He is best known for his development of the calotype, an early photographic process that was an improvement over the daguerreotype of the French inventor L.J.M. Daguerre. Talbot's calotypes involved the use of a photographic negative, from which multiple prints could be made; had his method been announced but a few weeks earlier, he and not Daguerre would probably have been known as the founder of photography.

In 1802 Thomas Wedgwood, son of the famous potter Josiah Wedgwood, reported his experiments in recording images on paper or leather sensitized with silver nitrate. Although he could record silhouettes of objects placed on the paper, he was not able to make them permanent and, to his disappointment, he failed to record a camera image.

Unaware of the work of Wedgwood and the French pioneers, Talbot, was led to invent a photographic process because of his inability to draw landscapes. On a holiday trip to Italy in 1833, the idea came to him of recording by chemical means the images he observed in his camera obscura.

By 1835 he had a workable technique: he made paper light-sensitive by soaking it alternately in solutions of common salt (sodium chloride) and silver nitrate. Silver chloride was thus produced in the fibres of the paper. On exposure to light the silver chloride became finely divided silver, dark in tone.

The resulting negative could be used to make any number of positives by putting fresh sensitized paper in contact with the negative and exposing it to light. Talbot's method of fixing the print by washing it in a strong solution of sodium chloride was inadequate, and the process was not successful until February 1839, when Herschel suggested fixing the negatives with sodium hyposulphite.

When news of Daguerre's process reached England in January 1839, Talbot rushed publication of his "photogenic drawing" process and explained his technique in detail to the members of the Royal Society some six months before the French government divulged working directions for the daguerreotype.

Talbot's The Pencil of Nature (1844-46), published in six installments, was the first book with photographic illustrations. Its 24 (of a proposed 50) plates document the beginnings of photography primarily through studies of art objects and architecture.

In 1851 Talbot discovered a way of taking instantaneous photographs, and his "photolyphic engraving" (patented in 1852 and 1858), a method of using printable steel plates and muslin screens to achieve quality middle tones of photographs on printing plates, was the precursor to the development in the 1880s of the more successful halftone plates.  He was not to see this development as he died on September 17, 1877, at Lacock Abbey, near Chippenham in Wiltshire

Ora però è al centro di una caso, visto che potrebbe trattarsi della più antica immagine fotografica conosciuta, e valere milioni di sterline.

Negli anni è stata attribuita a William Henry Fox Talbot, pioniere della fotografia britannica, che cominciò i suoi esperimenti nel Wiltshire nel 1830, ed in vista di un nuovo passaggio in asta a New York la stima era salita a oltre 100mila dollari.

Ma esaminandola Larry Schaaf, esperto di Fox Talbot, ne ha negato la paternità, ipotizzando tuttavia origini ancora più antiche.

Chiave dell'attribuzione è la lettera "W", che per Schaaf - confortato da Chris Mahoney del photography department di Sotheby's - celerebbe il nome di Thomas Wedgwood, un membro della famosa dinastia delle ceramiche, che condusse esperimenti di fotografia una trentina di anni prima di Fox Talbot, e del quale non si conoscono opere attribuite con certezza.

[exibart]

A photograph, actually it is a photogram, known as "leaf" is coming up for auction at sotheby's on April 7th. and could be possible the oldest photographic representation found.

It has been previously attributed to William Henry Fox Talbot who is one of the founding fathers of photography. He made a number of leaf pictures and this one is thought to be made by him at 1839.

But new research suggest it might be made in 1790 by Thomas Wedgwood, Humphry Davy or James Watt who are all know as experimenters in photography.

" ... Sotheby's says research by a leading photo expert suggests otherwise - that several early photo experimenters could be the authors, including Thomas Wedgwood, James Watt and Humphry Davy, who worked in the medium decades earlier. If that theory is true, it means the photo could have been made as early as 1790.

The work of Wedgwood, of Wedgwood china fame, Watt and Davy was documented in their day and cited in standard histories of photography, but no examples have ever been identified, Sotheby's said. ..."

