The best light is undoubtedly a top light and a side light, the side light reaching to within a few feet of the ground. It is a common fallacy among some portrait photographers that the side light should reach to the ground, so that the boots may be lighted. Such an idea evidently arises from a misconception of the thing required; the boots are to be subdued as much as possible, it is the model’s portrait we want, not that of his boots. The studio in this country should, if possible, face north, or north-east, the roof sloping at an inclination of half a right angle. There should be no tall buildings standing near it, as exterior shadows and reflections interfere with the purity of lighting.
We do not intend to give specifications for the building of a studio, for this has been already admirably done, and we advise any one proposing to build to consult Dr. E. L. Wilson’s “Photographics,” page 163 et seq. |Dr. Wilson’s specification.| In our opinion this description leaves nothing to be desired; this proviso only being made, that the studio be made long enough to use a long-focus lens, that shall give us correct drawing. We have not tried Dallmeyer’s new lenses in a studio, but if quick enough they should be used in preference to all others. Even if these lenses be not quick enough for studio work, no doubt one will soon be made that will be quick enough. |Glazing.| The glazing should not extend from one end of the studio to the other; an unglazed space should be left at each end. By curtains the length of glazing can always be shortened. |Walls.| A grey distemper is perhaps the most suitable colour for the walls.
Successful portraits can be taken in ordinary sitting-rooms, but we do not think the best results can be obtained in this way.
Regarding business arrangements and conveniences, we have nothing to do with them.
The old, and even modern, portrait painters are answerable for many of the faults to this day committed by photographers, because they take portrait painters as models. Lawrence was especially guilty in the use of conventional backgrounds and accessories. Of photographic furniture, as generally understood, there should be none. The studio should be furnished simply, and with taste, as an ordinary sitting-room. There should be no shams of any kind, and the furniture should be chosen with a regard to unobtrusiveness and grace, rather than to massive beauty. All heavy curtains, draperies, hot-house plants, and such incongruous lumber, should be avoided. It should be remembered that what is wanted is a portrait—the face, or figure, or both—and all accessories should be subdued. It is very little use to lay down rules for these things, all must depend on the individual taste of the photographer.
But, above all, avoid shams and cheap ornamental objects, such as cheap bronzes, china pots, and Birmingham bric-à-brac. The chairs should be upholstered with some good plain coloured cloth, with no pattern, and the floor carpeted with matting, or a simply coloured carpet without pattern. Let simplicity and harmony predominate. The room in fact should be a harmony in some cool colour, and the furniture should not be felt when in the room. Our advice is, buy your furniture anywhere, save at a photographic furniture dealer’s.
Head-rests must be entirely tabooed. We have taken many portraits, some with very long exposures, and no head-rest was necessary. In nine cases out of ten it simply ruins the portrait from an artistic point of view.
Reflectors, on light stands, should be ready for use; but it is obviously erroneous to use large and unwieldy reflectors. The reflector is really only necessary for the head and shoulders; for our object is to subdue all other parts as much as possible.
All artificial backgrounds should be banished, together with such stupid lumber as banisters, pedestals, and stiles: they are all inartistic in the extreme. It is a false idea to represent people in positions they are never found in—such as a girl in evening dress against a seascape, and all the other hideous conventionalities of the craftsman’s imagination. The background—which is a matter of vital importance—should be arranged to suit the sitter, that is, a harmony of colour should be aimed at. Light fabrics without patterns, or pieces of tapestry, will serve every purpose, and give most artistic results. The portraitist should keep a selection of pieces of fabric of light hues, and a light skeleton screen can be kept ready, to which to tack them as required, suiting the colour to the dress of the sitter. Gradated backgrounds are a mistake, the tonality is much better shown by having a background of one tint, and so arranging the light that the modelling and tonality shall be subtle and true.
Breadth and simplicity are the foundation of all good work. The background should never be placed close behind the sitter, as is customary; but its distance from the sitter should be studied with the lighting. As a rule, it is better to place the background three or four feet from the back of the sitter. What is required, is that the head shall melt softly into the background, and yet retain its modelling.
