Author: Dr. Shrout (Page 4 of 18)

Warning: Undefined variable $num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 126

Warning: Undefined variable $posts_num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 127

By Kurt Vidmer

Historiography

For our historiography project, Group C chose to focuses primarily on the impacts of early American photography. With technological advancement in the field of photography in the mid nineteenth century, photography became of much more integral part of society. My particular area of focus for my historiography is the role of photography during the Civil War. Being the first major war where photography was readily available and accessible, the Civil War truly was groundbreaking for wartime photography. This changed the way in which the public viewed war from the home front. In todays worlds, there is constant a constant media presence in war type environments, giving the public first hand accounts, images, and videos from the battlefield and base camps. The first hand accounts of war to people at home were born through the role of Photography in the Civil War.

The sources that I chose to analyze all span different themes of photography’s role during the Civil War. My first Source is a book review by Alan Trachtenberg, on the book Traces of War: Poetry, Photography, and the Crisis of the Union, written by Timothy Sweet. This review focuses on the role of the fine arts, including photography on bringing the war to light for people who were not directly involved in battle. My second source is a book Images of Civil War Medicine : A Photographic History: Containing Numerous Previously Unpublished Photographs of Surgeons, Nurses, Hospitals, and Other Facilities Used During the Civil War, written by Gordon Dammann and Alfred J. Bollet. This book deals specifically with the medical history of the Civil War. In this work, there are numerous pictures of various medically involved persons and places, and it outlines the importance of the pictures in crating a real life image of the medical experiences throughout the war. My third source comes from the book Life in Civil War America by Michael J. Varhola. This book deals with almost all aspects of life during the Civil War, and there is a chapter dedicated to the role of photography throughout the war. This gives a good outline of the origins and role that photography played throughout the war.

The book review of Traces of War: Poetry, Photography, and the Crisis of the Union give the readers a very detailed description and insight on how photography impacted other areas of post war art and expression. Figures such as Melville, Barnes, and Whitman were all authors who had many war inspired works (Trachtenberg). All of these men either directly participated in the war, or had close family who did, giving them strong insight into the realities that it caused for not only soldiers, but also families and citizens affected by the war. The poems and works that these authors wrote based on war experiences have largely been compared to Civil War photography (Trachtenberg). As said in the review, “picture or poem pastoralism wins its point by interdicting all traces of war”(Trachtenberg). This stays consistent with the theme that photography truly did highlight all aspects of War, and enabled photographers and newspapers to bring the realities of it back home. This review gives readers strong insight into the affect that Civil War photography, along with other artistic works had on society, and was groundbreaking in bringing the war home.

Images of Civil War Medicine : A Photographic History: Containing Numerous Previously Unpublished Photographs of Surgeons, Nurses, Hospitals, and Other Facilities Used During the Civil War, deals a bit less with the specific role of photography, but more importantly deals primarily with the role of medical involvement throughout the war. Whether it be ambulances, surgical procedures, or field hospitals, the Union medical war system during the Civil war was the first of its kind, and had strong affects on the war (Dammann and Bollet). This strongly related to photography because it was largely the photographs at these field hospitals that resonated to strongly with the people on the home front (Dammann and Bollet). This book contains pictures of amputation surgeries taking place, as well as field camps with piles of human limbs outside of operating rooms. In society today, we still often hear of examples of this and there are pictures of this in almost every history textbook. It is because of this Civil War photography that this is still spoken about today. As said before, a large impact of Civil War photography was how it fully brought about the horrors of war, and many of these horrors were exposed in the military hospitals and medical bases.

My third source, Life in Civil War America, gives a much more detailed history of Civil War photography. The origions of this can be largely traced back to Mathew Brady, a prominent studio photographer from New York (Varhola). Brady received Permission from Abraham Lincoln to bring photographers and reporters to the front lines, and sold Lincoln on the importance of documenting the War (Varhola). This began the expansion of Civil War photography, and many other photographers followed his lead. As far as photographical tactics went, many of the pictures from the Civil War were stages, as the cameras required longer to capture an image (Varhola). This article book also brought an interesting point about photography as fundraising. A large way that Civil War photography received its funding was through the sale of war photographs (Varhola). Families and collectors cherished these works, and the sales of these pieces were vital for Union fundraising efforts. This book does an excellent job of giving details of how the photographical evidence taken from the Civil War was the first of its kind.

All of my three sources offered a unique perspective on Civil War photography, and its impact on the future of the role of the media in future American Wars.

