VERMEER VAN DELFT, Jan Girl with a Pearl Earring c. 1665
Oil on canvas, 46,5 x 40 cm Mauritshuis, The Hague



CANALETTO 
Doge Palace c. 1725 Oil on canvas, 65 x 86 cm 

Columbia Museum of Art, Columbus
 
 

Andrea Mantegna, Dead Christ 1501
 
 
 
 
 
 


Albrecht Durer 1500's

 

 

Louis-Jacques Mandé Daguerre. Still Life in Studio,1837
Jean-Baptiste Siméon Chardin Pipes and Drinking Pitcher, 
1737, oil paint Musée du Louvre, Paris.

William Henry Fox Talbot (British, 1800-1877)
The Open Door.
Plate VI, "The Pencil of Nature" c. 1844
 


William Henry Fox Talbot, The Haystack 1844-45

Portraiture


Ingres, Jean-Auguste-Dominique
Louise de Broglie, Countesse d'Haussonville 1845 
51x36"Oil on canvas 
The Frick Collection, New York

 Julia Margaret Cameron. Portrait of Thomas Carlyle
British, London, 1863? or 1867
Albumen print 14 7/16 x 10 3/16 in.
84.XM.443.23

 



 
 


Nadar 
Charles Baudelaire1856-58 (poet)

Portrait of Eugene Delacroix by Nadar
Eugene Delacroix, Death of Sardanapalus 1827
 
Eugène Durieu (with Eugène Delacriox) 
Draped Model (back view)1854
Ingres, Jean-Auguste-Dominique
Bather of Valpincon 1808 Oil on canvas
Musee du Louvre, Paris

 

Portrait of Daumier by Nadar



 

As far back as the Baroque era artist have been trying to find a quicker way easier way to recreate images. Photography King about mainly because people were looking for an easier quick method for doing things. They had lens is very early on probably during the Renaissance. They also used grid transfer to try to make images. 

Sometime during the 19th century Photography he was invented almost in advertently. One of the photographers while eating his lunch figured out a way to fix images. The way this came about was actually a talker first had photo chemically reactive substances but as long as they were in the light they continue to darken. They need to find some kind of fixative. One day during lunch a photographer spilled a little bit of salt on one of his images from his lunch. 

This "fixed" the image permanently and it didn't continue to darken. The next kind of thing that needed to be addressed was what with the talking first take pictures of? Because it took so long to take a picture people often moved way too much for photographers to be able to capture a non blurry image of people. 

At first photographers competed with artists by starting to make still life photographs. 
 

William Henry Fox Talbot in his folio the pencil of nature from 1844 was one such attempts to make still life photographs that look at it like paintings. We can see that what he's trying to capture on document is actually a changing world a world that's being replaced by the technological innovations of the 19th century. In the doorway you see an old fashion handmade broom. In other images you see a vanishing lifestyle such as in this haystack.
 

A young English gentleman on his honeymoon sat sketching by the shore of Lake Como early in October 1833, one eye pressed close to a camera lucida. With this simple draftsman's aid, consisting of an adjustable metal arm fastened at one end to the artist's sketchbook or drawing board and supporting a glass prism at the other, the young man saw a refracted image of the Italian landscape superimposed as if by magic on the pages of his sketchbook. It seemed a simple task to trace the features of the village buildings, lake, and distant mountains with his pencil. But alas, it only seemed simple, he later recalled, "for when the eye was removed from the prism—in which all looked beautiful—I found that the faithless pencil had only left traces on the paper melancholy to behold."

Talbot conceived and brought about a wholly new way of making pictures, perfected the optical and chemical aspects of photography, and learned to use the new medium to make complex images for the botanist, historian, traveler, and artist.

