On view through May 4 at the National Gallery of Art in D.C.
William Henry Fox Talbot was not blind to the aesthetic and commercial potential of the new technology he helped pioneer. The Englishman was quick to patent processes that produced early photographs. In 1840, for example, he discovered that even brief exposure to light left a latent image on sensitized paper, and this latent image could be conjured for all to behold by bathing the paper in chemicals.
Thus, the calotype was born. The name derives from the Greek word for “Beautiful.” Ten years later saw the invention of a process utilizing collodion on glass to produce negatives faster and with markedly greater clarity.
However, Brits continued on with the calotype. Some preferred the technique for its qualities such as softening detail and nuance of light and shadow. For others, it held more pragmatic benefits: it was easier to deal with paper negatives instead of glass when traveling or working in hot climates.
A new touring exhibition, Impressed By Light: British Photographs from Paper Negatives 1840 - 1860, alighted recently in D.C. at the National Gallery of Art. Curator Roger Taylor attributes the survival of these mesmerizing 120 calotypes to “benign neglect” – the original owners typically filed them away in albums, protected through the decades.
The medium gave rise to a small but devoted legion of citizen-photojournalists and accidental artists. Their subjects, displayed with restraint and elegance in this exhibition, range from nature’s elfin elements to man’s monumental achievements. We see the delicate angularity of tiny twigs and the massive stacking of stone in the Colosseum. Steam locomotives, a domed Russian skyscape, and the Taj Mahal share space with mist-shrouded mountains and tree trunks shattered by lightening.
Naturally, Talbot shows up on the walls; look for his 1841 “Wild Fennel” that could easily pass as a sample of science-art microphotography or postmodern minimalist. It’s a striking work.
But this is an opportunity for discovering underexposed, even unexposed, talents. Such as Alfred Capel Cure, whose albumen silver prints form much of the bulwark of this collection. His portrait of a “Blasted Tree at Badger” (1856) surely triggered memories if not PTSD for the photographer: a year before, Cure nearly died while leading his men into battle during the siege of Sebastopol in the Crimean War. Once there, artillery fire ripped apart his troops.
More serene is a candid of his ebony dog snoozing in a thicket. In this salted paper print, Cure used a very long exposure to capture a marvelous range of textures from fur to leaves. The composition reveals his keen eye for composition. Good thing the dog didn’t stir.
“Pots and Pans at Nice” is more entrancing than its title would suggest. Alfred Backhouse proved that one need not scale peaks and cross oceans for interesting views; heck, a kitchen raid will do.
Photography gave affluent polymaths the means to document their journeys while expressing their artistic sensibilities. Jane Martha St. John compiled a travelogue unique among her contemporaries, carting her camera equipment throughout Italy. A century and a half later, she gives us a glimpse of the Colosseum, a silent paean to the ruins that, at least that day, were untrammeled by tourists.
Some shots document humans’ less admirable imprints on history. John Murray memorialized the site of the Indian Mutiny’s most horrific event. Exhibition notes for “Suttee Ghat, Cawnpore” tell the story: Hoping for mercy, an English detachment at Cawnpore surrendered to rebels on the promise that they and the European families who had taken refuge in their barracks would be granted safe passage. Instead, soldiers and civilians alike were fired upon as they boarded boats at the barren site depicted in this photograph. Two hundred women and children who survived were marched back to Cawnpore, killed, dismembered and thrown down a well.
Such downbeat selections serve to round out and add gravity to this window on the past, and on the dawn of a novel art form. In some cases, these early photography buffs were carting around more than 500 pounds of equipment – stark contrast to our pocket-sized digi bits. A nice place to catch your breath is in front of Horatio Ross’s castle perched on a faraway cliff.