Work Cited

Dammann, Gordon, and Alfred J. Bollet. 2008. Images of Civil War Medicine : A Photographic History: Containing Numerous Previously Unpublished Photographs of Surgeons, Nurses, Hospitals, and Other Facilities Used During the Civil War. New York: Demos, 2008. eBook Academic Collection (EBSCOhost), EBSCOhost (accessed April 22, 2015).

Trachtenberg, Alan. Traces of War: Poetry, Photography, and the Crisis of the Union. by Timothy Sweet. Review. American Literature, Vol. 64, No. 1 (Mar., 1992), pp. 164-166.

Varhola, Michael J. Life in Civil War America (2nd Edition). Cincinnati, OH, USA: F+W Media, Inc., 2011. ProQuest ebrary. Web. 21 April 2015.

      

Warning: Undefined variable $num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 126

Warning: Undefined variable $posts_num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 127

By admin

The introduction of photography to the battlefields of the American Civil War had a remarkable impact on the home fronts of both the North and the South during the conflict. Never before this time had people been able to see the gruesome scenes on the battlefield in such realistic detail, and this shocking material immediately tore asunder the notion of dignity and heroism on the battlefield, replacing it with the true horrors of war. The three sources analysed in this essay examine different viewpoints on the effects photography had on the men and women of the North and the South both during and after the war. Faust talks about the fear driven into the hearts of the loved ones of those on the battlefield as they struggled to deal with the notion that their loved ones could die at any moment, depriving them of their right to a “good death”[1]. On the other hand though, Godbey focuses on the disturbing human fascination with gruesome photographs of the aftermath of war and the interest the American population had in the carnage of war and the blossoming market of battlefield photography. Finally, Cahill speaks of her great great grandfather, a veteran of the conflict, who gives insight into the profound unifying effect the photographs of loved ones carried by the deceased and living alike reminded soldiers and civilians that the conflict was one between two groups of fellow countrymen and humans.

Seeing bodies lying dead on the battlefield after a sudden death at the hand of a bullet or shell proved frightening for many families as it put the deceased’s soul at risk of not having what was considered at the time to be a “good death”[1]. For a deeply religious population, the notion of a good death was vital in reassuring those left behind that all loved ones would meet again, “in the garden of Eden”[1] and that the tragedy of death would be but a distant memory. Faust illuminates the fact that a death on the battlefields of the Civil War was unlike any normal death though, and that the realisation of this, one that photography helped foster, was deeply troubling to the loved ones left behind as there was now the possibility that the lost soul would not have been adequately prepared for death and therefore be denied passage to heaven. Being at home was important for creating the circumstances for a “good death”, Faust tells us, as was having ones loved ones and a priest nearby to perform important rituals and assist their passing into the afterlife[1]. However, the battlefields of the Civil War were far from home and for those dying on them by gunshot grasping a portrait of their family in their hand these two fundamental building blocks were undeniably absent. By shedding light on the desperate attempts made by people to persuade loved ones at home that the deceased was prepared for death or to act as surrogate family members for lucid soldiers dying in hospitals, Faust creates a powerful image of how different the Civil War was and how unprepared the people of both the North and the South were for its tragedies. The introduction of photography fuelled this fire as it brought at least partial truth home in an undeniable way for all of the home front to see, and Faust delves deep into the evidence of the desperation it caused to show how much of an impact the sharing of battlefield imagery had on the attitudes of the people who once sat on a hill in the distance cheering cannon fire through the lenses of opera binoculars.

A reaction to death is something that is almost impossible to synthesise and is one of the most complete examples of humanity imaginable. Faust explores the shock of death under the guise of the shock it caused loved ones left behind, but Godbey chooses more to look at the chilling interest human beings took in the production of these gruesome images from the bloodiest battles in all of American History. Her Aptly titled article, Terrible Fascination deals with the unavoidable human condition of fascination in “pleasurable fright from the safest of distances”[2]. Godbey states early in her article that the photographic exhibits on the dead at battlefields contradicted the view put forward by literature and fine art, “for glory and heroism seemed in short supply”[2], and whilst this supports the arguments raised in Fausts work, she uses it to build an argument for the almost sickening fascination people on the home front had of looking at the images of death and suffering. This presence of interest where we expect repulsion, she argues, was assisted greatly by the invention of the stereoscopic image. Taken by capturing two images from the same vantage point at different focal lengths and viewed through a special viewing device known as a “stereoscope”, Godbey argues that these images fostered and encouraged this seemingly inexplicable appeal of such gruesome images[2]. By having the image concealed inside a specialised viewing device, Godbey argues that it separated the image from the viewers surroundings well enough so that even though the resultant 3D effect was apparently very immersive, the viewer could rest assured that the horror of the image only resided ‘inside the stereoscope’ and that as soon as they removed themselves from the viewing apparatus, the thought could be dismissed as foreign again. Godbey attributes the human fascination with this kind of tragedy to the illusionary effect that the images were capable of, and examines its effect as a diluting agent for the horror of war and as a mediator between disgust and interest. By doing this, Godbey creates an illuminating (if not disturbing) insight into the human psyche that discusses the fact that there was evidently a market for an almost pornographic portrayal of death on the home front during the Civil War[2].