More at CBC

Scenes from the Life of Christ: 10. Entry into Jerusalem (1304-6) by Giotto

(Click pictures to enlarge)

For those readers who are puzzled why I've posted so many entries about old art but implied they're relevant to new stories -- and to screenplays -- I offer the following quote from the great Victorian era critic, John Ruskin.

(excerpt from)
Giotto and his Works in Padua

by

John Ruskin

But what, it may be said by the reader, is the use of the works of Giotto to us? They may indeed have been wonderful for their time, and of infinite use in that time; but since, after Giotto, came Leonardo and Correggio, what is the use of going back to the ruder art, and republishing it in the year 1854? Why should we fret ourselves to dig down to the root of the tree, when we may at once enjoy its fruit and foliage? I answer, first, that in all matters relating to human intellect, it is a great thing to have hold of the root: that at least we ought to see it, and taste it; and handle it; for it often happens that the root is wholesome when the leaves, however fair, are useless and poisonous. In nine cases out of ten, the first expression of an idea is the most valuable: the idea may afterwards be polished and softened, and made more attractive to the general eye; but the first expression of it has a freshness and a brightness, like the flash of a native crystal compared to the lustre of glass that has been melted and cut. And in the second place, we ought to measure the value of art less by its executive than by its moral power. Giotto was not indeed one of the most accomplished painters, but he was one of the greatest men who ever lived. He was the first master of his time, in architecture as well as in painting; he was the friend of Dante, and the undisputed interpreter of religious truth, by means of painting, over the whole of Italy. The works of such a man may not be the best to set before children in order to teach them drawing; but they assuredly should be studied with the greatest care by all who are interested in the human mind.

I find this more, not less, interesting for the fact that it goes in several directions at once.

It's the distance we get by looking 150 years later (from us) at Ruskin's attempt to look at Giotto from his distance of 500 years later (from him).

(One gets a similar eerie feeling of double-exposure from the Smithsonian's exhibit recreating the "Centennial Exhibition of 1876" whose theme was to assess the progress the US had made in the 100 years since its founding in 1776.)

Critical fashions change. I'm not much of a historian of art history, but I believe the following are true: Leonardo is supposed to have said, "After Giotto, painting declined." Whatever the Victorians may have felt, nowadays Giotto's position is again in the very front rank. Raphael, although still in the very front rank, is no longer idolized to the extent he was in Victorian times.

Also, although Ruskin argues valiantly that his contemporaries should recognize Giotto's historic and human value, he appears to acquiesce to the idea that Giotto's artistic value is obsolete. (Or am I over-reacting and Ruskin is referring only to Giotto's technical value?)

I know what my private opinion is: Giotto makes me jump out of my skin. In Ruskin's words, Giotto "was one of the greatest men who ever lived."

But I don't find that in history books: I find it in Giotto's paintings.

It's not clear to me whether Ruskin feels that progress overtakes all artists -- or whether Giotto's fate was particular, just due to his weakness in execution.

The question we have to ask Ruskin -- and ourselves -- is whether, if we believe in "progress" we're therefore comfortable with the idea that our own art can and will become obsolete too, of historic value only.

Ruskin championed the art of J.M.W. Turner. Is he OK with the fact that Turner, although still regarded very highly today, has been eclipsed (for believers in progress) by later artists?

Otherwise, though, I'm thrilled with Ruskin's statement that "we ought to measure the value of art less by its executive than by its moral power."

I also love his comments leading up to "the first expression of it has a freshness and a brightness, like the flash of a native crystal compared to the lustre of glass that has been melted and cut."

I wonder how aware Ruskin was that at about the time he was writing, people were exploring a completely new art medium: photography.

William Henry Fox Talbot was among the inventors of photography. In late September of 1840, he invented the process of shooting a negative and then printing it as a positive.

