Category Archives: History of Photography

Three photographs of Katherine Cornell

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Figure 1 – Arnold Genthe (1869-1942)/LOC agc.7a15817. Miss Katharine Cornell with dog, 1917. From the USLOC, from the Wikipedia and in the public domain.

While researching yesterday’s blog, I started “reading up” on Katherine Cornell (1893-1974), who made Elizabeth in “The Barretts of Wimpole Street” her signature role. First of all, I have to say that my mother was a great fan of Katherine Cornell, who was widely acclaimed as the “First Lady of the Theater.” A striking beauty in her day, it is not surprising that she was photographed by some of the very greatest photographers of the first half of the twentieth century.

We can begin with Figure 1, a portrait by Arnold Genthe (1869-1942) take on December 31, 1917.  It is so quintessentially Genthe. A soft focused figure appears as if out of the shadows in a chiaroscuro style. It was the height of photopictorialism, and the photograph speaks to classical roots in nineteenth century portraiture.When I first saw the image I assumed that she was holding Buzzer the Cat. But in fact, she is holding one of her spaniels. She was famous for her love of dogs. And, of course, Miss Barrett’s cocker spaniel, “Flush,” features prominently in “The Barretts of Wimpole Street.”

The second image is a portrait from 1924 by Edward Steichen (1879-1973). I am afraid that I am going to have to ask you to go to this link to see it. But it is worth the cyber-trip. There are many Steichen portraits of Cornell from this period and this one is such a masterpiece. You can see that it sold at auction at Christie’s for $87,762.  It bears the same style as the Genthe portrait, only it puts Miss Cornell at the center, thus stabilizing the subject and the photograph. The subject has become statuesque, a dancer posing for the photographer. Cornell emerges now, no longer demur, but more vamp, that and her hat are typical of the feminine styles of the 1920’s.

Figure 2 – Carl van Vechten, Katherine Cornell, 1933, from the Wikipedia from the Van Vechten Collection at US Library of Congress and in the public domain.

Finally, we have Figure 2 a portrait of Cornell by portraitist and writer Carl van Vechten (1880-1964) from 1933. The lighting again is very similar, although the background is light, and the flowers are overwhelmingly translucent. Note how the flowers in the foreground brightly contrast and complement the dark wallpaper flowers in the background. They also preserve the “rule of thirds,” Still there is something disturbing here, a fear, and ingeniously the flowers accentuate the foreboding. Something is very, very wrong.

All three artists have chosen to portray Cornell in a similar light. It is the same persona dramatically transformed by the sixteen years that take us from Genthe to Steichen to van Vechten.

“I was nervous from the very beginning, and it got worse as the years went on. I was conscientious and wanted to do more, always, than I was able. I don’t think, when I was playing, that I was ever happy – beginning at 4 o’clock any afternoon.”

Katherine Cornell

 

How do I love thee

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Figure 1 – Robert Browning c 1888, Woodbury print by,Herbert Rose Barraud (1845 – ca.1896) – Bonhams, feom the Wikipedia and in the publlic domain in the United States because of its age.

My last blog really begs the question of photographs of Elizabeth Barrett (1806-1861) and Robert Browning (1812-1889). Theirs ranks as one of the great love stories of all time: up there with Pyramus and Thisbe, Romeo and Juliet, and Abelard and Heloise – although with a much happier ending.Their love story was immortalized by the play “The Barretts of Wimpole Street” made famous by actress Katherine Cornell (1893-1874) as Elizabeth. Elizabeth was one of the most recognized Victorian poets. Indeed, with the death of Wadsworth, she was strongly considered to become Poet Laureate. Tennyson was chosen instead. 

Elizabeth had chronically poor health and in the end likely suffered from tuberculosis. She was introduced to Robert, six years her junior, on May 20, 1845 and what began as an intellectual relationship soon became romantic. Barrett’s father had decreed that he would disown his children if they married. This odd resolve is by some believed to result from his belief that they were disgracefully of mulatto blood, and that the family line should be ended. As a result, their courtship and marriage were carried out clandestinely. They were married secretly and moved to Italy in 1846, where they lived for much of the remainder of her life. Her father was true to his promise and disowned Elizabeth. Most significantly to posterity, Robert Browning insisted that Elizabeth publish her love sonnets, which became entitled Sonnets from the Portuguese.(1850) and it is for these that she is best remembered.