Finally, Cahill takes a more optimistic approach to the affect of photography on the survivors of the war (both civilians and combatants), as her review of the photography exhibit, Photography and the American Civil War focuses on what she refers to as the “constellation of miniatures”[3]. These miniatures were “cartes de visites” (or “calling cards” in english), and were small prints of photographs of loved ones that soldiers carried on their persons at all times. Concealed in uniform pockets, brass casings, or small lockets, these photos served as talismans for soldiers from the North and South alike both to remind them of what they were fighting for and to give them something to gaze upon in their dying moments. Cahill references her great great grandfather who survived the conflict (albeit with only one arm)’s speech on the unifying nature of the war to shed light on the fact that throughout the four years of fighting, the troops on the battlefield bacame more and more certain of the similarities between themselves and the soldiers fighting for the other side. For Union soldiers discovering them on the bodies of fallen Confederate troops (and vice versa), it proved that neither side of the conflict was particularly different from one another. And for the people at home seeing these exhibits at memorial services it went to show how many individual lives were lost for the sake of a political conflict. Cahill uses this powerful imagery to drive home her ancestor’s point that the war, however tragic, did, in fact, bring the two sides on the conflict more towards a “perfect union” than any purely political action ever could have.

In conclusion, photography had a variety of impacts on people both during and after the war, and much of it most likely depended on one’s association with the conflict. For those losing loved ones on the battlefields, it is most likely Faust’s article that best sums up how they reacted, but for those powerful enough to avoid the skirmishes on the ground, perhaps they fell victim to the “Terrible Fascination” Godbey mentions. And many of those close to the fighting would no doubt have learned to appreciate those brave enough to do the same for the other side just as Cahill’s review suggests. Regardless of exactly how it affected people though, there is an undeniable mountain of evidence that suggests that the introduction of battlefield photography (however doctored it tended to be) had a truly definitive effect on the view held towards war on the home front.

[1] Emily Godbey. ‘Terrible Fascination’: Civil War Stereographs of the Dead, History of Photography (2012), 36:3, 265-274

[2] David Gilpin Faust. ‘The Civil War Soldier and the Art of Dying’: The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 67, No. 1 (Feb., 2001), pp. 3-38

[3] Elizabeth Kirkland Cahill. ‘Calling Cards of the Dead: PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR.’ Commonweal 141, no. 1 (Jan 10, 2014): 19-22.

      

Warning: Undefined variable $num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 126

Warning: Undefined variable $posts_num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 127

By admin

American currency today dons imagery of strength, ingenuity and longevity to reflect the power of the American economy through depictions of the bald eagle, former American leaders, and monumental structures. The symbolic values of these images have gone largely underappreciated, as the vignettes have not seen significant changes in the past 90 years[1]; they have become standard, along with the American conviction of economic superiority. In the antebellum period, however, this was not the case. Antebellum Americans were suspicious of the speculative allowance of abundant paper money. Thus, banknote engravings were designed strategically to inspire confidence in free banking laws and later expanded to shape public opinion on political debates regarding westward expansion and slavery.

Americans were initially distrustful of the growing supply of paper money because it encouraged speculative pursuits, which many believed to be predatory and intentionally deceitful. Peter John Brownlee outlined the process through which land speculators profited in his essay “Francis Edmonds and the Speculative Economy of Painting.” He noted, “using inside information and ethically questionable tactics, they bought cheap land with inflated or near worthless paper money and sold it immediately for quick gain.”[2] Thus, Brownlee deemed it “critical for a bank’s notes to look as if they squared with the hard currency they so flimsily represented” in order to inspire confidence in the redeemable value of the currency and encourage continued circulation. Banks achieved this end by decorating “notes with vignettes of workingmen, such as the cooper in the act of production, or of allegorical figures like Plenty, illustrated with a cornucopia, symbolizing wealth.” They, moreover, added a sense of stability with “central images, …, flanked by a balancing arrangement of borders, words, numerals, and vignettes,” achieving a balance and precision that reflected legitimacy.[3]