The would-be artist was William Henry Fox Talbot (1800–1877). A graduate of Trinity College, Cambridge, and a recently elected Liberal member of Parliament in the House of Commons, Talbot was a true polymath. His intellectual curiosity embraced the fields of mathematics, chemistry, astronomy, and botany; philosophy and philology; Egyptology, the classics, and art history. He had published four books and twenty-seven scholarly articles on a variety of subjects and was a fellow of the Astronomical, Linnean, and Royal Societies. Amid shopping lists and daily reminders, he filled his pocket diaries with the titles of books to read, complex mathematical formulas, and notations of experiments and experiences.

Talbot's frustration that day with the camera lucida led him to recollect his experiences ten years earlier with another drafting aid, the camera obscura—a small wooden box with a lens at one end that projected the scene before it onto a piece of frosted glass at the back, where the artist could trace the outlines on thin paper. The camera obscura, too, had left Talbot with unsatisfactory results, but it was not his own feeble drawings that he remembered after a decade. Rather he recalled with pleasure "the inimitable beauty of the pictures of nature's painting which the glass lens of the Camera throws upon the paper in its focus—fairy pictures, creations of a moment, and destined as rapidly to fade away." These thoughts in turn prompted Talbot to muse "how charming it would be if it were possible to cause these natural images to imprint themselves durably, and remain fixed upon the paper." "And why should it not be possible?" he asked himself. Talbot jotted down thoughts about experiments he could conduct at home to see if Nature, through the action of light on material substances, might be brought to draw her own picture.

In January 1834, Talbot returned home to Lacock Abbey, an amalgamation of buildings incorporating the thirteenth- and fourteenth-century remains of a former abbey about eighty-five miles west of London. Within a few months, he began to experiment with the idea that had occurred to him at Lake Como and soon found that a sheet of fine writing paper, coated with salt and brushed with a solution of silver nitrate, darkened in the sun, and that a second coating of salt impeded further darkening or fading. Talbot used this discovery to make precise tracings of botanical specimens: he set a pressed leaf or plant on a piece of sensitized paper, covered it with a sheet of glass, and set it in the sun. Wherever the light struck, the paper darkened, but wherever the plant blocked the light, it remained white. He called his new discovery "the art of photogenic drawing."

As his chemistry improved, Talbot returned to his original idea of photographic images made in a camera. During the "brilliant summer of 1835," he took full advantage of the unusually abundant sunshine and placed pieces of sensitized photogenic drawing paper in miniature cameras—"mouse traps," his wife called them—set around the grounds to record the silhouette of Lacock Abbey's animated roofline and trees. The pictures, Talbot wrote, "without great stretch of the imagination might be supposed to be the work of some Lilliputian artist."

Occupied with other activities, Talbot worked little on his invention between the sunny days of 1835 and January 1839, when the stunning news arrived that a Frenchman, Louis Daguerre, had invented a wholly different means of recording camera pictures with dazzling precision on metal plates. Preempted just at the moment when he was beginning to revisit his earlier experiments with an eye toward publication, Talbot scrambled to stake a claim to priority, to produce pictures that might compare favorably with Daguerre's, and to solve the problems of lengthy exposure times and fugitive prints. Well before Daguerre revealed the details of his process, Talbot presented his own before the Royal Society in January and February 1839. At the time of Talbot's announcement, his "art of photogenic drawing" was clearly better suited for recording the shadows of plant specimens, lace, or similar flat objects by direct contact—pictures we would now describe as photograms—than for camera images.

Although such photogenic drawings were beautiful as objects and useful as scientific records, Talbot knew that a fast, permanent, and accurate means of producing photographic images in the camera was the true brass ring, and on September 23, 1840, he found a way to seize it. Talbot discovered that an exposure of mere seconds, leaving no visible trace on the chemically treated paper, nonetheless left a latent image that could be brought out with the application of an "exciting liquid" (essentially a solution of gallic acid). This discovery, which Talbot patented in February 1841 as the "calotype" process (from the Greek kalos, meaning beautiful), opened up a whole new world of possible subjects for photography.

