most viewed this week
photographic print format roughly the size of a French visiting card (6 × 9 cm; 2 1/3 × 3 1/2 in), traditionally imprinted with the n...
"Four-toned albumen print" Henry Peach Robinson (July 9, 1830 in Ludlow, Shropshire February 21, 1901) was an English...
Albumen print from wet collodion negative 1864 24 X 29.7 cm Musée d'Orsay ... admired by Lewis Carroll that he collected the work....
about me "work and lifestyle"
Thursday, 30 September 2010
The Daguerreian Era
In the beginning, of course, there was light. And through the ages, people have made images to record that which was illuminated. Until relatively recently the recording was laborious, and always involved the eye and hand of a (usually) skilled person. Mechanical and optical devices were invented along the way that helped improve the accuracy of the record. Devices such as the camera obscura and camera lucida evolved to become quite sophisticated, employing fine lenses and mirrors to cast sharp, clear images for artists to trace. Eventually, as people learned about the world in ever greater detail, the requirements for imaging accuracy began to exceed the capability and capacity of the artist's hand, and methods were sought to directly "fix" the image thrown by a lens, so that Nature could in effect "draw herself." The crux of the matter was preparing a medium to be sensitive to light, using a lens and light to form an image upon it, and then making that same medium insensitive to further exposure, so that the resulting image could be viewed in light without harm.
So photography, or "light writing," was not born in a vacuum. Many individuals were at work on the challenge during the first quarter of the 19th century, experimenting with papers or plates prepared with light-sensitive chemicals, and certain of these men achieved some success. Though absolute proof of priority may never be established, it fell to a French artist and an English amateur scientist to almost simultaneously publicize different practical methods of photography in 1839. The subject of the pre- and early history of photography is fascinating, and deserving of more space than is available here, but the remainder of this short article will be devoted to the invention and legacy of the French artist, named Louis Jacques Mande Daguerre, born near Paris in 1787.
By 1825, Daguerre was a successful commercial artist in Paris; creator, proprietor, and promoter of a giant illusionistic theater called the Diorama. Patrons were treated to huge 22 x 14m (71 x 45 ft) paintings of historical, allegorical, and picturesque scenes, cleverly lit in various ways to simulate the passage of day into night, changes of weather, and even a sense of motion. Daguerre's illusions depended heavily on the accurate representation of detail and perspective on a grand scale, and so, like many others of his day, he employed the camera obscura as a tool to help him faithfully trace in two dimensions what his eyes saw in three. Thus, it seems quite natural that he might have wished to remove the limitations of the artist's hand altogether from the process of sketching for his grand illusions. He began experimenting.
Through his optician, Daguerre became aware of similar efforts being made by a fellow countryman, Joseph-Nicephore Niépce. Niépce's aim was to use light to create plates that could be inked and printed to produce accurate reproductions of original works or scenes. (One of Niépce's experiments, made in 1826, is a view from his studio window that took eight hours to expose. It is recognized as the world's earliest extant "photograph" and is preserved in the Gernsheim Collection of the Humanities Research Center at the University of Texas, Austin.) The two men corresponded, and though cautious of one anothers' intentions, eventually formed a partnership to develop and commercialize their shared dream.
Niépce died in 1833 before practical success was achieved. But Daguerre had learned important things through the partnership, and by 1837 had worked out a solution to the puzzle. In brief, his method consisted of treating silver-plated copper sheets with iodine to make them sensitive to light, then exposing them in a camera and "developing" the images with warm mercury vapor. On the basis of its novelty, and difference from the pewter-and-resin based systems developed by Niépce, Daguerre claimed the invention as his own by naming it "The Daguerreotype."
Though commercial enterprise would become (and forever remain) the dominant force in the development of photography, Daguerre's early efforts to privately sell his process by subscription failed. But in the French scientific community he found an enthusiastic champion named François Arago, a respected member of the Académie des Sciences, who presented the daguerreotype as "...indispensable that the Government should compensate M. Daguerre direct, and that France should then nobly give to the whole world this discovery which could contribute so much to the progress of art and science." This then was enough to fire the public imagination, and shortly the whole world awaited details of Daguerre's magical invention. The French government realized Daguerre's dream of reward by granting pensions to both Daguerre and the late Niépce's son for their efforts, and Daguerre and Arago publicized the steps of the process on August 19, 1839, (almost) without restriction, as a gift to the world from France.
France was caught in the grip of "Daguerreotypomania," a fact that was at once skewered on the rapier wit of Parisian satirists and cartoonists. In only months, Daguerre's instruction manual could be found around the world in a dozen translations. Following the announcement, and despite his continued effort, Daguerre had very little else to do with the future of the miracle process that bore his name. He died at Bry-sur-Marne in 1851
The world immediately began a love affair with the daguerreotype, especially in America, where fascination with the silvered plate lasted nearly twenty years. Within a year of the initial disclosure, improvements were made in the lenses, apparatus, and chemistry of the process to the point that portraiture was possible in relatively short exposures. By 1843 a burgeoning daguerreotype portrait industry had evolved. While still expensive, a miniature portrait "likeness" was no longer lucre for the painter, nor a privilege of the very wealthy. For the equivalent of $2 to $5 in almost any town, a person's "phiz" could be immortalized on a slip of silver, framed with a rich gilt mat, and pressed into a fitted case covered in fine embossed leather. Wholesale material suppliers, franchised chains of studios, glorious big-city galleries ("Temples of Art"), and lone itinerants drifting through small towns, all did a gold-rush business in peoples' desire to be "taken." (The daguerreotype even made a real gold-rush more real than words alone could tell, as millions around the world saw newspaper illustrations copied faithfully from daguerreotypes made right in the California gold fields.)