Robert Peck and Eric Newman expand on this point in their article, “Discovered! The First Engraving of an Audobon Bird,” in which they relayed that Audobon’s engraving of a running grouse was deemed “too risky” to embellish a banknote because it portrayed an unusual bird in a skittish stance.[4] They presented the contents of a sheet of images suitable for the decoration of banknotes from Fairman, Draper, Underwood & Co., including “classically draped figures, representing commerce, liberty, and the personification of America; small portraits of Geroge Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and Sir Walter Raleigh; and a number of other allegorical vignettes.”[5] Audobon’s engraving laid in stark contrast to the Fairman images, reflecting his inability to effectively capture American banks’ desired public image.

Together, these articles succeeded in emphasizing the intent with which banknotes were produced in the free banking period. Banks feared that the projection of any image other than one of total sobriety and stability would result in a perception of insolvency, thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. Therefore, banks were forced to shape the public’s perception with well-known images of strength, permanence and wealth. Brownlee could have furthered his analysis with the inclusion of descriptors of banknotes from fraudulent banks to provide a suitable contrast and allow the reader to determine the ways in which legitimate banks sought to set themselves apart. Similarly, Peck and Newman’s analysis was limited in that it looked specifically at a single engraving. Their analysis would have gone further if it had looked at other Audobon engravings and determined their reception. It was valuable, however, because it provided the specific reason for the unusual, unsettling image was not used.[6]

Though banks were forced to inspire confidence in their notes to achieve success, many saw opportunity to shape political discourse through the same means. At the time of westward expansion, the American population was growing increasingly divided on the young nation’s ability to conquer its vast landscape. This debate came through most clearly as both sides employed the nation-as-body metaphor. As noted by Anne Baker in her book Heartless Immensity: Literature, Culture, and Geography in Antebellum America, antiexpansionist Caleb Cushing warned that “the nation has become a ‘young giant’ and that ‘we ourselves are not sensible of the strength and vigor of the young giant’s limbs.’”[7] She noted that Thoreau used a similar metaphor in which he wrote “the gross feeder is a man in the larva state; and there are whole nations in that condition, nations without fancy or imagination, whose vast abdomens betray them.” These statements reflected the growing concern that the United States was outgrowing its capabilities, which could lead to its demise. Baker also relayed the expansionist view and its portrayal through the nation-as-body metaphor, citing John L. Sullivan’s declaration “that the United States ‘has reached a period which, like the marked physical transition in the human frame from the age of childhood to the noble stature and vigor of young manhood, is stamped with the distinct features of expansion, change, development.’” Here, Sullivan downplays the “problems associated with expansion by making it seem as natural and inevitable as adolescence.”[8] One banknote engraving chimed in on the issue with a scene of an unusually large western settler “who is entirely out of proportion to the trees, log cabin, and covered wagon in the background.”[9] This particular engraving suggested that the American unusually strong work ethic, depicted in the exaggerated embodiment of the settler, would allow successful settlement of the West despite its vast size.

While this engraving presented a clear effort to ease fears on expansion, Baker’s analysis was limited in its application to banknotes specifically in that it only presented one example, and she failed to state whether or not the engraving was actually put into circulation. Uncovering similar engravings presented on circulated banknotes would further her analysis tremendously.

Slavery presented another highly divisive issue in which banks saw an opportunity to shape perception. Michael O’Malley touched on this issue in his book Face Value: The Entwined History of Money and Race in America. He claimed, “Southern paper money frequently bore images of slaves,” with some printers simply taking stock engravings of white farmers and converting them “into [images] of a happy slave by simply darkening the figure’s skin and adding a patch to his shirt.” He went on to describe Richard Doty’s claim that “’by the eve of the Civil War, Southern paper money tended to feature benign and positive images of healthy slaves toiling in subservience: a proslavery message, Doty concludes that the circulating money carried with it as it traveled North.”[10] O’Malley’s inclusion of Doty’s analysis spoke for itself. It was limited, however, in his failure to provide the primary source banknotes to validate his claims. Further research has yielded these documents, though, so they will be addressed in my analysis.

Banknotes played a key role in widely circulating artistic works. Yet the engravings presented on the banknotes were not without bias. Brownlee, Peck and Newman helped to establish the significance of strategic design in giving legitimacy to the perceived value of banknotes. Furthermore, Baker and O’Malley described the ways in which banks used their ability to distribute notes in order to shape national opinions on hot-button political issues such as westward expansion and slavery, respectively. Their analyses have proven useful, but they require further study to uncover more primary source examples to determine the extent to which these practices were used.