Talbot's early photogenic drawings, such as those in the Bertoloni Album, with their shades of lilac and lavender, remained fugitive, for they were only partially stabilized with a solution of salt. A more permanent means of "fixing" the image with hyposulfite of soda was proposed by Talbot's friend the eminent scientist Sir John Herschel; "hypo" was adopted by Talbot for most prints beginning in the early 1840s and is still used today as a fixer for black-and-white photographs. With all the pieces of a workable process now in place, Talbot set out to promote his invention at home and abroad. He traveled to Paris in May 1843 to negotiate (unsuccessfully) a licensing agreement for the French rights to his patented calotype process and to give firsthand instruction in its use. At home, he demonstrated the commercial viability of his invention by means of a photographically illustrated book, The Pencil of Nature, published in parts beginning in 1844. In less than a decade, Talbot conceived and brought about a wholly new way of making pictures, perfected the optical and chemical aspects of photography, and learned to use the new medium to make complex images for the botanist, historian, traveler, and artist.

Talbot spent the last twenty-five years of his life developing and perfecting an effective photogravure process. That he should have spent so much time developing a process for printing photographs with ink rather than silver salts is not wholly surprising. Talbot's early photogenic drawings are so ephemeral that, despite their exceptional beauty, they can never be exhibited or exposed to light without risk of change. Even his far more stable calotypes fixed with hypo were inconsistent in their permanence, many deteriorating in quick order; a reviewer of the 1862 International Exhibition described some photographs as "fading before the eyes of the nations assembled." Thus, Talbot's search for a photographic process using permanent printer's ink was a final step in the refinement of his earlier, still imperfect, invention.

Malcolm Daniel
Department of Photographs, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 

Aother photographer, Julia Margaret Cameron in, her portrait of Thomas Carlyle, it is said that what she she shook the camera little bit to make it to flurry and also to make it look more Peter Lee and if you look at this image you can actually see that it looks an awful lot like a portrait that car because you might have made. 
 

In December 1863, little more than a year after Roger Fenton retired from photography and sold his equipment, Julia Margaret Cameron received her first camera. It was a gift from her daughter and son-in-law, given with the words "It may amuse you, Mother, to try to photograph during your solitude at Freshwater." Cameron was forty-eight, a mother of six, and a deeply religious, well read, somewhat eccentric friend of many of Victorian England's greatest minds: the painter G. F. Watts; the poets Robert Browning, Henry Taylor, and Alfred Lord Tennyson, her neighbor at Freshwater on the Isle of Wight; the scientists Charles Darwin and Sir John Herschel; and the historian and philosopher Thomas Carlyle. In the decade that followed the gift, the camera became far more than an amusement to her: "From the first moment I handled my lens with a tender ardour," she wrote, "and it has become to me as a living thing, with voice and memory and creative vigour." Her mesmerizing portraits and figure studies on literary and biblical themes were unprecedented in her time and remain among the most highly admired of Victorian photographs.

Although she may have taken up photography as an amateur and sought to apply it to the noble noncommercial aims of art, she immediately viewed her activity as a professional one.

The gift of the camera in December 1863 came at a moment when her husband Charles was in Ceylon attending to the family's coffee plantations, when their sons were grown or away at boarding school, and when their only daughter, Julia, had married and moved away. Photography became Cameron's link to the writers, artists, and scientists who were her spiritual and artistic advisors, friends, neighbors, and intellectual correspondents. "I began with no knowledge of the art," she wrote. "I did not know where to place my dark box, how to focus my sitter, and my first picture I effaced to my consternation by rubbing my hand over the filmy side of the glass." No matter. She was indefatigable in her efforts to master the difficult steps in producing negatives with wet collodion on glass plates. Although she may have taken up photography as an amateur and sought to apply it to the noble noncommercial aims of art, she immediately viewed her activity as a professional one, vigorously copyrighting, exhibiting, publishing, and marketing her photographs. Within eighteen months she had sold eighty prints to the Victoria and Albert Museum, established a studio in two of its rooms, and made arrangements with the West End printseller Colnaghi's to publish and sell her photographs.
 