I will admit to two literary pilgrimages. The first was when in college I found my way to the former Barrett home on Wimpole Street. The second was to the Browning home in Florence, The Palazzo Guidi.

Robert Browning was extremely handsome and stately throughout his life as is well illustrated by Figure 1. It is a Woodbury print by Herbert Rose Barraud (1845 – c1896). We see the quintessential Victorian gentleman.

Photographs of Elizabeth Barrett Browning are scarcer and she seems inevitably to bear the pallor of chronic illness. One of the more famous is shown below in Figure 2. It shows Elizabeth in 1860, a year of her death with son Pen. As a touching image of mother and child this conjures up many of the nineteenth century photographs that we have spoken of previously – silent moments captured in time, speaking in a whisper across time. But the point here is that knowledge of the sitter gives the photograph a voluminous voice. We know that women’s voice, we know her mind. She has spoken to us in volumes, and the photograph gives her even greater life. In the photograph we can just make out Elizabeth’s hands, tenderly clasping those of her son. If you follow the link to the The Palazzo Guidi you will find a photograph of a bronze casting of Robert’s and Elizabeth’s clasped hands. The image of Figure !, despite being over 150 years old is full of life. Those are the hands that penned:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese #43, How do I love Thee

 

Figure 1 – Photograph of Elizabeth Barrett Browning with her son Pen (Robert Wiedemann Barrett Browning), photographer unknown, 1860. From the Wikipedia and in the public domain in the United States because of its age.

Napoleon Sarony and the time traveler

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Figure 1 – Broadway Photograph by Napoleon Sarony c. 1870 of actress Grace Rawlinson. In the public domain in the United States because of its age.

There is a story that was going around the internet about four years ago that photographer, Napoleon Sarony, photographed the world’s first time traveler. The story goes that time travel was (is?) (will be?) invented in 2025. That’s one of the difficulties with time travel. It defies all natural conventions of verb conjugation. I will refer the interested reader to the so-called “Hopi Time Controversy.” Returning to the story, it is said that in 2025 a women named Alexandria Alexis traveled to 1898 in New York City. According to supposed contemporary accounts, that in 1898, she appeared as if out of nowhere and took New York society by storm. Her claim to being from the future was variously received. Some thought her insane; others were skeptical. All was a moot point since on New Year’s Eve 1899 she disappeared without a trace.

Figure 1 is meant to be a portrait of her taken by of all portraitists Napoleon Sarony. And it is there, for readers of yesterday’s blog, that it all unravels.  We see the address and immediately realize that Sarony had long since left the premises of 680 Broadway by 1898. In fact, he had died two years earlier. Although that is not an insurmountable obstacle when it comes to time travel. The portrait was taken between 1866 and 1871. It is one of Sarony’s celebrity “Broadway” photographs and is, in fact, as the caption indicates, of English actress Grace Rawlinson.

In fairness, the story of Alexis Alexander is similar to the famous “War of the Worlds” hysteria. It was originally posted on Facebook by “The Victorian Academy of Magick,” as an advertisement of sorts for and upcoming “steampunk” novel.

I have done some research on Miss Rawlinson, and there is in fact precious little to be found. I do suspect that with some due diligence there is much more out there. But the paucity of information makes you wonder. It certainly explains the fleeting nature of celebrity and the need to keep yourself, then and now, constantly in the “lime light.” Otherwise people soon forget you.

So we are left with only the usual time travel afforded by old photographs. Miss (if she was from the Victorian era) or Ms. (if she is from 2025) Rawlinson’s beauty has outlived her – a gift of immortality given her by Mr. Sarony.

The debunking of this story is a bit disappointing. But it is a fallacy of time travel that it conveys immortality. To become like Billy Pilgrim “unstuck in time” is really only to travel back and forth revisiting moments of your own life. There is perhaps a satisfaction in seeing the past and knowing the future. But once you know everything, there is nothing new to be done. The “normal” person experiences and moves irrevocably forward through life’s adventure. The time traveler has seen it all before, even his own death, and treats it all with a yawn.

