Francis Frith and Negretti & Zambra

Abstract

When Francis Frith's eagerly awaited¹ stereographic series Egypt and Nubia was published in late 1857, the 100 albumen views caused a popular sensation². W. C. Darrah has recently described them as ‘probably the most lavishly praised and famous series in the history of stereography–³.     

Thomas Annan and the scottish landscape

Abstract

Thomas Annan (1830–87) was a successful Scottish photographer who produced work in all the main subject categories associated with commercial practice in the midnineteenth century, including portraiture, landscape, urban and industrial documentation and reproductions of works of art. While it is true that the versatility and range of his achievement have not gone unacknowledged, his reputation today undoubtedly rests on one particular body of work— his survey of Glasgow's High Street slums, first published in 1871 as Photographs of the Old Closes and Streets of Glasgow.¹ Stark, shocking, and yet strangely hypnotic, the images in this book are among the earliest as well as the most powerful of their kind ever made. They are also sufficiently ambiguous in their status as ‘representations’ to have provided a fruitful target for critical analysis among cultural historians anxious to demonstrate the deeply problematic nature of the nineteenth-century documentary project as a whole.² Old Streets and Closes is in every way an outstanding work. It speaks eloquently of a now vanished past, while confronting us with the inherently paradoxical nature of photography's contribution to historical discourse.     

The later years of James Robertson

Abstract

In ‘A Chronology of James Robertson’,¹ the authors refer to my generous sharing of Beato material. I fear I was unintentionally ungenerous in not referring them to Appendix 5 of Japanese-British Exchanges in Art: 1850s–1930s, published privately by John Clark in London in 1989, a publication that might not seem obvious in reference to a Scotsman working in Constantinople. John Clark is now at the department of Art History, Australian National University, Canberra but at the time of publication was lecturing at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. His publication Japanese-British Exchanges included in its 323 pages a chronology of Charles Wirgman, the Special Artist of the Illustrated London News resident in Japan and highly influential on Japanese art.     

Sadakichi artmann,essayist and critic

Abstract

During the last two years of his life, Ralph Eugene Meatyard assembled a series of photographs into a book titled The Family Album of Lucybelle Crater. The album's main subject is his wife Madelyn Meat yard who wore one mask for the title role of Lucybelle Crater, and appeared in sixtyfour photographs accompanied in each by a different person wearing one other mask. Madelyn Meat yard's mask, an opaque representation of a grotesque hag, is described as resembling ‘Mammy Yokum from Outer Space’.¹ The other mask is transformed by its wearer, for it is a translucent representation of an androgynous older person. Only two images are titled, and the real names of the masked people are revealed in a listing at the end of the book.     

The Catalogue of the Sale of Camille Silvy's Studio,London 1869

Abstract

During the mid-19th century, the name Lola Montez was a household word in a surprisingly wide range of circles. A London sculptor went so far as to display, in private, her bust side-by-side with that of Queen Victoria¹, and while Her Majesty's response to this gesture remained unrecorded, Lola could have drawn comfort from the fact that she herself was enjoyed and admired by large numbers of people in less exalted positions. Her status derived in the first place from her beauty, in the second place from her notoriety, the latter being by far the most potent and enduring stimulus. Photographers flocked to take her picture, not only in Europe but also in America (Figure 1), and popular journals everywhere published her likeness, either in the form of engravings or else as photographs, when that became possible. Lola thus shared with Jenny Lind the distinction of being one of the first to be made into a ‘celebrity’ directly or indirectly through the action of the camera. Lola became the inspiration for plays, novels, music and even a film².     

An album of seascapes by Gustave Le Gray

Abstract

In 1856 Ernest Lacan, a journalist and early critic in the field of photography, advanced a prediction which only recently has been confirmed, that Gustave Le Gray (1820–c. 1882) ‘s'est fait un nom qui restera dans l'histoire des progrès de la photographie’¹. There is little doubt that in the 1850s Le Gray was considered at least the equal of contemporary luminaries such as Nadar, owing to the following activities and accolades: his highly advanced technical experiments, discoveries and improvements; his several treatises and short notes in journals which dealt with such; his extensive and consistent exhibition record which was accompanied by almost exclusively positive and enthusiastic reviews; persistent application of and investigation into nearly every photographic technique and iconographic theme popular at the time; his informal or professional training of photographers of note such as Henri Le Secq, Charles Nègre, Charles Marville, Maxime Du Camp, Roger Fenton, and Adrien Tournachon; and the ultimate approbation, the grant to him in c. 1858–1859 of the title ‘Photographe de S. M. L'Empereur’. Accordingly, one finds in the histories and photographic journals of his day repeated references to the exceptional quality of Le Gray's prints and the widespread influence of his writings and instruction. Nadar, in his Quand j'étais photographe of c. 1900, included extensive remarks relating to Le Gray's personal life and photographic career, but because of a span of 40 or more years between original events and recollections, Nadar's account of his subject's endeavours is at best superficial, and tends to emphasize anecdote as opposed to factual history. Short treatments dealing primarily with the technical aspects of Le Gray's photography do appear in most 20th-century surveys (Freund, Lécuyer, Gernsheim, Newhall, etc.), but neither these brief synopses nor Nadar's reminiscences constitute what may even faintly be construed as a serious attempt at a reconstruction of the photographer's career and accomplishments2 For essentially revisional biographical information concerning Le Gray, see the author's dissertation¹, especially pp. 1–20, 41–42, 52–53, and 63–47. . In recent years, however, photographic historians, art historians, and to some extent the general public, have witnessed a renaissance of interest in Le Gray's life and works, a revival which has led to more detailed and accurate textual inforinntion, and the attendant availability of a wider range of examples of his works and writings³. It therefore seems propitious to add to this rapidly expanding corpus of Le Gray studies an intensive discussion of what may well be the photographer's most distinguished technical and aesthetic achievement, the Vistas del Mar album of scascapes, here dated c. 1857–1859, now housed in the Art Institute of Chicago.     