Lace (c. 1844) by William Henry Fox Talbot

(Click photos to enlarge)

Courtyard Scene (c. 1844) by William Henry Fox Talbot

Ships at Low Tide (c. 1844) by William Henry Fox Talbot

Aside from my sheer admiration at the beauty of some of his work, Fox Talbot leaves me with nothing but questions.

Fox Talbot's photographs have precisely that quality of freshness that Ruskin mentions. Nowadays we're jaded -- we rack our brains to contrive something new. But when Fox Talbot worked, almost nothing had ever been "done before." Everything in the world -- a piece of lace, for example -- was fresh to him, and he could respond to it as it was without worrying whether it was "original."

It's the same as the freshness of the early filmmakers. In L'Arrivée d'un Train à la Ciotat (1895), the Lumière brothers thought they could thrill people with nothing but footage of a scheduled train arriving at a station. Later, in Le Voyage Dans la Lune (1902), Méliès used outrageously silly plot and silly FX -- but he has a belief in his ability to entertain, and an imaginative profusion that make his film still beautiful today.

Primarily, what gives a work "moral power" is the artist's integrity and his belief in it.

What hits me so hard about Fox Talbot's work is the combination of how fresh it is to him and how other-worldly antique it is to me -- coupled with his fine sense of beauty.

I wonder whether he thought of his work as "art?"

Obviously, his technical limitations are severe. Still, he works within those limitations to create art that's successful on its own terms. Isn't this the essence of it: using your given medium to create?

For further posts in this series, see my Story Structure page.

Another post concerning Giotto's Padua work:
Two Frescoes, by Giotto and by Taddeo Gaddi

More quotes from John Ruskin:
John Ruskin: "You must either make a tool of the creature, or a man of him"

and:
John Ruskin: “the Great Spirit of nature is as deep and unapproachable in the lowest as in the noblest objects”

Part1 | Part2

Kennet-and-Avon Canal

Near Devizes, the most stunning section of this canal can be found at the Caen Hill Locks. Called Caen Hill Flight, it consists of 29 locks beautifully restored and maintained for the purpose of recreation. It is not clear if the local council maintains these locks, paid for by the public through taxation. Perhaps, the maintenance is down to a canal trust run by volunteers depending on generous contributions from concerned members of the public. Whatever be the current state of things, the locks have had a rich history of their own. They are as splendid as the Hatton Locks.

I found a middle-aged man painting the locks in simple tones of black and white, a contrasting colour scheme used for locks all over the country. I asked him about the history of locks. The canal itself connected the River Avon at Bristol with the River Kennet at Reading. It was opened for traffic in the early 19th century and served an active life of just a few decades. With the coming of the railways, they quickly ceased to be useful. Neglect followed. Closure of the canal seemed imminent when in the post-war years people organized themselves, took initiative and started an enormous programme of restoration. This restoration must have happened in phases. It could have been possible only be generous contributions and selfless volunteers devoting many hours of precious time. Plaques along the canal give these people due credit. In 1990 the canal was officially opened. Today I, as a walker, can enjoy walking along its towpath. Boaters can leisurely ply its waters. I was informed that it takes six hours to climb the entire set of locks. Fishing and birdwatching are other popular hobbies along the along.

The interesting aspect of the locks is that adjacent to each lock is a broad and shallow pond. The main reason for this, I have learnt, is to prevent waves overflowing a lock when an adjacent one is opened. A combination of steepness and short sections between locks means that opening a lock releases water fairly rapidly to create such waves. The pond becomes a temporary reservoir for this rush of water. Once the initial force has died off, the canal between the two locks starts to fill up quite quickly. These ponds are havens for grey herons and swans, both of which can be easily spotted.

For most part the waters are clean but not clear. In other words, we do not find any debris of modern consumerism floating around and at the same time we are not able to see anything below the surface of the canal. These are not the clear streams of mountain in some untouched wilderness. Clear waters show us what's inside; muddy waters simply reflect the muddy world.