Napoleon Sarony portrait of a young girl, c. 1870

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Figure 1 – Napoleon Sarony portrait of a young girl, c1870.

I recently acquired the Napoleon Sarony (1821-1896) portrait of Figure 1. There are some very charming features of this picture, the white dress and tights, the bow in the girl’s hair, and her delicate features. The high-button shoes are wonderful as is the large white sash. But best of all is the expression on the child’s face and the way she looks wistfully or angrily away and down. Is that a pout? Perhaps it was a matter of ennui. Was the initial excitement of a day with her mother on bustling Broadway faded by the reality of having to sit for Mr. Sarony. Was there perhaps a promised treat if she behaved “appropriately?” This is the wonder and magic of such photographs. We don’t really know the story, but that doesn’t stop our imagination from filling in the gaps and creating a plausible theory.

Many of these antique albumen prints suffer from their age. There are fixer stains usually brownish yellow dirt and water spots that need to be removed digitally, And this image took a lot of work. Fortunately the majority of the problems were in the borders and on the girl’s dress; so could be removed without causing loss to the image. Old albumens are meant to have a slightly violet or reddish brown tone and this one ran to the magenta. I first removed the stains in color, where I could be guided by the color itself. Then I converted first to black and wife for dodging and burning and second Finally I switched back to RGB and added the tone. I chose a tone that is true to what the artist sought, true to the antiquity of the image, as opposed to what I myself like.

The photograph is pretty easy to date. On the back Sarony Studios is listed as being at 680 Broadway. It opened in 1866 and then moved to 37 Union Square in 1871. So the portrait was taken between 1866 and 1871.

I return to the image and notice the wrinkles in the young lady’s tights. Above all there is a sense of mischief about her. She is very reminiscent of Alice from Alice in Wonderland, or of Alice Liddell herself, and if she swallowed a bitter pill on that particular day then we have to remember what Alice herself taught us,

“If you drink much from a bottle marked ‘poison’ it is certain to disagree with you sooner or later.”

  Lewis Carroll

 

L’Inferno 1911

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Figure 1 – Dante and Virgil encounter Satan in L’Inferno, 1911. From the Wikipedia and in the public domain in the United States because of its age.

As a continuation of our discussion of the early use of double exposures as “special effects,” I’d like to consider the early full length Italian silent film L’Inferno, 1911,  loosely adapted from Dante Alighieri‘s The Divine Comedy. While some sources credit L’Inferno as being the first full length film that distinction appears to belong to the 1906 Australian film The Story of the Kelly Gang. Perhaps the more revealing distinction for L’Inferno lies in the fact that many still credit it as being the greatest adaption to the big screen of Dante’s magnum opus.  Here is a link to the full 1:10 film.

The film’s depictions of Hell closely followed the classic engravings of Gustave Doré. It was directed by Francesco Bertolini, Adolfo Padovan, and Giuseppe De Liguoro, and starred Salvatore Papa, Arturo Pirovano, Giuseppe de Liguoro, and Augusto Milla.

The film employed dramatic multiexposure effects to chronicle the journey of the author led by the poet Virgil through the levels of hell, where different classes of sins are appropriately punished. Figure 1 shows Dante and Virgil in a double exposure in the presence of the devil himself, and Figure 2 is a video clip showing tormenting demons.

Many people, today sigh when they see that a film is in black and white, let alone without sound. There is the great press to “destroy” these films by inappropriate colorization. For me they are very special, and I enjoy watching them, always amazed at their ability to tell wonderful stories. If you think about it, what could be a better medium for L’inferno than the cool, dark silent movie theater, with the film in other worldly black and white, and underscored with dramatic music. We truly gasp mesmerized until we are finally permitted to ascend again to see the stars.

Figure 2 – Tormenting demons from L’Inferno 1911. In the prublic in the United States because of its age.

 

Courageous sitters

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Figure 1 – The first exposure table for daguereotypists 1844, from the George Eastman house.

