The Kubrick Code

This is something I have thought about for many years — the balance between artistry and technique. In my work as a photographer and instructor, the question arises often: how do we help learners gain technical fluency without losing the spark that drew them into photography in the first place? In my own work, I have felt the same pull between intuition and precision, inspiration and craft.

In 2019, I visited the Stanley Kubrick exhibition at the Design Museum in London. I brought a camera and took the pictures you see here. What stayed with me was Kubrick’s insistence on understanding the tools of his craft — not for their own sake, but in service of something larger. Equipment served his vision, and his grasp of the tools was inseparable from the realisation of intent.

Recently, as I have thought more about how we learn and how we make things that last, I found myself returning to those rooms at the Design Museum in my mind. Hence this article, so long after the itinerant exhibition left London.

This article explores the balance between technique and artistry, as the London exhibition showed it in Kubrick’s work. It is not a review of the exhibition—there are plenty of those—but a reflection on what it takes to create something well. Whether in film, architecture, or racing, the tension between technique and creativity is always present. We do not need to resolve it, but learn to work within it and aim to grow beyond it.In this article: On Kubrick, photography, and the mastery of technique. Thinking about poetics and technique — love for equipment or love for results? A mindset: interplay of technique and art in photography . The camera as a musical score . The myth of pure artistic expression . Examples from elsewhere: racing, the art and science of speed . The unified craft . Concluding thoughts . How I photographed at the exhibition . References . Support this blog & get premium features with GOLD memberships!

On Kubrick, photography, and the mastery of technique.

It all started with a lens. I went to the exhibition mainly to see the famous Carl Zeiss Planar 50mm f/0.7 lens used for the candle-lit scenes in Barry Lyndon. This lens had become legendary — rare, fast, and almost mythical. I thought it would be the main highlight of my visit, but what I discovered there was something bigger.

The exhibition, although compact, was immersive. It focused heavily on the act of capturing the image, with little attention even to the capture of sound. It was concerned almost entirely with the production stage, rather than the processes of editing and post-production. These elements play a crucial role in shaping the final work, yet they were largely absent from the exhibition’s narrative.

The area of the exhibition at the museum was dimly lit with pools of light here and there for the displays of props, film stills, storyboards, cameras and lenses. It offered a small glimpse into the mind of a truly obsessive creator. Kubrick’s career, though limited in the number of films, had nevertheless profound impact.

Even the few, almost bric-a-brac remnants of an extraordinary life on display were enough to convey a message that stayed with me: for Kubrick, technique was not a limitation but a form of freedom. His life and work remain the clearest example of this I have encountered. His deep technical knowledge enabled him to pursue ideas that others might have considered impractical or impossible.

This interplay of technique and poetry is not unique to cinema. In architecture, one does not place windows, no matter how artistically they might look, without considering structure. Photography, too, requires more than a keen eye. The belief that one can simply “see beautifully” without technical understanding is not romantic, it is naïve. We frame images not only through the viewfinder but through the several technical choices we make — of exposure, of lens, of perspective. The tools are, therefore, never neutral: there is a purpose in selecting one tool over the other.

This does not mean every filmmaker must be an engineer, just as not every race driver must build an engine. A fine practitioner in any field knows their medium. To film the iconic candlelit scenes in Barry Lyndon, Kubrick used a specially modified Zeiss Planar 50mm f/0.7 lens (originally developed for NASA) along with ISO 100 film stock (Kodak 5254) pushed one stop to ISO 200, allowing him to shoot using only natural candlelight. These scenes were filmed in historic locations (e.g. Petworth House in West Sussex, England) where the crew had to carefully limit the number of candles to avoid heat and soot damage to the fragile interiors. This reduced even further the light that was available. In addition, because of the very short flange distance required by the lens, Kubrick had a Mitchell BNC camera heavily modified to accommodate it. They also added a focal reducer (placed in front of the lens, not at the back) to convert the lens to 36.5mm, to give a normal angle of view in Super 35 format. They attached a TV camera on the side of the Mitchell for focus assistance due to the difficulty of achieving precise focus with such a bright lens opened to the maximum. Needless to say, there were numerous retakes of the scenes.

Thinking about poetics and technique — love for equipment or love for results?