The camera should work with a shutter—the Cadett pneumatic shutter for portraiture being as good as any we know—and the pneumatic apparatus should have a very long india-rubber tube attached, for reasons to be explained later on.
Means may be arranged for taking pictures by artificial light, if necessary, though personally we do not care for them. The tonality, though true to the light, has a false, artificial appearance by day. There are many methods of making artificially lighted pictures; the best, in our opinion, are those taken by the electric light. Others are done by gas, and by magnesium flashes; a method quite recently revived as something new, whereas it is very old. The best of those we have seen were done by the American “blitz-pulver;” but the results appeared to us somewhat artificial. We think artists will always avoid these artificial lights.
You must remember that in a studio you are taking a person in a room, and that is the impression you must try to get in your picture. |A lighting rule.| It is a false idea and an inartistic one to endeavour to represent outdoor effects in a studio. Studio lighting and outdoor lighting are radically different, and in a studio you have only to try and give an indoor effect. This has been the principle of all great artists. None but an amateur could fail to notice the falsity of lighting as seen in outdoor subjects taken in the studio. |Studio lighting.| On the other hand, in a studio you may get any effect of lighting you can for indoor subjects, for all such effects are to be seen in a room by a careful observer. |Adam Salomon.| Adam Salomon took many of his portraits in front of a red-glass window. This is quite legitimate, as is also the arrangement of fabrics for the background, and the dictating what coloured dress the sitter shall wear. Let our student work in harmonies of colour as much as possible, and let him never take outdoor effects in a studio. Make the room as much like a comfortable sitting-room as possible, and hide all the tools of the craft.
Having now seen the principles by which we must be governed, and the apparatus required, we will briefly apply them.
By focussing we understand, bringing the ground-glass into the plane which coincides with the sharpest projection of the image; the position of this plane varying of course according to the focal length of the lens and the distance of the object from the lens. Presuming, then, that the camera is in register, and set squarely before the object to be photographed, as can be determined by the spirit-levels, let the student proceed to focus his picture as sharply as he can without any stop. He must be careful that the swing-backs are parallel to the front planes of the camera.
Now the great habit to cultivate is to think in values and masses, that is, you must, in your mind, by constant practice, analyze nature into masses and values, and if you constantly practise this at the beginning, you will find that it becomes a habit, and automatically, as you look at a scene or a person, you will see on the ground-glass of your mind the object translated into black and white masses, and you will notice their relative values. This habit is absolutely necessary for artistic work, for it is by this analysis that you will learn to know what is suitable for pictorial art, and what is not; for if the masses and values in a picture are not correctly expressed, nothing will ever put the picture right. Our own experience has been that where this analysis has left an impression of a few strong masses, the picture has always been stronger when finished than otherwise. Now our student, having sharply focussed his picture with open aperture, must take his head from beneath the focussing cloth, and look steadily at his picture; fixing his eye on the principal object in the picture, he should go through this mental analysis, and at the same time note carefully how much detail he can see, both in the field of direct and indirect vision; and his sole object should be to render truly the impression thus obtained. |How to “stop down.”| He should then look on the focussing screen, and putting in his largest diaphragm, and using his swing-backs, and altering the focussing as may be necessary, see how truly he can get this impression, always remembering that the larger the diaphragm he uses the better. For this reason he should always begin with an open aperture, and work down to the smaller-sized diaphragm as needed. By working in this way, he will soon see what marvellous power and command he has over his translation, all by the judicious use of his focussing screen, swing-backs, and diaphragm combined. In focussing he must remember one thing,—never to focus so that it can be detected in the picture where the sharper focussing ends, and the less sharp focussing begins—as can be brought about by diaphragms. The sharpness should be gradated gently. |Ground-glass picture false.| He must also remember that the ground-glass picture is false and deceptive in its brightness, due to obvious physical facts. This is a point of great importance, which must not be forgotten when we are developing. |Camera obscura.