Though often far less than flattering, daguerreotype likenesses were regarded as mirrors of truth. Their brilliance, clarity, and seeming ability to reveal the soul of the sitter became the stuff of poetry, and at least one well-known novel, Hawthorne's House of the Seven Gables. A serial magazine having nothing to do with photography was called The Daguerreotype (as in "The Truth.") The wonders of the world were captured in hair-splitting realism for publication, along with the documentation of well-earned pride in family farms, homes, villages, churches, and the artifacts of livelihood. Professional journals appeared for daguerreotypists, along with fierce competitions for prestige, medals, and the occasional hefty silver chalice. By the mid 1850's, millions of the shiny little pictures had been made of almost every aspect of life (and death), and photography had begun to become commonplace.
For all of its beauty, the daguerreotype did have disadvantages. Reflections from the mirror-like plate made viewing difficult. Because the image was on highly polished metal, it was relatively heavy, and its extremely delicate surface required a protective coverglass and a bulky frame or case. It was difficult to make in larger sizes; the most common size was about 2 3/4 x 3 1/4 inches (7 x 8.2 cm). And, critically, it was a unique original--there was no negative from which multiple prints could be made. Nonetheless, the fantastic success of the daguerreotype lay both in its extraordinary beauty, and that it was not hobbled by patent or license. The formula was free. Anyone could do it, and make money from it.
As mentioned before, another workable photographic system was announced in 1839, by English amateur scientist William Fox Talbot. Unlike Daguerre's crisp images on metal plates, Fox Talbot's process produced paper negatives from which rather soft, painterly paper prints were made in a separate step. When word of Daguerre's process reached Fox Talbot, he rushed to complete his own system and began patenting it in 1841. But commercial licenses for Fox Talbot's patented process were hard to sell in the face of the essentially free and established daguerreotype. So, though Fox Talbot's prints-from-negatives approach attracted a talented following, and would eventually become the dominant concept in photography, it was no match for the daguerreotype in the eyes of portrait-making entrepreneurs and the portrait-buying public. It took two decades of evolution and new invention to finally bring the full acceptance of negative/positive photography about.
By the late 1850's, inexpensive, imitative ambrotypes (1854), cheap, quick tintypes (1856), and sharp paper prints in multitude from glass negatives (1851), had all cut into the dominance of the daguerreotype. In the first half of the 1860's, soldiers in the American Civil War favored light, durable paper prints or tintypes of their loved ones over fragile, bulky daguerreotypes, and the war itself was documented on glass negatives that were printed in editions of thousands. Soon, people began to miss the quality of the "old daguerreotype," but in the face of dozens of paper portraits (such as the hugely popular carte de visite,) costing the price of only one daguerreotype, the daguerreotype as a commercial process rapidly disappeared. There is strong evidence, however, that this most beautiful of photographic processes has continuously been practiced since its heyday, first by a persistent few of the original daguerreians who refused to give it up, then by others who learned anew from the period books and journals. This tradition continues through the present day.
What is the difference between a daguerreotype, an ambrotype and a tintype?
How old are they?
Daguerreotypes (1840-1855) are on polished silver so they are very reflective, like a mirror. Since they are on silver and subject to tarnish, daguerreotypes were put behind glass and sealed with paper tape so air cannot tarnish the plate (there often is some tarnish around the edges of the picture). This was then put into a small hinged case, similar to a woman's compact. But, the easiest way to tell if you have a daguerreotype is to see if it has that reflection, just like a mirror. You have to tilt it back and forth to see the image.
The second type of photograph, ambrotypes, (1855-1865) also came in hinged cases but in these there is a photographic emulsion that has been coated onto glass so they do not have that "shiny mirror" reflection (but, being on glass they are somewhat reflective). If you take an ambrotype out of a case and hold it up to the light you can usually see through the picture (since it's on glass). Ambrotypes don't tarnish but the black paint painted on the backside of the glass often dries out, cracks, and then peels off. The second biggest problem is the emulsion turns dark making the image look dark. This problem is similar in appearance to when a daguerreotype's silver plate is tarnishing but that (the tarnish) has a bluish tint to it.
Tintypes (1855 through the turn of the century) are made using the same photographic emulsion as the ambrotypes but, rather than coated onto glass, the emulsion has been coated onto black-painted tin and then exposed. Since they are not on silver they do not have the reflection and, since they were not fragile, are not usually found in cases. Early tintypes are sometimes found in cases as that was still the convention at the time but most often they're loose or have been placed in photo albums along with later paper photographs. These are usually about the size of a business card and, in fact, the paper photos that size are called CDVs for the French term Carte de Visite, or "calling card" as people would give them to their friends when the visited. Sometimes they dropped them in a basket in the parlor and the friend would then collect them in an album.
What are the sizes of Daguerreotypes?
Approximate sizes of the images, including the portion of image hidden under the mat, but not including the case:
Whole plate : 6 1/2" x 8 1/2"
Half-plate : 4 1/4" x 5 1/2 "
Quarter-plate : 3 1/4" x 4 1/4"
Sixth-plate (the most common size) : 2 3/4" x 3 1/4"
Ninth-plate : 2" x 2 1/2 "
Sixteenth-plate : 1 3/8" x 1 5/8"