Baker, Anne. Heartless Immensity : Literature, Culture, and Geography in Antebellum America. Ann Arbor, MI, USA: University of Michigan Press, 2006. Accessed April 23, 2015. ProQuest ebrary.

Brownlee, Peter John, “Francis Edmonds and the Speculative Economy of Painting,” American Art 3 (2007): 21, accessed April 23, 2015.

“History of Currency Designs,” http://www.uspapermoney.info/history/1990.html

O’Malley, Michael. Face Value : The Entwined History of Money and Race in America. Chicago, IL, USA: University of Chicago Press, 2012. Accessed April 23, 2015. ProQuest ebrary.

Peck, Robert and Newman, Eric, “Discovered! The First Engraving of an Audobon Bird,” Journal of the Early Republic (2010): 30, accessed April 23 2015.

[1] “History of Currency Designs”

[2] Brownlee 36

[3] Brownlee 35

[4] Peck and Newman 451

[5] Peck and Newman 446

[6] Peck and Newman 451

[7] Baker 104

[8] Baker 105

[9] Baker 108

[10] O’Malley 73

      

Warning: Undefined variable $num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 126

Warning: Undefined variable $posts_num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 127

By Cordelia

The piece of music composed by C. Collins Jr. and published in 1861 by Lee & Walker in Philadelphia is fully entitled “Our Native Flag A Solo & Chorus with Piano Forte Accompaniment Respectfully Dedicated to the American Patriots Everywhere.” Without even looking at the music, the title already depicts a divide between two separate forces. The word “patriot” gives off a connotation of those loyal to the United States of America, especially in regards to the Revolution against the British so the placement of “American” exaggerates the divide between those who still feel pride towards their nation and those who do not: the Confederates. As this song was written just as the Civil War was starting up, it is a fair assumption to make that it was written as a source of pride for only half of the nation. Therefore, “Our Native Flag” refers to the flag of the Union, and the “Our” effectively alienates those who no longer fall under its reign: the Confederacy.

The words of the song further this idea: the first verse mentions the “bright ensign of Union” that has spread “the emblem of Freedom through the wide world,” implying that the freedom present in the north inspired other countries to follow the same pattern. Though not mentioning the south, the word “Union” signifies the northern part of the nation that was, at the time, in the midst of fighting and thereby implies a pride regardless of division. Without the context of time period, the first two verses could appear to be a part of any other patriotic American tune, as it mentions nothing negative about an opposition to the wonders of the Union, yet the third verse finally hints at something amiss.

The line, “Though traitors, with vengeance our flag may assail yet never, can treason against it prevail,” is a blatant reference to the “traitorous” secessions begun by South Carolina in 1861. Later, the song asserts that “their mission will fail” and the message of patriotism transcends a statement for the Union into one against the Confederacy. In this sense, the patriotism expressed in the song helps to fuel a need and want for victory in the war against the “traitors.”

I find “Our Native Flag” interesting as it was written at a time when the people of the northern United States were forced to come to terms with the fact that major sections of their country were choosing to leave and they would be going to war over the fact that only half of it remained. This song, therefore, appears to be important in establishing a new pride in the same, albeit smaller, nation and served as an attempt to unite the people of a rapidly dissolving country.

Work Cited

Collins, C. Our Native Flag. Notated Music. Philadelphia: Lee & Walker, 1861. The Library of Congress, Civil War Sheet Music Collection. http://www.loc.gov/item/ihas.200000428/ (accessed 19 April 2015)

      

Warning: Undefined variable $num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 126

Warning: Undefined variable $posts_num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 127

By Alec

Above the Fault Lines:

“Boston from a Hot-Air Balloon” and Antebellum America

James Wallace Black’s tattered, blurry, and faded aerial photograph of 1860s Boston is certainly a far cry from the crystal-clear satellite images found on Google Maps. Still, the content of the photo is instantly recognizable, at least to the modern eye: hundreds of tightly-packed rectangles form distinguishable city blocks, streets are shrunk to thin black lines, and bodies of water adopt the form of blank, black chunks. Yet at the time of this photograph’s creation, viewers may well have had a difficult time deciphering such an alien document. Photography was still a nascent technology in the 1860s, and aerial photography was even younger – Black’s image, taken just two years after the invention of the hot-air balloon, is likely the oldest surviving air-born photograph.[1] In its technical imperfections, its innovation, and its very existence, James Wallace Black’s “Boston from a Hot-Air Balloon” depicts not just a birds-eye view of Beantown but also a narrative of the priorities and capabilities of early American photography.