Julia Margaret Cameron photographed many eminent intellectuals who belonged to her circle of family and friends. She had to wait long and patiently, however, for the chance to capture the historian Thomas Carlyle with her lens. Carlyle, famous for writing On Heroes, Hero-Worship and the Heroic in History, sat for Cameron only once, and during the sitting she made two photographs: this frontal portrait and a profile view.

Carlyle's face is cast in deep shadow. The dramatic lighting, which both illuminates and obscures his face, gives the portrait an emotional intensity. Carlyle was an intellectual hero to Cameron. Believing she had successfully captured him in a heroic posture, Cameron inscribed some prints of this image with the caption: "Carlyle like a rough block of Michelangelo's sculpture." This powerful, head-on view reveals a strength and intensity of character that mirrors the straightforward, sometimes antagonistic discourses in his writing.

 
Cameron had no interest in establishing a commercial studio, however, and never made commissioned portraits. Instead, she enlisted friends, family, and household staff in her activities, often costuming them as if for an amateur theatrical, aiming to capture the qualities of innocence, virtue, wisdom, piety, or passion that made them modern embodiments of classical, religious, and literary figures. A parlor maid was transformed into the Madonna, her husband into Merlin, a neighbor's child into the infant Christ or, with swan's wings attached, into Cupid or an angel from Raphael's Sistine Madonna. Her artistic goals for photography, informed by the outward appearance and spiritual content of fifteenth-century Italian painting, were wholly original in her medium. She aimed for neither the finish and formalized poses common in the commercial portrait studios, nor for the elaborate narratives of other Victorian "high art" photographers such as H. P. Robinson and O. G. Rejlander. Her aspirations were, she said, "to ennoble Photography and to secure for it the character and uses of High Art by combining the real and the Ideal and sacrificing nothing of the Truth by all possible devotion to poetry and beauty." As she wrote to Herschel, "I believe in other than mere conventional topographic photography—map-making and skeleton rendering of feature and form."

Even allowing for slight movement as a positive attribute, posing for Cameron was no easy task. One of her models—or "victims" as Tennyson called them—left a vivid description of a photographic session with Cameron: "The studio, I remember, was very untidy and very uncomfortable. Mrs. Cameron put a crown on my head and posed me as the heroic queen. … The exposure began. A minute went over and I felt as if I must scream, another minute and the sensation was as if my eyes were coming out of my head; a third, and the back of my neck appeared to be afflicted with palsy; a fourth, and the crown, which was too large, began to slip down my forehead; a fifth—but here I utterly broke down, for Mr. Cameron, who was very aged, and had unconquerable fits of hilarity which always came in the wrong places, began to laugh audibly, and this was too much for my self-possession, and I was obliged to join the dear old gentleman."

Her photographs were not universally admired, especially by fellow photographers. The Photographic Journal, reviewing her submissions to the annual exhibition of the Photographic Society of Scotland in 1865, reported with a condescension that infuriated her: "Mrs. Cameron exhibits her series of out-of-focus portraits of celebrities. We must give this lady credit for daring originality, but at the expense of all other photographic qualities. A true artist would employ all the resources at his disposal, in whatever branch of art he might practise. In these pictures, all that is good in photography has been neglected and the shortcomings of the art are prominently exhibited. We are sorry to have to speak thus severely on the works of a lady, but we feel compelled to do so in the interest of the art." The Illustrated London News countered, describing her portraits as "the nearest approach to art, or rather the most bold and successful applications of the principles of fine-art to photography." The Photographic Journal rebutted: "Slovenly manipulation may serve to cover want of precision in intention, but such a lack and such a mode of masking it are unworthy of commendation." Wilhelm Vogel reported the stir that her photographs provoked the following year in Berlin, where they won Cameron the gold medal: "Those large unsharp heads, spotty backgrounds, and deep opaque shadows looked more like bungling pupils' work than masterpieces. And for this reason many photographers could hardly restrain their laughter, and mocked at the fact that such photographs had been given a place of honour. … But, little as these pictures moved the photographers who only looked for sharpness and technical qualities in general, all the more interested were the artists … [who] praised their artistic value, which is so outstanding that technical shortcomings hardly count." Cameron dismissed the condemnation of the photographic establishment, writing later that it would have dispirited her "had I not valued that criticism at its worth," basking instead in the positive judgment of artists and friends.