William Lake Price and James Mudd

Abstract

Photography, of course, appears everywhere but for all its successes it has been remarkably unable to shake the complacency of the disciplines; it has its uses and its places, but these seem just too setded and too well known. The photographer remains a junior partner in the practices of a society, high or low, cultural or otherwise. But if we travel back through time we will encounter a point when photography seemed anything but limited. If any spatial figure typifies English photographic debate in the 1860s it would be ‘boundless’. In the language of English photographic culture the idea that the potentials of the new medium were unlimited stretched from Lady Easdake to the juror's reports on the International Exhibitions. Out of this mass of commentary I intend to extract only two fairly ordinary pieces of writing: William Lake Price's A Manual of Photographic Manipulation published in 1868¹ and James Mudd's ‘A photographer's dream’, originally read at the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, and published in The Photographic News for May 1865.²     

Daguerreotypes in the National Archives of Canada

Abstract

The announcement of the daguerreotype process to the French scientific community in August 1839 spread through the Western world like a shockwave. The British North American colonies comprising Canada East and Canada West (now Quebec and Ontario) and the Maritime provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island were no exceptions. Rumours of the discovery had been published in Canadian newspapers as early as 3 May 1839.¹ As early as 1840 we find advertisements in Canadian newspapers offering daguerreotype portraits by itinerant photographers who first made known and popularized the process. There are no extant examples of these first Canadian attempts.²     

Thomas Glaister and early Australian photography

Abstract

In common with research into the early photographic history of most colonial societies, attempts to learn more about the photographers who worked in nineteenth-century Australia can be an exasperating exercise. Many of these early practitioners arrived in Australia as immigrants from Europe or America, often intent on concealing their origins, or, more optimistically, simply wanting to establish a new life in a new country without the encumbrances of their own pasts. Despite the technical skill and the cumbersome equipment required to produce early photographic images, many new arrivals in the colony took up photography principally as a means of making money, either as itinerant country photographers (Jack Cato called Australian photography in the 1840s a ‘vagrant process’¹) or, later in the cities, through studio portraiture and views of colonial streets and buildings. Aesthetic considerations were often secondary to the desire for a ‘good likeness’ produced in the shortest amount of time.     

Oliver Wendell Holmes as an amateur photographer

Abstract

On 6th July 1862, Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote a letter to Coleman Sellers, thanking him for some photographs received and excusing his own negligence in writing. His eldest son, missing in action in Richmond, commanded all his attention, but then Holmes added: ‘If it were not for this war, I should begin getting photographic apparatus tomorrow. If peace ever returns I feel sure I shall try my hand at the art and then I shall be only too happy to send you some of my handiwork in return for the many favors I have received from you’¹. The letter catches Holmes at an interesting point in his life. Always intrigued by photography and well known among his friends as a popularizer of it, he was finally thinking of turning theory into practice.     

Cuthbert Bede and O.J. Rejlander

Abstract

Photographic Pleasures, published in February 1855, was the first collection of humorous essays about the new art to appear in England. Its author, the Reverend Edward Bradley, writing under the pen name of Cuthbert Bede, was a young man of twenty-eight who already had one national best-seller to his credit. This was Mr Verdant Green, a novel about undergraduate life at Oxford, which came out at the end of 1853, with an engraved portrait of the author as its frontispiece (Figure 1).     

Travel Reports and Photography in Early Photographically Illustrated Books

Abstract

Abstract A previous article¹ dealt with some of the first books illustrated by tipped-in photographs, or else by early photomechanical procedures, with subject matter drawn from the fields of microscopy, medicine and astronomy. The present essay is concerned with technically similar publications, on topics of a more social nature.     

