Enhanced/Dual Powered
Willem EPROM Programmer
User Guide Â
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Main Board / Cables
Main Board PCB3.5
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Main Board PCB4E
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Main Board PCB5.0
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Main Board PCB5.5C
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Parallel Data Cable (Printer extension cable, with male-female 25 pin connector, and pin to pin through) |
A-A type USB cable(for power) |
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Optional Items:
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ATMELÂ 89 Adapter |
ATMEL PLCC 44 Adapter |
TSOP 48 Adapter |
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FWH/HUB PLCC32Adapter |
PLCC32 Adapter |
SOIC Adapter(Simplified) |
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On-Board |
On-Board |
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AC or DC Power Adapter (9V or 12V, 200mA) |
SOIC Adapter(Professional) |
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The device was a direct descendant of Casio’s legendary line of digital watches (the classic calculator and data bank watches) and their pioneering QV series of digital cameras. The CV-10 was Casio’s ambitious—and ultimately short-lived—attempt to fuse these two product categories into a single, futuristic package. Let’s be clear: the Casio CV-10 is not sleek by modern standards. It is a chunky, rectangular block of plastic and resin, measuring roughly 52mm wide, 44mm tall, and 18mm thick. On a medium-sized wrist, it looks less like a traditional watch and more like a small computer terminal from Star Trek: The Next Generation .
The watch could also output video to a television via an optional cable, allowing you to view a slideshow of your masterpieces on a big (CRT) screen. The Casio CV-10 was not a commercial success. It was expensive, niche, and the image quality was objectively terrible compared to even the cheapest film point-and-shoot. It was quickly discontinued, and today it exists as a holy grail for collectors of vintage digital gadgets, spy memorabilia, and weird tech. casio cv-10
Today, a working Casio CV-10 with its memory card and IR dongle can sell for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars on eBay. It is a time capsule, a conversation piece, and a beautiful, chunky reminder that the road to the future is paved with wonderfully weird experiments. It is not a good camera. It is not a good watch (the battery life in camera mode is abysmal). But as an object of technological history, the Casio CV-10 is absolutely priceless. It captures not images, but imagination. The device was a direct descendant of Casio’s
In the mid-1990s, the world of digital photography was a wild frontier. Before smartphones made cameras ubiquitous and before megapixels became a consumer battleground, a handful of Japanese electronics giants were experimenting with form factors and concepts that seem almost absurdly quaint today. Among these experiments, the Casio CV-10 stands out as one of the most bizarre, charming, and prescient devices ever created. Part wristwatch, part digital camera, and entirely a product of its time, the CV-10 was a solution looking for a problem—a problem that wouldn't truly exist for another two decades. The Concept: Wearable Photography, 1990s Style Released in the mid-1990s (estimates place it around 1995-1996), the Casio CV-10 was officially known as the "Wrist Camera." Its mission was simple: allow the user to capture still images from a camera strapped to their wrist. Today, we call this a "wearable camera" or a "lifelogging device." In 1995, it was a novelty item, a gadget that seemed ripped from the pages of a spy novel. It is a chunky, rectangular block of plastic
The CMOS sensor is slow, light-hungry, and noisy. In bright, outdoor sunlight, the CV-10 can produce a recognizable, if incredibly soft and grainy, image. Colors are muted and often inaccurate, trending toward a faded, pastel palette. Dynamic range is non-existent; skies blow out to pure white, while shadows crush to muddy black. In indoor or low light, the camera is virtually useless, producing a sea of digital noise that looks like a pointillist painting of static.
But here’s the magic: that’s the point. The CV-10 doesn't take "good" photos. It takes . Each image has an unmistakable, dreamy, lo-fi aesthetic that modern filter apps have spent years trying to replicate. The aggressive JPEG compression creates blocky artifacts, the low resolution hides fine details, and the overall effect is one of a faded memory or a grainy surveillance still.