Lacock Abbey and Village

I stayed on Saturday night at a campsite adjacent to the canal. The campsite at Lower Foxhangers bordered a field of barley. It was a beautiful place to be and I was reluctant to leave. It was only after mid-day that I packed my stuff and continued on my way to Lacock. Before I left, I had a chat with a couple from Wales who were at the campsite with their caravan. They were friendly enough to show me the interiors of their caravan. As I had never stepped into one, I was delighted to be shown around.

It has a double bed at the rear. Next to it is a proper toilet and a shower, both combined into a single small space. The main door leads into the living room furnished with two comfortable sofas which can also be used as beds. Next to one of these sofas is an attached kitchen with cookers, washing facility and refrigerator. There are cabinets running all around the top. There is also a loft above the driver's seat. This loft can be used to sleep two more or simply as space for additional storage. The two seats in front can be turned round to face the living room in the middle. A compact coffee table can be raised up in between the sofas. It can be extended to make a large dining table. There is a television wedged between two cabinets. Below one of the sofas is a water tank. An awning can be extended from the side of the caravan. Bicycles can be attached to the rear on the outside. A camera is attached to the rear to help in reversing. The couple bought this five year old caravan for £39,000 three years ago. Today something like this would cost £50,000. Their next destination is Hereford and Worcester, before going on a two-week caravan trip to Germany. They are trying to do as much travelling as they can before they retire. They say they can't really afford to do this in retirement. They are still paying for the caravan in monthly instalments.

On the way to Lacock, as unbelievable as it may sound, I found some gypsies camping in a small grassy patch under the shade of trees. Mind you, this was not gypsies driving around in modern caravans. Two waggons had been pitched in the field. One horse was nibbling on grass next to these waggons. It was almost like stepping into a countryside scene in a Victorian novel. It is difficult to describe anything about these waggons, their appearance or their contents. It was a confusing mix of pots, pans, rags, clothes, tools, colours and more. These were spilling from the waggons, from within, above and below. I didn't want to be intrusive to the occupants who minded their own business. Moreover, I was not comfortable with the dogs that started barking at my approach.

When I finally reached Lacock, I found more American tourists in this village than anyone local. Figuring out the life of this village is therefore not a difficult guess. The comment I had once made of Abbotsbury is equally applicable here. This village is today nothing more than a destination for tourists and there is good reason for it. It is a pretty village of stone buildings. We are not talking about just one or two such buildings but an entire street of such buildings. It is in a way quite similar to the villages of the Cotswolds. There is a notable tithe barn built of stone, mortar and timber roof structure covered with slate tiles. Since most of the residents of the village were tenants of the Abbey, they had to pay their rents. This they did mostly in kind at this barn, "tithe" being a proportion of their produce which would be corn or fleece. A circular doorway that leads into the barn from the main road is today walled up. Next to this barn is a small prison used to restrain the drunk and the disorderly at night.

In one of these houses, some of which are still lived in, an American tourist spotted a little girl watching television. "Look, they have TVs here!" she exclaimed to her companion. "You wouldn't think they have such things, would you?" she added. Indeed, looking at Lacock we may be tempted to state that here time has come to a standstill. However, such a statement is facile and false. Nothing is superior to time. Time stands above us all and everything must undergo change, improvement or decay. While the world has changed and moved on, Lacock has refused to shake off its lethargy. It suffers the consequences. It has been left behind. The effects of time on Lacock are plain. All buildings are old and require regular maintenance. For example, the tithe barn was restored by the National Trust in the 1950s. The church that stands by the old Abbey is today under a phase of restoration. Many more have been perhaps been lost forever.

On the other hand, if Lacock is not a place to live, it is definitely a place to visit for a few hours. It is exactly for the same reasons I have just mentioned that Lacock stands as if preserved in a medieval cultural capsule if not a hermetic time capsule. In its anachronistic buildings, streets and corners, we find the charm and beauty of medieval architecture that complement the architecture of our own age. These stone buildings and timber-framed structures link us with elements of a natural landscape that surrounds us. They are in stark contrast to the processed materials of steel, glass and concrete that we are so used to these days. Lacock offers us a pleasant relief from our present day living spaces and puts us in touch with our past.