| The ground-glass picture, though greatly admired by the Tramontane masters, and approved by Canaletto and Ribera, as Count Algarotti assures us in one of his raptures on the camera obscura, is not so natural and beautiful as it may appear from the toy point of view,—it is not what the artist wants, any more than he wants the pictures of an ordinary camera obscura, for if these pictures were satisfying in an artistic sense, every one could, by erecting a camera obscura, have the satisfaction of his desire, and there would soon be an end to the pictorial arts, photography included; for no one who loved this picture so dearly would want a camera to take photographs with, but only one to look through. The deceptive luminosity of the ground-glass picture must not be allowed to influence our normal mental analysis of the natural scene. |Rule for focussing.| As we said before, therefore, the principal object in the picture must be fairly sharp, just as sharp as the eye sees it, and no sharper; but everything else, and all other planes of the picture, must be subdued, so that the resulting print shall give an impression to the eye as nearly identical as possible to the impression given by the natural scene. But, at the same time, it must be distinctly understood that so called “fuzziness” must not be carried to the length of destroying the structure of any object, otherwise it becomes noticeable, and by attracting the eye detracts from the general harmony, and is then just as harmful as excessive sharpness would be. Experience has shown, that it is always necessary to throw the principal object slightly (often only just perceptibly) out of focus, to obtain a natural appearance, except when there is much moisture in the air, as on a heavy mist-laden grey day, when we have found that the principal object (out of doors) may be focussed quite sharply, and yet appear natural, for the mist scattering the light softens the contours of all objects. Nothing in nature has a hard outline, but everything is seen against something else, and its outlines fade gently into that something else, often so subtilely that you cannot quite distinguish where one ends and the other begins. In this mingled decision and indecision, this lost and found, lies all the charm and mystery of nature. This is what the artist seeks, and what the photographer, as a rule, strenuously avoids.
As this loss of outline increases with the greyness produced by atmosphere, it follows that it is greater on grey days and in the distance; and less on bright, sunshiny days. For this reason, therefore, the student must be very careful on bright days about his focussing, for on such days there is often no mist to assist him, but still he must keep the planes separate, or he has no picture. Let us imagine an example: A decaying wooden landing-stage stands beneath some weeping willows at the edge of a lake. From the landing-stage a path leads through a garden to a thatched cottage one hundred yards distant; behind the cottage is an avenue of tall poplars. On the landing-stage stands a beautiful sun-bronzed village girl in a plain print dress: she is leaning against the willow and is looking dreamily at the water. We row by on the lake, and are struck by the picture, but above all by the dazzling native beauty of the peasant girl: our eyes are fixed on the ruddy face and we can look at nothing else. If we are cool enough to analyze the picture, what is it we see directly and sharply? The girl’s beautiful head, and nothing else. We are conscious of the willow-tree, conscious of the light dress and the decaying timbers of the landing-stage, conscious of the cottage, away in the middle distance, and conscious of the poplars telling blue and misty over the cottage roof; conscious, too, are we of the water lapping round the landing-stage;—we feel all these, but we see clearly and definitely only the charming face. Thus it is always in nature, and thus it should be in a picture. Let us, however, still keep to our scene, and imagine now that the whole shifts, as does scenery on a stage; gradually the girl’s dress and the bark and leaves of the willow grow sharp, the cottage moves up and is quite sharp, so that the girl’s form looks cut out upon it, the poplars in the distance are sharp, and the water closes up and the ripples on its surface and the lilies are all sharp. And where is the picture? Gone! The girl is there, but she is a mere patch in all the sharp detail. Our eyes keep roving from the bark to the willow leaves and on from the cottage thatch to the ripple on the water, there is no rest, all the picture has been jammed into one plane, and all the interest equally divided. Now this is exactly what happens when a deep focussing lens and small diaphragms are used, the operator (for no artist would do this) tries to make everything sharp from corner to corner. Let the student choose a subject such as we have suggested, and put what we have imagined into practice, and he will see the result. Yet this “sharp” ideal is the childish view taken of nature by the uneducated in art matters, and they call their productions true, whereas, they are just about as artistically false as can be. For this reason, too, it must be remembered that the foreground is not always to be rendered sharply. If our principal object is in the middle distance, let us say, for example, some cottages on the border of a lake; our foreground, consisting we will suppose of aquatic plants, must be kept down, and purposely made unimportant. This is done chiefly by the focussing and stopping.