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Hardware Installation & Configuration
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Installation Steps
         (Note: the LPT port of PC MUST set to ECP or ECP+EPP during BIOS setup. To enter the BIOS setting mode, you need press "Del" key or "F1" key during the computer selftest, which is the moment of computer just power up.)  Software Version To Use | |||
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         The software interface:  | |||
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 Hardware
Check  | |||
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 PCB3.5/PCB4E
 PCB5.0
 PCB5.5C Â
Note: the Vcc setting jumper only has effect when you are using AC adaptor as power source. For the USB power only 5V Vcc is available. For the PCB5.5C, set DIP steps: 1. press DIP Set button twice to check current DIP bit position. Then set it again for ON or OFF. 2. press DIP Bit shift button to shift the DIP bit position to where need to set. And then press DIP Set button twice to check current DIP bit position. Then set it again for ON or OFF. 3. Repeat those steps till all DIP bit ae set same as software indicated. For PCB5.5C voltage and Special chip selection: 1. Put back the safety jumper. 2. Press the voltage button and hold for 1 second, the voltage LED should move to next. Repeat till desired voltage LED light up. 3. Press the chip selection button and hold for 1 second, the chip LED should move to next. Repeat till desired LED light up. 4. Remove the safety jumper to lock the selected voltage and chip selection  DIP Switch (PCB3.5, PCB5.0)
When programming one chip, follow the program prompt to set DIP switch .  |
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The device was a direct descendant of Casio’s legendary line of digital watches (the classic calculator and data bank watches) and their pioneering QV series of digital cameras. The CV-10 was Casio’s ambitious—and ultimately short-lived—attempt to fuse these two product categories into a single, futuristic package. Let’s be clear: the Casio CV-10 is not sleek by modern standards. It is a chunky, rectangular block of plastic and resin, measuring roughly 52mm wide, 44mm tall, and 18mm thick. On a medium-sized wrist, it looks less like a traditional watch and more like a small computer terminal from Star Trek: The Next Generation .
The watch could also output video to a television via an optional cable, allowing you to view a slideshow of your masterpieces on a big (CRT) screen. The Casio CV-10 was not a commercial success. It was expensive, niche, and the image quality was objectively terrible compared to even the cheapest film point-and-shoot. It was quickly discontinued, and today it exists as a holy grail for collectors of vintage digital gadgets, spy memorabilia, and weird tech.
Today, a working Casio CV-10 with its memory card and IR dongle can sell for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars on eBay. It is a time capsule, a conversation piece, and a beautiful, chunky reminder that the road to the future is paved with wonderfully weird experiments. It is not a good camera. It is not a good watch (the battery life in camera mode is abysmal). But as an object of technological history, the Casio CV-10 is absolutely priceless. It captures not images, but imagination.
In the mid-1990s, the world of digital photography was a wild frontier. Before smartphones made cameras ubiquitous and before megapixels became a consumer battleground, a handful of Japanese electronics giants were experimenting with form factors and concepts that seem almost absurdly quaint today. Among these experiments, the Casio CV-10 stands out as one of the most bizarre, charming, and prescient devices ever created. Part wristwatch, part digital camera, and entirely a product of its time, the CV-10 was a solution looking for a problem—a problem that wouldn't truly exist for another two decades. The Concept: Wearable Photography, 1990s Style Released in the mid-1990s (estimates place it around 1995-1996), the Casio CV-10 was officially known as the "Wrist Camera." Its mission was simple: allow the user to capture still images from a camera strapped to their wrist. Today, we call this a "wearable camera" or a "lifelogging device." In 1995, it was a novelty item, a gadget that seemed ripped from the pages of a spy novel.
The CMOS sensor is slow, light-hungry, and noisy. In bright, outdoor sunlight, the CV-10 can produce a recognizable, if incredibly soft and grainy, image. Colors are muted and often inaccurate, trending toward a faded, pastel palette. Dynamic range is non-existent; skies blow out to pure white, while shadows crush to muddy black. In indoor or low light, the camera is virtually useless, producing a sea of digital noise that looks like a pointillist painting of static.
But here’s the magic: that’s the point. The CV-10 doesn't take "good" photos. It takes . Each image has an unmistakable, dreamy, lo-fi aesthetic that modern filter apps have spent years trying to replicate. The aggressive JPEG compression creates blocky artifacts, the low resolution hides fine details, and the overall effect is one of a faded memory or a grainy surveillance still.
 
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