Lacock Abbey from the 13th century is just as interesting as the village. It is owned by the National Trust as is the village, but parts of the abbey house are still private and used by the Talbot family. After the Dissolution the abbey was transformed for private living. The house with its turrets and incised chimneys is approached via a Tudor archway ornamented with an ogee arch with finials. Similar arches frame the windows on the west facade. In the hall, we find early examples of 18th Gothic Revival style with terracotta figures occupying little niches in the walls. Elaborate coats of arms decorate the ceiling. A Tudor fireplace faces the main doorway. In the Blue Parlour, I found two Indian teak cabinets inlaid with ivory. They are said to be from late 19th century. The Tower Room is an interesting room formerly used to store valuables of the house. It is a small octagonal space with a fascinating stone vaulting that end in decorated pendants. The cloisters including the surrounding rooms are among the best preserved sections of the old abbey. All the bays in the cloisters are in Perpendicular style with the exception of one that faces Countess Ela's tomb. There is also a restored brewery which can be accessed through an elegant courtyard.

Perhaps one of the most curious findings for a common tourist is the central oriel window on the south facade and the significance attached to it. If in Much Wenlock they can make rightful claim to the revival of modern Olympics, here in Lacock Abbey we find the birth of something that's become an indispensable tool for the modern tourist. It is here that William Henry Fox Talbot created the first photographic negative back in 1835. It was only in 1839 that Sir John Hershel coined the termed "negative". Just a few years before, Daguerreotype has been invented in France but the process had the limitation that only one "positive" picture could be produce from every exposure. Henry Talbot's negative overcame that limitation. The subject of the first negative had been the central oriel window. Although National Trust prohibits indoor photograph I was permitted to take a picture of this window. I did not even request the room steward for such a permission, but he prompted me to take one anyway.

A Complex Equation

It occurred to me today that life is a complex equation. Mathematics is precise. There is no doubt or uncertainty. Uncertainty, if there is any, remains so only if we have not been able to express them. Once an uncertainty is expressed in mathematics, it becomes precise. An inequality, once expressed, becomes clear in its relationship. Measurement of a quantity may be imprecise but once it is put into numbers and mathematical operations, the limits of deviation are precisely defined.

Mathematicians have given us many equations. Each equation is a fundamental truth of the world. Students of the Theory of Relativity will understand that energy and mass are equivalent. This is just as I have realized over time that God and Nature are equivalent. Students of astronomy will be familiar with Kepler's Laws of Planetory Motion or Newton's Gravitational Constant. Students of electromagnetics will know the famous Maxwell's equations. If we have not understood these, we would perhaps have neither radio, nor television, nor mobile phones. Students of chemistry will know that PV=nRT and that constant called Avogadro's Number.

Life is a complex equation in which there are many variables and constants. There are many knowns and unknowns. We witness the world around us - the sun, the moon, the stars, the planets, the grass, the downs, the clouds, the wind, the rain... Some who have come before us have attempted to understand these. They built theories to understand and to express their beliefs. They built Silbury Hill. They built the Sanctuary. The built the stone circles and stone avenues. Others have enquired from a scientific angle in an attempt to get closer to truth.

The more we enquire the more we realize that more and more variables affect this equation. We investigate into each of these variables until they become known quantities. Yet, it appears to me that the one unknown that we are after is not a variable but a constant. Death is the unknown constant. All the variables that we have discovered and understood are important to solve this unknown constant. So we go on travelling, trying to understand the world around us with its various variables, trying to make sense of them all and their relationships, in the hope that we may discover the unknown constant that is the end of all things living. The difficulty is that unlike Einstein's E=mc², there is no single equation. Each individual has an equation of his own. He must search alone.

Part1 | Part2

From a series called "Talbot's Shadow" inspired by Carter's admiration of the work of William Henry Fox Talbot.

How it's done.

theteach :)