stop shooting an expensive format,
We take pause - and realise that we never knew enough to warrant it.
For who would spend a lifetime - learning how to make art,
The problems of composition, the golden ratio and rule of thirds,
The insults of severe critics, the unrecognised effort,
The overbearing professionals, and the celebration of countless of little talent,
When he himself might find comfort in using a second hand APS-C?
Who would put up with all that crap,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of lost resolution,
The loss of precious colour depth, unrecorded, can never be seen,
puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear the burdens we have
Than fly to others that we have some idea of.
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,
And thus our resolve to try to get the same results with a castrated body
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
