When the Pentax 67 200mm f/4 is mounted on the Canon R8 using a standard Pentax-67-to-RF adapter, the lens behaves exactly as it was designed: a true 200mm f/4 telephoto. The adapter does not change the focal length or the aperture. It simply positions the lens at the correct distance from the sensor so the optics can focus properly, including infinity. Because the Canon R8 uses a full-frame sensor, the entire photographic experience with this lens becomes very natural.

The Pentax 67 mount is technically obsolete, but calling it irrelevant would be a mistake. The system was created in 1969 for the large Pentax 6×7 film camera, later renamed Pentax 67, and it remained in production until the early 2000s. Pentax eventually ended development when digital photography overtook medium-format film systems, and no modern digital camera bodies use the Pentax 67 mount natively. In that strict sense the mount belongs to a discontinued ecosystem.

Portrait photographers run into this comparison sooner or later because on paper the math looks simple. An 85mm lens on an APS-C crop camera produces roughly the same field of view as a 135mm lens on a full-frame body. So framing the subject — head and shoulders portrait for example — ends up looking almost identical. Stand at roughly the same distance, frame the same composition, and the scene inside the frame feels very similar.

Mirrorless cameras changed the old logic of lens systems. The short flange distance of the Canon RF mount suddenly opened the door for optics that were never meant to sit on small digital bodies. Medium-format lenses — once built for giant film frames and heavy studio cameras — can now be mounted on relatively compact mirrorless cameras with a simple mechanical adapter. The result is a curious mix of eras: huge image circles feeding modern sensors, often producing images with a slightly different rendering character than contemporary digital lenses.

An actual anamorphic lens changes the geometry of the image before it ever reaches the sensor, so the effect is partly optical and impossible to reproduce perfectly afterward. Still, a surprising amount of the “anamorphic feeling” can be recreated in post processing. The trick is to think about what visually defines anamorphic imagery. Three things usually stand out: an extremely wide cinematic frame, horizontal light streaks, and the distinctive oval shape of out-of-focus highlights.

Apple’s new MacBook Neo enters the market at a price point that feels almost unfamiliar for a Mac. Starting at $599, it sits closer to the territory of student laptops and Chromebooks than the traditional creative machines photographers have relied on for years. Yet when you look at its actual capabilities — Apple silicon performance, a high-resolution Liquid Retina display, long battery life, and macOS compatibility with the entire photography software ecosystem — it becomes clear that this small, colorful laptop could slide into a photographer’s workflow more naturally than its price suggests.

Anamorphic photography has a rhythm that feels a bit different from normal shooting. The whole process begins with an image that is intentionally distorted and squeezed inside the camera, and only later unfolds into the wide cinematic frame people associate with anamorphic cinema. When you first see the raw image coming off the camera, it often looks strangely tall and compressed—faces narrow, circles stretched vertically. That’s normal. The lens has squeezed the scene horizontally so that a wider field of view can be recorded onto a standard sensor.