Among the few satisfactory portraits we have seen are, as we have already said, those by the late Mrs. Cameron. In all of these, that fatal sharpness has been avoided; her focussing was carefully attended to. |Newton.| The well-known miniature painter, Sir W. J. Newton, one of the first vice-presidents of the Photographic Society of Great Britain, distinctly advised that all portraits should be thrown a “little out of focus.” The falsity of focussing a head sharply is shown by the fact that by doing so freckles and pimples, which are not noticed by the eye, stand out most obtrusively, indeed a case is on record, where an eruption of small-pox was detected in its earliest stage by the lens, while nothing at all could be detected by the eye, though this was but partly due to the lens. This false focussing has brought in its train another huge falsity—retouching—of which we shall speak more fully hereafter.
Sharp focussing, too, by making objects tell too strongly, throws them out of tone, and so ruins the picture. When sharpness is obtained by stopping down, the diaphragm cuts off light, injures normal brilliancy, exaggerates shadows, and so throws the picture out of tone. Of course, if the object in view is to produce a diagram for scientific purposes, such, for instance, as photographs of flowers for a work on botany, or of fish for a work on ichthyology, or of butterflies for a work on entomology, the most brilliant illumination possible should be aimed at, and the focussing should be microscopically sharp, for such works are required to show the structure as well as the form. But, above all, the drawing should be correct, and this is obtainable only by the correct use of lenses, which, as we have pointed out, has not always been the case. If, on the other hand, the operator wishes to produce pictures of flowers, butterflies, fruit, fish, &c., the same rules hold good as for any other picture. |Fantin’s flowers.| As an example of the treatment of flowers, the student will do well to study Mr. Fantin’s paintings of flowers. We have never yet seen flowers, fruit, or still life artistically rendered by photography, though we have seen some diagrams to all appearances perfect, but in which the drawing must have been a little false. We have seen it stated by craftsmen who have produced diagrams of microscopic and other objects, that they were untouched (and rightly so), and that, therefore, these diagrams were artistic and true to nature. Of course, from what has been already said, it is obvious they were not necessarily true to nature (though, perhaps, none the less useful for that), and the statement that they were “artistic” arises of course from a total misconception as to what that word means.
Here, then, we must quit this subject, and we hope that we have impressed upon the student the fundamental necessity for exercising much thought and judgment and care in focussing, stopping down, and using the swing-backs, for these three all work together, and are quite as important as the questions of exposure and development.
Of course there is no absolute state of “sharpest focus,” but when we use the word “sharp” we mean the sharpest focus obtainable by any existing photographic lens when used in the ordinary way.
A plate can be exposed in three ways, that is, by removing the cap and replacing it, when the exposure is made; by folding the camera cloth and placing it over the lens (the cap having been removed), before the shutter of the dark-side is drawn, and then quickly withdrawing and replacing the cloth and sliding back the shutter; and thirdly by using a mechanical aid, called a shutter.
The first method needs no comment save that the cap should be withdrawn in an upward direction. The second method has been of invaluable service to us, and is much practised by Scotch photographers. By this means very rapid exposures can be made, and yet detail obtained in dark foreground masses. |“Instantaneous shutters.”| The third method is so well known that hundreds of mechanical contrivances, called “instantaneous shutters,” have been invented. |Quick exposures.| We have always done all the work we could by quick exposures, and here we may at once say that for artistic purposes “quick exposures” are absolutely necessary where possible. |“Instantaneous.”| We do not say “instantaneous exposures,” because it is high time that this unmeaning word should be relegated to the limbo of photographic archaics. Is it not obviously illogical to call exposures of 1/200 of a second, and of one second, both instantaneous?—yet such at present is the custom. “Instantaneous” means nothing at all, for a quicker exposure can be obtained by the second method we have described than with some shutters. |Classification of exposures.| It is in fact difficult to classify exposures, for obviously the classification must be based, cæteris paribus, on the time the plate is exposed, and this, especially in quick exposures, is not to be measured save by special apparatus, which of course is of no rough working use. We offer as a suggestion the following rough working classification for describing exposures. We would define as
Uncapping and capping lens as quickly as possible. Snatching velvet-cloth away and replacing it as quickly as possible. All shutter exposures which cannot be timed by the ordinary second-hand of a watch; a note being added in the case of shutter exposures, giving make of shutter, and stating whether it was set to quickest, medium, or slow pace.