Seen with historical perspective, it is clear that Cameron possessed an extraordinary ability to imbue her photographs with a powerful spiritual content, the quality that separates them from the products of commercial portrait studios of her time. In a dozen years of work, effectively ended by the Camerons' departure for Ceylon in 1875, the artist produced perhaps 900 images—a gallery of vivid portraits and a mirror of the Victorian soul.
Malcolm Daniel
Department of Photographs, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 

When other famous photographer with a photographer by the name of a Nadar . We can see that would need our was doing was actually making psychological portraits in photographs of contemporary artist from that time. 
 

 French photographer, printmaker, draughtsman, writer and balloonist. He was born into a family of printers and became familiar with the world of letters very early in life. He abandoned his study of medicine for journalism, working first in Lyon and then in Paris. In the 1840s Nadar moved in socialist, bohemian circles and developed strong republican convictions. Around this time he adopted the pseudonym Nadar (from ‘Tourne à dard’, a nickname he gained because of his talent for caricature). For his friend Charles Baudelaire, Nadar personified ‘the most astonishing expression of vitality’. In 1845 he published his first novel, La Robe de Déjanira, and the following year he embarked on his career as a caricaturist, working for La Silhouette and Le Charivari and subsequently for the Revue comique (1848) and Charles Philipon’s Journal pour rire (1849), which later became the Journal amusant (1856). In London in 1863 Nadar discovered the drawings in Punch and met the illustrators Paul Gavarni and Constantin Guys, who became a friend. Nadar ended his career as a caricaturist in 1865, by which time he had become famous as a photographer.

Nadar became well known for his Panthéon Nadar, a lithographic panorama of contemporary French cultural celebrities, published on two occasions, once in the Lanterne magique (1854) and once in Le Figaro (1858), but unfinished. For some of the c. 300 figures (Honoré de Balzac and Victor Hugo, for example) Nadar had recourse to already existing portrait photographs. Following this use of photography, Nadar decided to establish himself as a photographer, initially with his brother Adrien Tournachon (1825–1903), whom he apprenticed to the photographer Gustave Le Gray in 1853, before himself training with Camille d’Arnaud and Auguste Bertsch (d 1871). In 1854–5 the two brothers produced a series of portraits of the mime artist Charles Deburau, illustrating various expressions, for example Surprise and Terror. In translating the emotions, according to the studies of the neurologist Guillaume Benjamin Duchenne de Boulogne, Adrien, with his interest in theatre, played an important role in this partnership. A number of his own portraits, for example that of the critic Jules Husson Champfleury, and his self-portraits have nothing to fear from comparison with those by Félix. Subsequently, relations between the two brothers deteriorated and led to two lawsuits in 1856–7, during the course of which Félix claimed exclusive right to the pseudonym Nadar. This affair showed a lack of solidarity between them from which the weaker Adrien never recovered.

Nadar’s first photographs were portraits of friends made in 1854–5: of the writers Alfred de Vigny, Théophile Gautier, Gérard de Nerval (the only known photograph of him) and Charles Baudelaire, for example. He rapidly became known as the portrait photographer who took as his subjects the most interesting personalities of his day. Gustave Doré (1855 and 1859), Honoré Daumier (1856), Sarah Bernhardt (c. 1860), Edouard Manet, Gustave Courbet and many others were taken by him. He also produced some remarkable images of his family, for example of his wife Ernestine, his son Paul, his servants and numerous self-portraits. Nadar and his brother were the first French photographers to create a purely photographic aesthetic for their portraits. It is in total contrast to the rigid and conventional style that had made the fortune of numerous other practitioners. Nadar’s portraiture is characterized by the rejection of any artifice such as the use of accessories, painted backdrops or retouching (e.g. his simple portrait of a Young West Indian Woman, 1855, Paris, Mus. d’Orsay). His direct approach to his sitters shows his concern to grasp their inner life. The most successful and often most beautiful images are those that reveal an intimacy between photographer and model. This is the case in all his early work, where he made particular use of side lighting and where the light and shade alone create an almost romantic atmosphere around the figure. Influenced by his early contacts with Deburau and Duchenne de Boulogne and by his experience as a caricaturist, he focused above all on the faces, and the gaze of the sitter sometimes assumes a disturbing intensity, as in, for example, the portraits of Gérard de Nerval, Charles Baudelaire and Ernestine. Nadar used the wet collodion glass negative process (and from 1861 dry collodion), which at that time had supplanted the daguerreotype as the most appropriate for portraiture.