How many of us have had the experience of sitting in the dentist’s chair while the dentist injects Novacaine into your gum trying desperately not to swallow while the needle is inside your flesh. Those seconds seem like forever. With this background I have looked ever so sympathetically at old daguereotypes imagining the sitters enduring what I assumed where seconds of exposure. Well apparently not, and for me the facts are even more profound. I came across the table of Figure 1 this morning of “the first exposure table.” It is from the George Eastman House and has its origin in tables first published by C. F. Albanus in 1844 – a practical guide for daguereotypists.

Under the absolute best conditions you had to sit absolutely still for six or seven minutes and in the worst, grueling, case scenario as much as an hour! These early sitters were truly courageous.

 

William Morrison portrait of Isabelle Coe as Niobe

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Figure 1 – William Morrison (1857-1927) portrait of Isabelle Coe as Niobe (circa 1892) from the Wikipedia and in the public domain in the US because of its age.

As a follow-up to yesterday’s post about Henry Van der Weyde double exposure portrait of Richard Mansfield as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I’d like to share today the contemporary portrait by William McKenzie Morrison (1857-1927) of actress Isabelle Coe as Niobe in the farce by that name. Here too, the double exposure  serves dramatic effect, but one that requires explanation.

Niobe is the mythical  Queen of Thebes who boasts to the goddess Leto about her fourteen beautiful children, seven daughters and seven sons. Leto has only two children, Atemis and Apollo. In her anger Leto has Artemis kill the seven daughters of Niobe and Apollo the seven sons. Niobe flees to  Mount Sipylus, where she herself is turned to stone, but continues to weep unceasingly.

In the farce, a Victorian-era art collector purchases a statue of Niobe, or so he thinks. The statue is, in fact,  the petrified Queen herself, who returns to life after being accidentally jolted with household electricity. Frankenstein again! So here in the photograph Morrison portrays Coe as both Niobe’s statue and reanimated form. Note that the “living form” is just slightly bigger than the “statue form.” As a result even though the “living form” is behind it emanates as a form emergent. That little trick is what I think make the image work.

The story of Niobe explains the quote from Shakespeare’s Hamlet:

“A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father’s body,
Like Niobe, all tears. Why she, even she—
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer!—married with my uncle,
My father’s brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.”
 
It always comes back to Shakespeare.

 

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

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Figure 1 – Double exposure by Henry Van der Weyde showing Richard Mansfield simultaneously as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1887-1900). From the Wikipedia, from the US Library of Congress and in the public domain in the US because of its age.

The double exposure was one of the earliest “special effects.” We have discussed how in the nineteen and early twentieth centuries it was used to deceive and create ghost or spirit photographs – cheating the view that “the other-side,” while invisible, connects with this world through forms of physical energy such as light. Then, of course we have early horror films like Le Manoir du Diable (1896) and other uses of these “special effects to entertain and enhance.

At about the same time, in 1886, Robert Louis Stevenson published his masterpiece novel “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The story involves the eminent Dr. Henry Jekyll, who invents and drinks a serum that turns him into the evil and murderous Mr. Edward Hyde. The themes are complex, as they deal with the fundamental questions of human personality, the thin line between the classes, and of multiple personalities. Like Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein,” there is also the question of science and its growing ability to manipulate humanity.,

The actor Richard Mansfield (1857-1907) upon readings Stevenson’s novella immediately saw the intriguing opportunity of performing a dramatic dual role. He secured rights to adapt the book into a drama in the US and England and commissioned its writing. The play debuted in Boston in May 1887 and then moved on the Broadway. It was critically acclaimed, and Mansfield was invited to bring it to London. It opened there in August 1888, just before the first Jack the Ripper murders. This actually led to Mansfield being suspected of the crimes. Mansfield continued to play the dual role until shortly before his death in 1907.

So we have Figure 1 by photographer Henry Van der Weyde (1838-1924), which uses the double exposure to vividly capture Mansfield’s signature dual role. It is a masterful use of the double exposure, designed to take the still image to a new level; one that captures transition in time.

Today the double exposure feature of modern design and image processing programs is complex. I am speaking about the ability to fade edges, to send one of the exposures forward or back, the ability to control the relative transparencies of the two exposures. In the analog days the double exposure represented a kind of paradox. Returning to Alexander Pope and his “Rape of the Lock,” we are told that spirits are nebulous with something less than the solidity of the tangible human form.