Apart from being one of the first aerial photographs, “Boston from a Hot-Air Balloon” was also among the first creations of the newly invented paper print. Unlike its predecessor, the metal-based daguerreotype, paper photographs were easily reproduced and required a far shorter exposure time.[2] This latter feature was undoubtedly crucial for the creation of images such as these, where the subject was in constant motion, and enabled photographers in general to shoot less controlled environments and subjects, broadening their artistic capabilities. This consideration makes the technical aspect of Black’s shot all the more impressive, since he was using a new form of a new technology in an environment that no other photographer had previously experienced. It also helps to explain why the image’s clarity and detail doesn’t quite stack up with other, grounded photographs from the time: no doubt Black was as much experimenting with this in-flight set-up as he was actually aiming to make a good photograph.

Beyond its technical novelty, Black’s decision to shoot Boston from high above is also representative of a growing public interest in non-portrait photographs.[3] Around this time, photographers such as Silas A. Holmes and Edward Anthony, whose respective photographs of Niagara Falls and Broadway I also selected for this assignment, were beginning to take their cameras away from the familiar environment of the upper- and middle-class American parlor and into the natural world.[4] Though Americans had long been able to memorialize the environment through maps and paintings, photography offered a far more accurate and present depiction of reality. Similarly, while many Bostonians had likely seen maps or drawings of their city, this photograph captures their city honestly and nakedly; unlike paintings, which minimize and exaggerate features according to aesthetic and artistic preference, the eye of the camera captures all of its subject’s contours and blemishes. Whereas previous depictions of Boston might have chosen to focus on a singular landmark, building, or beauty, Black’s birds-eye cityscape depicts a sprawling metropolis whose size seems to fill the frame to its bursting point.

Indeed, sense of space is incredibly instrumental to the aesthetic appeal this photograph likely had at its inception, and continues to exhibit today. On one hand, the hundreds of tiny buildings and interwoven streets underscore the incredible size and density of Boston even in the nineteenth century. Yet there is also a sense of smallness invoked by an image that reduces buildings to rectangles, and erases individual people entirely. At a time when other new technologies such as the telegraph and postal service made cross-continental, even global communication a reality, Americans were encouraged more than ever to think of themselves as part of a larger whole. As the nation moved ever closer to civil war, “Boston from a Hot-Air Balloon” was likely a much-needed, if imperfect reminder of American solidarity.

Works Cited

Black, James Wallace. Boston from a Hot-Air Balloon. ca. 1860. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. Web. 23 Apr. 2015.

“James Wallace Black: [Boston from a Hot-Air Balloon].” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. Metropolitan Museum of Art, n.d. Web. 23 Apr. 2015.

“The Daguerrian Era and Early American Photography on Paper, 1839-1860.” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. Metropolitan Museum of Art, n.d. Web. 23 Apr. 2015.

[1] “James Wallace Black: [Boston from a Hot-Air Balloon]” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. Metropolitan Museum of Art, n.d. Web. 23 Apr. 2015.

[2] “The Daguerrian Era and Early American Photography on Paper, 1839-1860.” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. Metropolitan Museum of Art, n.d. Web. 23 Apr. 2015.

[3] “The Daguerrian Era.”

[4] “The Daguerrian Era.”

      

Warning: Undefined variable $num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 126

Warning: Undefined variable $posts_num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 127

By Avery

I looked at three sources to understand how early photography has been written about. The first is an essay written for a museum exhibit. This essay represents a hyperlocal historical approach that is important for understanding how history is created. The second is a peer-reviewed journal article that relates the public’s initial trust in photography’s ability to reveal truth with the spiritualist’s quest to reveal the ghostly world. Finally, the third is a peer-reviewed journal article that that mixes history and literary criticism to explore the tension individuals felt in the face of photography as a new technology.

Flynt curates the Memorial Hall Museum in Deerfield, Massachusetts. Her essay accompanied an exhibit of early photographs of Deerfield locals. She offers little commentary on individual photographs, instead framing the images with major themes of the period. The themes Flynt identifies are informed by her local focus; she comments extensively on the subjects’ social habits rather than a grand political arc. For example, Flynt explains the stale expressions on the subjects’ faces in the following way: “Early photographs offer a window on how people presented themselves. Social convention frowned on excessive familiarity, and a smile, particularly a teeth-revealing smile, could be perceived as unbecoming or inappropriate.”[1] This social approach to history makes sense in the context of a local museum where residents are not necessarily looking for a grand narrative. The hyperlocal approach to history is important to acknowledge because it’s where history starts: with some preserving their grandmother’s letters and retelling the stories of her individual life. Flynt gives us a flavor of the everyday, social history of early photography.

