![]() |
Danny Lyon |
Danny Lyon, whose career spans the civil rights movement, outlaw biker subculture, and prison reportage, has favored a diverse range of gear across decades—suitable for documentary immersion and cinematic storytelling.
Early Equipment
-
Exa 35 mm SLR
Bought in Munich during his Europe travels before joining the University of Chicago; his first photographic tool around 1959–1960.
![]() |
Exa 35mm |
-
Leica M-series
Used early alongside his Exa; small, quiet, ideal for the high-stakes environments of 1960s civil rights protests . -
Nikon Reflex (early Nikon F)
Became his “real workhorse” during his Bikeriders years—loaded with Tri‑X and mounted with a 105 mm lens for dynamic street shots.
![]() |
Danny Lyon and his Nikon F |
-
Rolleiflex
Carried during Bikeriders era, often paired with his Nikon and motorcycle kit.
Large-Format & Field Cameras
-
Calumet view camera
Purchased in Manhattan post-1967 for architectural and demolition photography—cheap but effective for lower Manhattan documentation.
Film and Motion
-
Bolex 16 mm
Gifted by Art Shay, used to film early footage in prisons (e.g. Conversations with the Dead). -
Eclair NPR 16 mm
Shared initially with Robert Frank, later bought outright; used for his independent filmmaking like Soc. Sci. 127. -
Nagra sound recorder + lav mic
Partner Nancy operated this equipment in his documentaries throughout the 1970s.
In Danny’s Words
He described transitioning gear over time: “Using my Tri‑X loaded Nikon F… that early, single‑lens Reflex was such a fabulous camera”.
And on filmmaking: “I… bought a camera that I shared with Robert Frank. … a very sophisticated camera, a 16 mm Eclair NPR.”
Why This Gear?
-
Versatility & authenticity: small cameras (Leica, Nikon F, Exa) for reportage and immersion
-
Scale & texture: view cameras for architectural and environmental imagery
-
Creative freedom: personal motion picture setups (Bolex, Eclair) to explore narrative beyond static frames
-
DIY ethic: carried own film, gear, worked hands-on in editing, sound recording