All other exposures might be called time exposures, it being understood by this term, that the exposures were long enough to be counted by the second-hand of an ordinary watch. A note could always be added giving the number of seconds the plate was exposed.
We are perfectly aware this method would give only approximately rough statements of the times of exposure, but that is all that is wanted for ordinary work, for after all, except in delicate scientific experiments, the times given to exposure must always vary greatly, for exposure, as we shall show, can never be reduced to a science. On the other hand, in cases of delicate scientific work, it may be required to measure exactly the length of the exposure, and this is easily done with the proper apparatus, as applied by Mr. Muybridge and others. Our nomenclature is intended for the use of ordinary operators, so that they may describe more accurately than they now do the exposure given to a particular plate; and it is at any rate more accurate than any nomenclature now in use, for, as we have shown, by the camera cloth method a quicker exposure can be made than with many shutters working slowly. The fundamental distinction, it seems to us, for everyday work is, whether the time of exposure is measurable by the seconds-hand of an ordinary watch or not, and that is the point on which our nomenclature is based. Hence, when we use the term “quick exposures” in this work, we mean it as already defined. |Name of shutters.| The shutters themselves should, we think, be called “quick exposure shutters,” or simply “exposure shutters,” instead of instantaneous shutters. We will say but few words on “shutters,” as these mechanical aids to exposure are called.
Theoretically, the best shutter is that which allows the lens to work at full aperture for the longest time, and which causes no vibration or alteration of the position of the apparatus during exposure. The mechanism should be simple and strong, and the whole small in bulk. Mr. T. R. Dallmeyer’s new central shutter, in our opinion, best fulfils these requirements. Another important matter is the correct position of the shutter, and this, theoretically again, is behind the lens, providing the aperture be large enough to prevent any of the rays of light admitted by the lens being cut off. But in practice, a shutter working in the diaphragm slot of the lens answers best, and the very worst way of all is to work the shutter on the hood of the lens.
All portraits should be taken by shutter, and by quick exposure, if possible; in fact, we feel sure a first principle of all artistic work in photography is quick exposure. There is nothing to be said for time exposures, although we are fully aware how much has been written on their advantages, and the beneficial effects on the resulting negatives. We, however, have never seen these wonderful gains, and for quality we have seen very rapidly exposed plates result in negatives which will hold their own in quality against any, whilst in every other respect, there is everything to lose in “slow” or time exposures. There are cases, of course, when time exposures are admissible, and even necessary, as in certain grey-day landscapes, but when dealing with figures or portraits in good light, let the exposure be as quick as possible, ere the freshness and naturalness of the model be lost.
From what has already been said, the student can understand that the exposure will vary with the attendant circumstances. When he considers that there are several factors to be considered in determining the length of exposure, such as the lens used, the diaphragm, the hour of day, the season of the year, the constantly varying conditions of light, the subject and the plate used,—he will see how hopeless it is to lay down any rule for the time of exposure, but it will be as well to consider the effects of these factors, and thus briefly to indicate to the student what he must especially study.
We have already shown how the rapidity of different lenses may be compared. This factor, then, can be determined, but after all it is of little practical value. It is no doubt necessary when a new lens is used, and every photographer may, when using a lens for the first time, have to work out its ratio intensity, but as most workers know their lenses, this factor is hardly worth considering, for by practice the operator easily determines their intensities.