In order to cater for an increasing clientele, Nadar was forced to change his premises. His first studio was at 113 rue St Lazare, but the best known was that at 25 boulevard des Capucines, where he moved in 1860. These premises became a meeting-place for artists and intellectuals opposed to the imperial regime, and Nadar also rented the studio out for exhibitions, notably the first public showing of the group who were later to be christened Impressionists (April–May 1874). In the 1860s Nadar was so much in demand as a portrait photographer that he had to employ assistants. He then took a less active part in the production of his portraits. He also had to resort to the commercial formula of making cartes de visite, abandoning his larger format of 180×240 mm. Financially ruined by the War of 1870, the Paris Commune (for which he provided a balloon postal and observation service at his own expense) and his attempts at ballooning, Nadar took on a more broadly based clientele made up of the bourgeoisie and people who were not acquaintances. This had an effect on his output: his portraits, made more rapidly, became less sensitive. Towards 1885, he had more or less regained his former wealth, and from 1887 his son Paul Nadar (1856–1939) began to relieve him in the studio, carrying on his father’s activity in a very different spirit, gravitating towards more glamorous and artificial portrayals, as in his portrait of Lillie Langtry (Paris, Bib. N.).

Nadar was a pioneer in other photographic fields besides portraiture, in particular aerial photography, which he practised from his various balloons (e.g. Avenue de l’Impératrice). He also attempted underground photography in artificial light (electric arc lamps and bunsen batteries), producing c. 100 pictures of the catacombs and sewers of Paris (1861–2; Paris, Bib. N.). These experiments were accompanied by other technical researches: microphotography, snaps in artificial light using magnesium and aerial navigation. Nadar was one of the first to conceive of the ‘photographic interview’: the series of eight photographs (taken on roll film by his son Paul) of his conversation with the chemist and colour theorist Michel-Eugène Chevreul on the eve of his 100th birthday appeared in the Journal illustré in September 1886 (original 27 images in Paris, Bib. N.).

After staying in Marseille from 1895 to 1904, where he opened a studio, Nadar returned to the region of Paris. He remained interested in what was happening in France in the field of photography and founded the journal Paris photographe, edited by Paul, in 1891. In 1899 he published his memoirs Quand j’étais photographe. He remains a crucial figure in the history of photography for having created a type of modern portrait based on the direct psychological approach to his subject and for his pioneering technical feats and championing of the medium. With few exceptions, Nadar’s negatives are held in the Caisse Nationale des Monuments Historiques et des Sites (head office, Hôtel de Sully, Paris); studio prints are held in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.

Hélène Bocard
From Grove Art Online

© 2009 Oxford University Press


 
 
 

Other artists attempted to recreate the style of painting that was popular at that time as well. This is specially happen when things started to get a little bit more powerful in terms of chemistry and understanding of how to fix image faster. One of the things to consider about photography at this point in time is that it has a very very strong influence on the painters in on the art world the 19th and 20th centuries.
 
 

Nadar was a tireless innovator. In 1855 he patented the idea of using aerial photographs in mapmaking and surveying. It was not until 1858, however, that he was able to make a successful aerial photograph, the world's first, from a balloon. This led Daumier to issue a satirical lithograph of Nadar photographing Paris from a balloon. It was titled "Nadar Raising Photography to the Height of Art."