West explores the influence of photography on spiritualism (belief in ghosts) in the 19^th century. Photography emerged at a time when few people had even a basic understanding of science. Thus, West claims that the discourse surrounding photography focused on its “magical” properties rather than technical mechanisms.[2] Photography paired well with spiritualist arguments especially because of the technology’s reliance on light. Photographs manipulated light to reveal truth; as West writes, “With light as its modus operandi, photography could potentially render everything visible and thus transform all the world into a lucid text—a possibility that also resided at the heart of the spiritualist movement.”[3] Photographers began to exploit the public’s lack of scientific knowledge and belief in the spirit world; they layered daguerreotypes to create the appearance of ghostly figures in domestic portraits.[4]

By relating early photography and spiritualism, West paints the emergence of photography as a strange and revolutionary phenomena. For the most part, West focuses on ways the average person did not understand the photographic process and yet beheld the technology as the path to truth. West’s historical actors are willing to trust photography. West complicates the trusting nature near the end of her article when she describes the public’s eventual skepticism of ghostly photographs,[5] but her picture of the earliest viewers’ awe remains intact.

Contrastingly, Frank’s presentation of Emily Dickinson’s attitude toward photographs offers a much warier relationship to the new technology. Frank uses Dickinson’s poems to illustrate her mistrust of photographs. Exactly opposite to the spiritualists, Dickinson seems to have a relatively deep knowledge of the physical mechanisms of photography and also deeply doubts its merits. Frank argues that Dickinson was caught between competing trends in American life, the revivalist impulse to keep one’s truth inside[6] and the general “‘explosion of the private into the public’” catalyzed by the increasing commonality of photography[7]. Dickinson found herself between competing notions of sincerity.

Ultimately, Frank seems more concerned with forwarding a new perspective in Dickinson literary criticism than with making a historical argument. His piece does, however, represent the importance of interdisciplinary work—in this case English and History—to understanding the complexity of human experience. Though Dickinson may at first seem tangentially related to the emergence of photography, Frank uses her work to explicate the tension felt by one (remarkable) individual in order to identify the cultural clash felt after the introduction of a new technology.

All three narratives by Flynt, Frank, and West explain the emergence of early photography within contemporary social dialogues. For Flynt, Deerfield photographs are a new representative form, but do not alter existing social conventions. For West, early photography greatly burgeons the spiritualist movement. Finally, for Frank photography represents a disturbance in and contrast to existing notions of privacy and truth. Together, these pieces argue that from its invention photographic technology was integrated into and shaped American culture.

Bibliography

Flynt, Suzanne L. 2009. “Don’t Smile for the Camera: Expression in Early Photography.” Historical Journal of Massachusetts 37 (1): 3–11.

Frank, Adam. 2001. “Emily Dickinson and Photography.” The Emily Dickinson Journal 10 (2): 1–21.

West, Nancy M. 1996. “Camera Fiends: Early Photography, Death, and the Supernatural.” The Centennial Review 40 (1): 170–206.

[1] Flynt, Suzanne L. 2009. “Don’t Smile for the Camera: Expression in Early Photography.” Historical Journal of Massachusetts 37 (1): 3–11, 5

[2] West, Nancy M. 1996. “Camera Fiends: Early Photography, Death, and the Supernatural.” The Centennial Review 40 (1): 170–206, 172-3.

[3] Ibid, 178.

[4] Ibid, 186.

[5] Ibid, 190.

[6] Frank, Adam. 2001. “Emily Dickinson and Photography.” The Emily Dickinson Journal 10 (2): 1–21, 9

[7] Ibid, 14.

      

Warning: Undefined variable $num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 126

Warning: Undefined variable $posts_num in /home/shroutdo/public_html/courses/wp-content/plugins/single-categories/single_categories.php on line 127

By Avery

I looked at three sources to understand how early photography has been written about. The first is an essay written for a museum exhibit. This essay represents a hyperlocal historical approach that is important for understanding how history is created. The second is a peer-reviewed journal article that relates the public’s initial trust in photography’s ability to reveal truth with the spiritualist’s quest to reveal the ghostly world. Finally, the third is a peer-reviewed journal article that that mixes history and literary criticism to explore the tension individuals felt in the face of photography as a new technology.