There appears to be a persistent myth in photography that technical skill and artistic vision are somehow in opposition. The stereotype suggests that the technician is “dry” and “precise,” while the artist is “free” and “inspired,” or something along those lines. However, anyone who has tried to realise an image exactly as it appeared in their own mind’s eye knows this is not true. Furthermore, photography does not escape the laws of physics; it is created within them. In both photography and cinema made with film, there is a crucial chemical dimension that shapes the final image. Different developers, techniques, and approaches to film processing can produce markedly different results, each with its own visual character. The printing of the image is another stage where choices matter deeply. Photography, in this sense, unfolds within the constraints and possibilities of chemistry. This is also a space where artistic decisions are made, as the handling of processes can become part of the creative voice.

Expertise is always required for any serious work. While collaboration can fill gaps if the main artist does not possess a piece of certain knowledge, it still relies on the need for expertise. It is not about whether the artist directly operates the tool or if a team member handles it. What truly matters, as emphasised in the exhibition, is whether the artist understands what a piece of equipment or film stock can do, and what it cannot. In 2001: A Space Odyssey, Kubrick used Eastman Kodak 5251 (ISO 50) for its fine grain and resolution for the clean images needed for visual effects and rear-projection work, especially in sequences such as the “Dawn of Man” at the start of the movie, and the various spaceflight sequences. His choices reveal a deep understanding of film chemistry and optics to serve his visual goals. He also resorted to VistaVision equipment to film the sequences required for visual effects, as it runs 35mm film horizontally (it is “full frame”), exposing a much larger negative area and delivering the finer grain, which was deemed so important for realism in the film’s visual effects.

A mindset: interplay of technique and art in photography .

Photography sits at the junction of craft and creativity. Some dismiss its technical side, suggesting that true artistry lives beyond shutter speeds or ISO settings. But this is a false opposition; photography and cinema demand both vision and know-how.

Kubrick’s work demonstrates this integration. His films — although they range widely in tone and form — share a common thread: the technical precision in their execution supports the emotional weight of the piece. And they also show his exhaustive historical research. His artistry was built upon knowledge. In one of Barry Lyndon’s most striking shots, for example, Kubrick used a long 25-250 mm Angenieux zoom lens (on super 35 format) to execute an extended zoom-out that begins in a tight close-up of the actor Ryan O’Neal’s face and slowly reveals an entire column of soldiers stretching across a vast landscape. The zooming action allowed him to highlight the character’s isolation within the enormous scale of war. The Seven Years’ War, the war addressed in the movie, was fought between 1756 and 1763, and it is often considered the truly first “world war”, with battles in North America and India becoming part of a wider conflict across Europe. Kubrick wanted to express not just the ugliness or horror of that long conflict, though that idea is certainly present, but mainly its overwhelming, all-encompassing nature. All of this was masterfully conveyed by filming that particular zooming action, and the Angenieux lens was the instrument that could deliver it.

The camera as a musical score .

A camera is not art in itself, but an instrument with which art may unfold. Kubrick used Mitchell cameras, which were the staple of the industry since the 1920s and remained unchanged for many years. In his later movies, he used Arri cameras and Steadicam equipment. In The Shining (1980), Kubrick faced challenges using the then-new Steadicam system (a quite large, mechanical, wearable camera stabiliser that was, in many ways, a precursor to today’s electronically controlled gimbals). The system’s size made it difficult to use in the film’s small and dimly lit interior sets. To overcome this, Kubrick worked closely with Steadicam inventor Garrett Brown to adapt the rig, making it possible to manoeuvre effectively in tight spaces. He also chose very wide-angle lenses, such as the Cooke 18mm, for their deep focus.

No matter how advanced a camera becomes, it is still only a tool, and artistic vision is always required. On the other hand, the vision that the artist brings to photography and cinematography must be realised through a material medium, which requires technical handling.

Kubrick’s legacy lies precisely in this union of vision and craft. His methods were not about complexity for its own sake, but about control. He would be very deliberate in the choice of tools to realise a specific image. A notable example comes from A Clockwork Orange (1971), where Kubrick faced a challenge filming the fast-motion “Ludovico Technique” scenes in low light (in the movie, the fictional government utilises this “Ludovico Technique”, a sort of aversion therapy, to “cure” violent tendencies, aiming to make people docile). Kubrick used an ultra-wide-angle Kinoptik 9.8mm lens to exaggerate spatial distortion and include as much of the environment as possible. This lens delivered the extremely deep focus that suited the narrative and the visual impact he wanted by filming the scenes in cramped and claustrophobic interiors.