These are by far the most important factors with which we have to deal in exposure, and as they are as variable and uncertain as nature herself, so must exposures vary and be uncertain until meteorology shall be perfected. Even the perfect actinometer which we are promised will not settle the matter, for there are so many subtle conditions to consider besides the mere chemical power of light. For instance, for artistic reasons of light and shade, it may be absolutely necessary to work against the readings of the theoretical perfect actinometer. That a perfect actinometer may be of use in scientific photography we do not doubt, but that is a matter which concerns only scientific specialists.
A few examples showing the protean aspects of nature, and the difficulties of dealing with it, will illustrate our meaning. Bouquet has calculated that the sun at an altitude of 50° above the horizon is 1200 times brighter than at sunrise. If we, then, apply the ordinary chemical law, that the chemical action is proportionate to the illumination, noon would be the time to give the least exposure; but such is not our experience, for the period of greatest intensity is often an hour or so before or after noon, because the angle of reflection is more favourable to us in England. Again, another factor to be considered is the presence of clouds; white clouds needing less exposure, as they reflect light to a powerful extent. Again, in sunrise and sunset light we have to consider refraction, the warm colours predominating. Another point to consider is our altitude, for there is less atmosphere in high altitudes; therefore, as any Alpine traveller knows, the sun acts more powerfully on the peaks than in the valleys. Dr. Vogel tells us that the light of the blue sky is chemically active and powerfully so. It will be seen, then, from previous remarks, why winter light is so feeble. Bunsen has worked out the chemical power of light, and expressed it in degrees thus:—
| 12 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | |
| (noon). | p.m. | p.m. | p.m. | p.m. | p.m. | p.m. | p.m. | p.m. | |
| June 1 | 38° | 38° | 38° | 37° | 35° | 30° | 24° | 14° | 6° |
| Dec. 21 | 20° | 18° | 15° | 9° | 0° | 0° |
Thus at noon on June 21st the light is nearly twice as powerful as on December 21st, and when we couple with this fact the moisture generally found in the atmosphere at mid-winter, we see how deceiving are appearances. Again, it is acknowledged by many that the light in autumn is one and a half times as great as it is in spring; but we cannot act on this knowledge alone for outdoor work, for the conditions of vegetation are quite different, for, as Tyndall has shown, “in delicate spring foliage the blue of the solar light is for the most part absorbed, and a light mainly yellowish-green, but containing a considerable quantity of red, escapes from the leaf to the eye: ... as the year advances the crimson gradually hardens to a coppery red.”
Another complication is the east wind. It certainly sweeps away the moisture from the air and dries everything up, giving all things a black hue and bringing them up closer to view, at the same time dwarfing distant objects; and while an east wind does all this by taking away moisture from the atmosphere, the actinic value of light is at the same time lowered. On the other hand, after rain, the light acts quickly, probably owing to the numerous reflections from moist leaves, and from the fact that they do not absorb so much light under these conditions. That the warm colours require a longer exposure than others is too well known to need dwelling on. The presence of water in the foreground, on the other hand, necessitates a shorter exposure: even the amount of sky included in the picture will affect the length of exposure. The existing temperature, too, strongly affects the negative.
It is perhaps necessary here to state that there is no set key or scheme of lighting to work by. Some untrained persons have preached that no photograph should be taken when there is no sun, or that sunlight is the best time for taking a photograph: such statements are as absurd as childish, one might as well ordain that all music should be played in one key. As beautiful pictures are to be obtained on the grey dull days of November as in sunny June. We remember once reading a statement that all paintings were of sunshine subjects. We quite forget by whom this extraordinary statement was made, but at any rate the writer must have been very ignorant of his subject; he could never have heard of half the great pictures of the world; but surely the name of Rembrandt might have occurred to him. A photograph must be true in sentiment, and true to the impression of the time of day, just as a picture must be. There are some subjects which in sunshine look beautiful, and which on grey days are worthless, and vice versâ. Therefore, here again there is no rule, each subject must be judged by itself.