Flynt curates the Memorial Hall Museum in Deerfield, Massachusetts. Her essay accompanied an exhibit of early photographs of Deerfield locals. She offers little commentary on individual photographs, instead framing the images with major themes of the period. The themes Flynt identifies are informed by her local focus; she comments extensively on the subjects’ social habits rather than a grand political arc. For example, Flynt explains the stale expressions on the subjects’ faces in the following way: “Early photographs offer a window on how people presented themselves. Social convention frowned on excessive familiarity, and a smile, particularly a teeth-revealing smile, could be perceived as unbecoming or inappropriate.”[1] This social approach to history makes sense in the context of a local museum where residents are not necessarily looking for a grand narrative. The hyperlocal approach to history is important to acknowledge because it’s where history starts: with some preserving their grandmother’s letters and retelling the stories of her individual life. Flynt gives us a flavor of the everyday, social history of early photography.

West explores the influence of photography on spiritualism (belief in ghosts) in the 19^th century. Photography emerged at a time when few people had even a basic understanding of science. Thus, West claims that the discourse surrounding photography focused on its “magical” properties rather than technical mechanisms.[2] Photography paired well with spiritualist arguments especially because of the technology’s reliance on light. Photographs manipulated light to reveal truth; as West writes, “With light as its modus operandi, photography could potentially render everything visible and thus transform all the world into a lucid text—a possibility that also resided at the heart of the spiritualist movement.”[3] Photographers began to exploit the public’s lack of scientific knowledge and belief in the spirit world; they layered daguerreotypes to create the appearance of ghostly figures in domestic portraits.[4]

By relating early photography and spiritualism, West paints the emergence of photography as a strange and revolutionary phenomena. For the most part, West focuses on ways the average person did not understand the photographic process and yet beheld the technology as the path to truth. West’s historical actors are willing to trust photography. West complicates the trusting nature near the end of her article when she describes the public’s eventual skepticism of ghostly photographs,[5] but her picture of the earliest viewers’ awe remains intact.

Contrastingly, Frank’s presentation of Emily Dickinson’s attitude toward photographs offers a much warier relationship to the new technology. Frank uses Dickinson’s poems to illustrate her mistrust of photographs. Exactly opposite to the spiritualists, Dickinson seems to have a relatively deep knowledge of the physical mechanisms of photography and also deeply doubts its merits. Frank argues that Dickinson was caught between competing trends in American life, the revivalist impulse to keep one’s truth inside[6] and the general “‘explosion of the private into the public’” catalyzed by the increasing commonality of photography[7]. Dickinson found herself between competing notions of sincerity.

Ultimately, Frank seems more concerned with forwarding a new perspective in Dickinson literary criticism than with making a historical argument. His piece does, however, represent the importance of interdisciplinary work—in this case English and History—to understanding the complexity of human experience. Though Dickinson may at first seem tangentially related to the emergence of photography, Frank uses her work to explicate the tension felt by one (remarkable) individual in order to identify the cultural clash felt after the introduction of a new technology.

All three narratives by Flynt, Frank, and West couch the emergence of early photography within historical trends. For Flynt, Deerfield photographs are a new representative form, but do not alter existing social conventions. For West, early photography greatly burgeons the spiritualist movement. Finally, for Frank photography represents a disturbance in and contrast to existing notions of privacy and truth. Together, these pieces argue that from its invention photographic technology was integrated into and shaped American culture.

Bibliography

Flynt, Suzanne L. 2009. “Don’t Smile for the Camera: Expression in Early Photography.” Historical Journal of Massachusetts 37 (1): 3–11.

Frank, Adam. 2001. “Emily Dickinson and Photography.” The Emily Dickinson Journal 10 (2): 1–21.

West, Nancy M. 1996. “Camera Fiends: Early Photography, Death, and the Supernatural.” The Centennial Review 40 (1): 170–206.

[1] Flynt, Suzanne L. 2009. “Don’t Smile for the Camera: Expression in Early Photography.” Historical Journal of Massachusetts 37 (1): 3–11, 5

[2] West, Nancy M. 1996. “Camera Fiends: Early Photography, Death, and the Supernatural.” The Centennial Review 40 (1): 170–206, 172-3.

[3] Ibid, 178.

[4] Ibid, 186.

[5] Ibid, 190.

[6] Frank, Adam. 2001. “Emily Dickinson and Photography.” The Emily Dickinson Journal 10 (2): 1–21, 9

[7] Ibid, 14.