On a related note, I am often amused by online discussions about photographers, and less frequently, filmmakers, “switching” from one brand to another. This is often based on misconceptions that a certain feature will somehow solve a challenge, whether theoretical, real or imagined, simply because something may be easier to use or the gear may be slightly lighter, or for some other very narrow reason. In the world of movie-making, however, the examples I have touched upon indirectly reflect a well-established practice. Rigs are routinely assembled using equipment from a variety of manufacturers. Although this may seem like a slight diversion from the central topic of this article, it forms part of the wider technical landscape. Kubrick was famously up to date on the latest equipment that was available, and he was always on the lookout for tools and technologies he could put to use.

The myth of pure artistic expression .

There is a persistent belief that creativity alone is enough, or in other words, that inspiration rises above technique, or that natural talent always outweighs technique. Vision without craft often fails, however. The reason is that in order to create an image with feeling, one must also command the tools that give it form. Light, timing, and framing are not incidental; they are the physical vocabulary through which meaning is made visible. Kubrick did not fetishise technology. He was very pragmatic and used whatever was necessary to realise his vision — whether that meant adapting a NASA lens (the Zeiss 50 mm f/0.7), modifying a camera, or working through hundreds of takes. In Eyes Wide Shut (1999), Kubrick needed to recreate convincing nighttime scenes of New York City while filming entirely in London. Shooting on location was not a practical option, partly because Kubrick apparently preferred not to travel and wished to remain in England. He also felt that conventional rear projection looked too artificial for the effect he wanted to achieve. Instead, he turned to front projection, a technique first developed for 2001: A Space Odyssey. In this system, footage of actual New York streets was projected onto a highly reflective screen positioned behind the actors. The method, which is described in some detail online, involved an entirely different approach to traditional process filming. Although it was more complex to implement, it allowed for a result that appeared far more realistic and fully aligned with his creative vision.

Examples from elsewhere: racing, the art and science of speed .

I found an unexpected (yet now obvious, at least to me) parallel in a place I never would have imagined: a book on becoming a champion Formula One driver. Although there is no direct comparison in Derek Daly’s most interesting book, Race to Win: How to Become a Complete Champion Driver, the ideas he discusses prompted me to recognise a compelling parallel between what he describes for success in Formula One driving and other creative disciplines such as photography and cinema.

Car racing, at first glance, seems to have little to do with photography or film. However, Daly’s thinking led me to draw a connection. Both disciplines (whether photographic or motor racing) rely fundamentally on a physical substratum. In photography, this consists of cameras, lenses, and lighting; in racing, it involves the car, fuel, and support team. Daly’s framework, his “pyramid” model of success (which includes natural talent, technical skill, mental toughness, and commitment), was helpful in furthering my thinking. Mastery in both fields demands more than just creative vision. It requires the right tools and the ability to use them effectively in order to realise that vision. The car does not race itself. Daly’s book emphasises that it is the dialogue between driver and machine that wins races. Similarly, a photographer’s relationship with their equipment is central. The tools do not diminish artistry; they enable it.

Kubrick pushed his tools as far as they could go. His research was obsessive (whether studying military drills or 18th-century paintings or the latest in equipment).

The unified craft .

Creative work often involves a tension: between precision and spontaneity, structure and feeling. Yet this need not be resolved. The friction itself can be generative. The psychologist Carl Jung spoke of the “tension of opposites,” suggesting that growth emerges not from eliminating conflict, but from enduring it.

In art, this charged space is where the real work happens, not when vision overwhelms craft, or when technique stifles imagination, but when both are carried forward together. Kubrick understood this. He neither reduced filmmaking to mechanical execution nor relied on, say, intuition alone.

Concluding thoughts .

What impressed me most about the 2019 exhibition on Kubrick was his approach to using equipment and technique in the service of expression. It brought me a sense of clarity, a deeper understanding that technique and artistry must work hand in hand to realise a creative vision. This insight may seem familiar or even well known in theory, but sometimes it takes something, e.g. an exhibition, a book, a conversation, or simply hearing the idea again (and again...) for an understanding to reach a deeper level. Sometimes it seems that it takes a jolt for us to truly grasp certain kinds of knowledge and begin applying them in practice.