|Sensitometer.|
The rapidity of plates can be measured by an instrument called a sensitometer. That one in general use is made by Warnerke. But this sensitometer, like many so-called scientific things in photography, seems to us very unscientific, for the light cannot be uniform; for, as is well known, the light given from phosphorescent paint varies in intensity with the temperature. Since writing this, we have been informed that this has been proved to be the case by Dr. Vogel, who, in addition, brings against this sensitometer serious errors of experiment, due to yellow glass being employed. Dr. Nicol, too, has stated that the screens sent out vary in density.
|On exposure tables.|
We have seen how the rapidity of a lens is determined; beyond, then, the comparing the relative rapidities of lenses, all tables of exposures are fallacious and unscientific. Can absurdity go any further than some of the data of some of these so-called scientific tables: “Panoramic View,” “Living objects out of doors,” &c.? Briefly, what is the difference of exposure required on a living ass and on a dead donkey, both out of doors? But seriously, let the student be not led away by such chimeras, for there can be no tables of exposures until the science of meteorology is as fixed a science as mathematics; and any attempt to work by exposure tables will end in dismal failure. If our word is not sufficient to convince any reader, let him note what two eminent scientists think of these tables. Dr. Vogel says, in one of his works, “There is no rule which determines the length of time a photograph has to be exposed to the light;” and Captain Abney has told us he considers such tables absurd and unscientific. It is with his sanction that we quote him on the subject. Exposure must be judged by circumstances: no artificial aids will help. Fortunately for us, plates allow of considerable latitude of exposure.
But as in all good things, simplicity goes hand in hand with perfection. We have advocated quick exposures as absolutely essential to artistic work, and it follows, therefore, that in making quick exposures there is less liability of going wrong; so the two work hand in hand. He who exposes slowly misses the very essence of nature, and it is this very power of exposing so quickly that gives us a great advantage over all other arts. The painter has to resort to all sorts of devices to secure an effect, which perhaps only lasts for half an hour in the day. Not so with photographers, if we see and desire to perpetuate an effect, it is ours in the twinkling of an eye, and thus in a really first-rate photography there will always be a freshness and naturalism never attainable in any other art. And here we would state definitely that the impression of these quick exposures should be as seen by the eye, for nothing is more inartistic than some positions of a galloping horse, such as are never seen by the eye but yet exist in reality, and have been recorded by Mr. Muybridge. Here, then, comes in the artist, he knows what to record and what to pass over, while the craftsman, full of himself and his dexterity, tries to take a train going at sixty miles an hour, and lo! it is standing still, or he expends his energy in taking a yacht bowling along abeam because that result is more difficult to obtain than to take it going away from him, and he calls it natural and therefore artistic. Of course such performances are born of ignorance and vanity. Hundreds of such things have been done in the past, hundreds will be done in the future, and they will sell, but only to be finally destroyed. No photographer has yet done a series of marine pictures; here and there one sea-picture has been done which has oftener been the result of chance than of art. As for the ordinary photographs of yachts, they are mere statements of facts that merit no artistic consideration.
Here, then, we must leave the question of exposure. It is, perhaps, the most important and the most difficult of all photographic acts. In the studio the matter is simpler than out of doors, because the light is not so much affected by reflections and various meteorological conditions; in landscape work, on the other hand, exposure becomes a most difficult problem, yet long experience can bring an intelligent man to give comparatively correct exposures, so that the resulting picture may be developed to obtain the exact impression that he requires, still, even after years of experience, he will at times find himself baffled and humiliated by failure.
It is in exposures that intuition acts as it does in all intellectual matters, and he who can seize on the right exposure at once by instinct is the photographer born, and unless, after some practice, the student can do this, there is little hope that his work will ever rise above mediocrity.