Susan Lipper

Abstract

When William Norman opened his photographic studio in a tiny redbrick house on Bleury Street in Montreal in late 1856,1 Letter from Alice Notman, Montreal to her parents Mr and Mrs Thomas, Woodwork, England. 28 December 1856. the 30-year-old immigrant could not have dreamed that this small beginning would one day expand into a vast enterprise spanning four Canadian provinces and six states in the eastern USA.² Nor could he have known that the business would continue long after his death, and that the firm's production of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century photographs would become the foundation of an archives of international repute and his pictures cherished by millions.     

Charles Piazzi Smyth's 1865 Conquest of the Great Pyramid

Abstract

Most photo-historical accounts of the development of miniature cameras and artificial lighting cite Charles Piaim Smyth's pioneering photographic work at the Great Pyramid in 1865. This artlcle, based on the recent rediscovery of an album of his photographs and subsequent new information on his estate, is a more detailed examination of that work than has previously been possible.     

Leah King-Smith and the Nineteenth-century Archive

Abstract

In postmodern criticism the camera has often been seen as an apparatus of control, one of the surveillance mechanisms of the state, in the service of its institutions and immersed in its technologies of power. The metaphor of the camera as a weapon, as analysed by Susan Sontag in the early 1970s, describes an unbalanced and non-reciprocal relationship between photographer and subject.¹ One is the hunter, the other the prey; one is the agent, the other the victim. This theoretical paradigm was consolidated in the 1980s when structuralist critics started to analyse nineteenth-century photographic archives held in libraries, institutions and museums.² Much of this criticism followed the work of Michel Foucault who used Jeremy Bentham's model of the Panopticon to analyse the controlling mechanism of the gaze in modern institutions.³ I am aware that aligning Foucault with structuralism will appear problematic to some; however, the way in which some of his work has been adapted by postmodern critics of photography does underline the determinism of his theory. For a lucid analysis, see Joan Copjec, Read my Desire: Lacan against the Historicists, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press 1994, 1–10. For a different perspective, sympathetic to Foucault, see Geoffrey Batchen, Burning with Desire: The Conception of Photography, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press 1997. Although Foucault's concept of power is productive and he admits to sites of resistance, he is pessimistic about the possibilities of such resistance.⁴ Discipline and Punish, upon which many theories of photographic surveillance are predicated, constructs disciplinary power as ‘the nonreversible subordination of one group of people by another’.⁵     

The Jersey Years; Photographer in the Circle of Victor Hugo

Abstract

An interesting and little-discussed body of photographic work is connected with the circle of Victor Hugo during the years of his exile on the island of Jersey in the English Channel, from 1852 to 1855. These works are now dispersed; a n~umber of them are in Paris, in the Museé de la Maison de Victor Hugo and in the Bibliothèque Nationale, another survives in the archivcs of the International Museum of Photography at the George Eastman House, Rochester, New York; and various other examples exist in private collections. The Jersey photographs are the result of a joint effort by Charles Hugo, the poet's son, and his friend, Auguste Vacquerie.     

The London Diorama

Abstract

A Month in London, or Some of its Modern Wonder described¹ is as evocative a title for a book as one could wish for, and when I saw it was dated 1832, it was irresistible. It turned out to be a piece of thinly disguised fiction, so beloved in that age which felt that serious instruction, particularly for the young, must be sugar coated. An American tourist treats two young English relatives to a month's sightseeing in London. A chance acquaintance, named Mr Finsbury (and, most appropriately, living there), appears before the end of the Introduction, and volunteers to take them on the rounds. One particular adventure starts with a ride on George Shillibeer's three-horse Omnibus.     

Photography and the Elphinstone Institution of Bombay

Abstract

Ralizing the potentials of photography, the Court of Directors of the East India company recommended to the Government of Bombay as early as 1845 ‘the encouragement of the study of this useful art of photography in any of the seientific or educational institutions under the control or inf1uence of your government’. They also offered to furnish students with the requisite apparatus, if they found it necessary to procure them from England¹. The proposal was repeated in their dispatch dated 29th December 1854, when they again expressed their desire to establish training in photography. Thereupon, W. Hart, Secretary to the Government of Bombay, requested the Board of Education of Bombay Presidency to submit a scheme for carrying out this project². Mr Stowell, Secretary to the Board of Education, called for the opinions of the Principal of the Elphinstone Institution, and of its Professor of Chemistry³. A small but interesting episode of early photography in India had its beginning in this way.     

Early Serbian photography

Abstract

At the onset of the industrial revolution, at the end of the 18th and beginning of the 19th centuries, while all civilized nations of the world were building up their tcchnological resources, Serbia was making its first attempts to free itself from Turkish occupation. When photography was announced in 1839, Serbia was a small country, still partly governed by Turkey. A newly formed class of city dwellers tried eagerly to make up, at an accelerated pace, for all that it had missed in culture and civilization while dominated by the Turks. In their efforts they were aided by numerous émigré Serbs from Vojvodina¹ who were invited and offered positions in government by Duke Milo: ObrenoviC (1780–1860). Many foreign craftsmen, skilled in newly developed techniques, arrived from Western Europe in search of higher earnings, and likewise participated in this cultural awakening.