  ”     The peer now spreads the glitt’ring forfex wide,
T’ inclose the lock; now joins it, to divide.
Ev’n then, before the fatal engine clos’d,
A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos’d;
Fate urg’d the shears, and cut the Sylph in twain,
(But airy substance soon unites again).
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!”
 
But the double exposure, meant to indicate a nebulousness of spirit, was quite to the contrary. Each image is in itself well-defined.
 
Photographic film has what is referred to as a response curve. It measures density obtained as a function of the  amount of light received. The double exposure operates as an example of what is called the superposition theorem. At each point the intensity received is the algebraic sum of the two individual individual intensities. Now, over most of its sensitivity range, film responds to the total “dose” of light the exposure which is intensity X time. At the extremes this property of reciprocity fails. But the point here, the paradox, is that the image in a double exposure, the sense of the nebulous, forms from straight forward solid addition of the two individual images.
 
The densities in each individual pixel add up algebraically. But our minds are confused. The visual relationships between adjacent pixels aren’t correct to the brain and this causes the two “airy substances” to divide apart and not quite “unite[s] again.”

 

 

Hindenburg, May 6, 1937

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Figure 1 – Hindenburg Disaster by Sam Shere, Zeppelin the Hindenburg on fire at the mooring mast of Lakehurst (United States of America) 6 May 1937. Ballast water is thrown down. Exit airships.From the Wikipedia, from Flickr Commons, Nationaal Archief/Spaarnestad. In the public domain in the United States.

One of the most famous of news photographs ever taken was Sam Shere’s (1905-1982) image of the Hindenburg disaster that occurred on May 6, 1937, eighty years ago today and shown in Figure 1. Sam Shere famously said of the moment: “I had two shots in my big Speed Graphic, but I didn’t even have time to get it up to my eye. I literally ‘shot’ from the hip–it was over so fast there was nothing else to do.”  He was awarded the Editor and Publisher Award for best news picture for 1937 for this photograph.

There were ninety-seven people on board and thirty-six casualties including one worker on the ground. Equally, iconic is Herbert Morrison’s iconic reporting of the terrible moment. (Click here to hear it.)

“It’s practically standing still now they’ve dropped ropes out of the nose of the ship; and (uh) they’ve been taken ahold of down on the field by a number of men. It’s starting to rain again; it’s… the rain had (uh) slacked up a little bit. The back motors of the ship are just holding it (uh) just enough to keep it from…It’s burst into flames! Get this, Charlie; get this, Charlie! It’s fire… and it’s crashing! It’s crashing terrible! Oh, my! Get out of the way, please! It’s burning and bursting into flames and the… and it’s falling on the mooring mast. And all the folks agree that this is terrible; this is the worst of the worst catastrophes in the world. Oh it’s… [unintelligible] its flames… Crashing, oh! Four- or five-hundred feet into the sky and it… it’s a terrific crash, ladies and gentlemen. It’s smoke, and it’s in flames now; and the frame is crashing to the ground, not quite to the mooring mast. Oh, the humanity! And all the passengers screaming around here. I told you; it – I can’t even talk to people, their friends are on there! Ah! It’s… it… it’s a… ah! I… I can’t talk, ladies and gentlemen. Honest: it’s just laying there, mass of smoking wreckage. Ah! And everybody can hardly breathe and talk and the screaming. I… I… I’m sorry. Honest: I… I can hardly breathe. I… I’m going to step inside, where I cannot see it. Charlie, that’s terrible. Ah, ah… I can’t. Listen, folks; I… I’m gonna have to stop for a minute because I’ve lost my voice. This is the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Shere’s photograph is truly one of the most famous images in the history of news photography. It is, in fact, the case in modern times that our collective memory is defined and frozen in these great images of “newsworthy” events. They actually define the news. Indeed. In 2001 as I watched the news image, the live reporting, of the World Trade Center attacks, Shere’s picture from another generation kept coming to my mind. It is so ingrained in the pantheon of human imagery.  

Again, I can vividly remember two and three decades later watching dirigibles pass overhead in New York City. Today’s Goodyear Blimp, the icon of modern day sporting events, is the magical heir of those great airships.