This realisation was not only inspiring but also encouraging. It confirmed that one of the most interesting aspects of photography is the ability to mix and match different pieces of equipment in pursuit of a particular result. It involves knowing what each tool can or cannot do and thinking through possible workarounds. There is also the chemistry of film developing and printing, and how choices in this area affect the final outcome. Altogether, it is a very tactical way of thinking: one that focuses on solving problems and adapting creatively in the moment.

Perhaps even more importantly, there is something strategic in Kubrick’s legacy that stands out for me. What it reveals is the power of intentionality. Every technical choice he made was deliberate and served a specific purpose, contributing to the overall poetic and emotional impact of his work. True creative freedom does not come from avoiding the technical, but from mastering it. When poetics and technique move together, there is a far greater chance of producing something that endures.

How I photographed at the exhibition .

The exhibition space was dark (imagine photographing inside a theatre). I used a Nikon F3 set to aperture priority, with a 55mm Nikkor f/1.2 lens wide open. This brings things full circle: my interest in going to the exhibition began with the Planar 50 mm lens used by Kubrick, so as a kind of homage, I chose to photograph with my f/1.2 lens fully open. The film was Kodak T-Max 3200, shot at box speed and developed in T-Max Developer. The negatives were scanned using a Nikon Super Coolscan 9000 ED, running VueScan software on my computer.

This setup (fast lens, high-speed film, and aperture priority) let me photograph handheld in a simple “point, focus, and shoot” manner, relying on the camera to deliver the fastest possible shutter speed. My aim was straightforward: to capture snapshots in low light. I wasn’t chasing blur or shallow depth of field as an effect.

I am deeply grateful to my friend Andy Sands of Chiswick Camera Centre in West London for his exceptional kindness in lending me a rather magnificent Nikon Super Coolscan 9000 ED — an item he had for sale in the second-hand area of his shop — for around 10 days.

References .

The online sources listed here are freely accessible and were helpful as I studied and developed the ideas in this article. Last accessed: May 1, 2025.

Exhibitions and Retrospectives on Stanley Kubrick .

• The Itinerant Exhibition (Official site) . Overview of the touring Stanley Kubrick exhibition.

• On Tour: Stanley Kubrick — DFF Deutsches Filminstitut Filmmuseum. List of past venues for the travelling Kubrick exhibition.

• ‘Festival of Stanley’: Touring Kubrick Exhibition Heads to UK . Coverage of the 2019 London exhibition. Mark Brown, The Guardian, October 4, 2018 .

• Stanley Kubrick: The Exhibition Review — From Erotic Milk Bars to Haunted Hotels . A visual and thematic overview of the exhibition. Oliver Wainwright, The Guardian, April 25, 2019 .

• Stanley Kubrick: The Exhibition Review – Catnip for Mid-Century Modern Fans . Design-focused reflection on the exhibition. Catherine Slessor, The Observer, April 28, 2019 .

Kubrick’s Technical Innovations and Equipment .

• Stanley Kubrick Film Equipment Index — ShotOnWhat . Details of cameras and lenses used across Kubrick’s filmography.

• Shooting Barry Lyndon — American Cinematographer . Technical breakdown of filming with candlelight and the innovative use of the Zeiss lens.

• The Legendary Zeiss Planar 50mm f/0.7 at the Zeiss Museum of Optics — DPReview. Article on Kubrick’s ultra-fast lens now displayed in Germany.

• Adapting the Zeiss f/0.7 Lens for Kubrick . Detailed explanation of how the lens was engineered to fit the Mitchell BNC camera.

• The Kubrick Files — Ep. 3: Kubrick’s Cameras . Cinema Tyler’s breakdown of Kubrick’s technical tools.

• The Kubrick Files – Ep. 4: Kubrick’s Photography . Exploration of Kubrick’s early photojournalism and its influence on his films.

On photography, technique, artistry and car racing .

• Triangle of Sadness Director Ruben Östlund: ‘You Should Need a Licence to Use a Camera’. Östlund discusses the intersection of artistic intent and technical responsibility. The Guardian, April 12, 2024 .

• Derek Daly, Race to Win: How to Become a Complete Champion Driver, Motorbooks: St. Paul, Minn., 2008 . A wealth of knowledge for car drivers who want to become champions, and principles that go beyond the racing industry.