Before entering on the subject of development, it is necessary to tell the student that if he does not already understand the principles of chemistry, he should lose no time in doing so, and as aids to such understanding he cannot do better than get Roscoe’s “Lessons in Elementary Chemistry,”[12] and Abney’s “Photography with Emulsions,” and master the chapters mentioned in the footnote, ignoring the rest for the time. Also let him buy Bloxham’s “Laboratory Teaching.” For a few shillings he can purchase apparatus enough to do qualitative analysis. This he will be able to do by following Mr. Bloxham’s directions, omitting, perhaps, testing with the blow-pipe. If he has the time and means, he will do well to do some quantitative analysis, working, say with water, since it is of such immense importance to the photographer. He will find a knowledge of chemistry as interesting as useful, and the power of observation and accuracy acquired by the study will be invaluable in subsequent stages of his work. We refer the student to works on chemistry by specialists, because we think it is a mistake to swell the bulk of our book by an exposition of chemical principles. We caution the student, however, who intends to take up photography as an art, to have nothing to do with plate-making. |Plate-making.| That manufacture can only be done satisfactorily by experts constantly employed at it, and it is as reasonable to expect a painter to prepare his own colours, and make his own canvas, as to insist upon a photographer making his own plates. Some people have tried to propagate the false idea that a picture taken on a plate of the exhibitor’s own making has a special kind of merit, but obviously this is only true when the object is an “Emulsion process competition.” In judging of the merits of a picture, no facts should be taken into consideration, save the art expressed by the picture. |Plates.| Still the student should know the methods by which his plates are prepared, and that his chemistry will teach him, and when he has found plates which suit him, let him keep to them. We have worked with fourteen different kinds of plates, and have found most of them good, though each requires different treatment. One piece of advice is, however, necessary, always buy your plates direct from the makers, unless you can rely upon your dealer. Some plates are, of course, much quicker than others, and this point the beginner must carefully bear in mind, making his exposures accordingly. |Vigilance committees.| He must not forget, however, that there are brands of plates which are “starved” of silver; these he should avoid, and it would be well if a vigilance committee were appointed in every society to test batches of plates occasionally, and report on them in the photographic journals, thus showing up the fraudulent manufacturers. Assuming, then, that the student has carefully studied the chemistry of development and has fixed on a satisfactory brand of plates, we will proceed to give him a few practical hints, but before we do so we must get rid of an obstacle in his path, and that is the wet-plate process.
12.
Roscoe’s Chemistry:—
Lessons 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, and potassium, sodium, and ammonium in lessons 19, 22, 23; chromium and uranium in lesson 25; mercury, silver, and platinum in lessons 26, 27, and 28.
“Photography with Emulsions:”— Caps. 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 22, 24, and 31.
If the student were to ask ten middle-aged photographers whether they prefer a wet plate or a dry plate negative, nine out of ten would, without doubt answer, “Oh, a wet-plate negative.” If the student is curious and asks, why? he will get a vague answer, in which the words “bloom” and “beauty” play conspicuous parts, the adjectives reminding him of an advertisement for patent balms for the skin. The fact is, not knowing the first principles of art, photographers have raised for themselves false gods, and they are still worshipping them. Let us at once and most emphatically state that wet plate negatives do not give so true an impression of nature as a gelatino-bromide plate, nor are the results so artistic. We have seen much of the best of Mrs. Cameron’s work, and she obtained from collodion and silver some of the best results ever obtained from wet plates, for she had artistic insight, yet even in her work the tonality is not so true, and the “quality” and freshness is not so fine as can be obtained from gelatino-bromide negatives. The work by this process is hard, and incapable of expressing texture correctly, while the general impression is more or less artificial. This is fortunate for us, for the slowness of the wet-plate process would seriously handicap it, even if the artistic result were better than that of dry plates. The inadequacy of collodion plates is emphasized when we look at the work of the craftsmen who used them, and whose ideal was sharpness and “bloom.” Such work will be found most unnatural and inartistic. Surely many of the false ideas current amongst photographers arose from the evolution of the art. Daguerreotypes, the first photographs, were shiny, and most of the subsequent processes followed in their wake, until one clear-sighted photographer, Blanquart-Evrard, tried to combat the evil tendencies. Considering, then, the poor artistic quality of collodion plates and their slowness in exposure, there is absolutely nothing to be said in their favour for art work. It is decided, then, that our student will work with gelatino-bromide plates.