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Julia Margaret Cameron

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Biografía (Español) - Virginia Woolf - Fuente Luna Córnea

Virginia Woolf (1882-1941), descendiente directa de Julia Margaret Cameron, es una de las mayores prosistas del siglo 20. Autora de obras como Las olas, Orlando y Al faro, la escritora retrata en esta evocación el carácter excéntrico de la fotógrafa, sus pasiones y vicisitudes, pero también el trasfondo de la fotografía victoriana y su propia experiencia en el arte de la fotografía.

(En 1870, fotografiada por su hijo)

Julia Margaret Cameron, la tercera hija de James Pattle del Servicio Civil Bengalí, nació el 11 de junio de 1815. Su padre era un caballero de señalada pero dudosa reputación, quien después de vivir una vida revoltosa y de ganarse el título de “el más grande mentiroso de la India”, bebió finalmente hasta morir y fue consignado en un barril de ron para esperar su embarco a Inglaterra. El barril fue puesto junto a la puerta del cuarto de la viuda. A medianoche oyó una explosión violenta, salió corriendo y encontró a su marido, quien había hecho saltar la tapa de su ataúd, erguido, amenazándola de muerte como lo había hecho en vida. “El shock la hizo desvariar, pobrecita, y murió loca. Es el padre de la señorita Ethel Smyth el que cuenta la historia (en Impressions that Remained), y continúa diciendo que, después de que “Jim Llamarada” fue clavado de nuevo y embarcado, los marineros se bebieron el licor en el que el cuerpo había sido preservado, “y por Júpiter, el ron se derramó, ardió en llamas e incendió el barco. Y mientras trataban de apagar el fuego, el barco se precipitó hacia una roca, explotó y fue arrastrado hacia la playa justo debajo de Hooghly. ¿Y qué creen que dijeron los marineros? ‘Que ese Pattle era tan bribón que el diablo no quiso que abandonara la India!’”

Su hija heredó esa vena de vitalidad indomable. Si su padre era famoso por sus mentiras, la señora Cameron tenía el don de una lengua ardiente y una conducta pintoresca que han quedado impresas en las reposadas páginas de la biografía victoriana. Pero fue de su madre, se presume, que heredó el amor por la belleza y el desprecio por las frías y formales convenciones de la sociedad inglesa. Pues la sensible dama a la que la visión del cuerpo de su marido había matado, era francesa de nacimiento. Era la hija de Chevalier Antoine de I’Étang, uno de los pajes de María Antonieta, que había estado en prisión con la reina hasta su muerte y que fue salvado de la guillotina sólo a causa de su propia juventud. Fue enviado al exilio a la India con su mujer, quien había sido una de las damas de la reina, y es en Ghazipur, con una miniatura que le dio María Antonieta colgando sobre su pecho, que yace enterrado.
Pero los de I’Étang trajeron de Francia un regalo de mayor valor que la miniatura de la desdichada reina. La vieja Madame de I’Étang era extremadamente bella. Su hija, la señora Pattle, era encantadora. Seis de la siete hijas de la señora Pattle eran aún más encantadoras que ella. “Lady Eastnor es una de las más bellas mujeres que jamás se haya visto en el país”, escribió Henry Greville de la más joven, Virginia. Ella padeció el destino común de la temprana belleza victoriana: fue acosada en las calles, celebrada en odas e incluso fue el tema de un artículo en Punch debido a Thackeray, “A propósito de una bella dama”. No importaba que las hermanas hubieran sido criadas por su abuela francesa más de acuerdo con la tradición familiar que en el amor por los libros, “Ellas eran artísticas hasta la yema de los dedos, con aprecio –casi podría llamarse culto– por la belleza”. En la India sus conquistas fueron muchas y, cuando se casaron y se establecieron en Inglaterra, tuvieron la habilidad de crear en torno suyo, y afuera en Freshwater o en Little Holland House, una sociedad propia (“Pattledom”, fue bautizada por Sir Henry Taylor), donde podían arreglar y tapizar, echar abajo y construir, y seguir viviendo de una manera arbitraria y aventurera que los pintores y escritores, y aún los serios hombres de negocios encontraban muy de su agrado. “Little Holland House, donde vivía el señor Watts, era para mí un paraíso”, escribió Ellen Terry: “allí sólo se permitía la entrada a las cosas hermosas. Todas las mujeres eran agraciadas, y todos los hombres talentosos”. Allí, en las muchas habitaciones de la vieja casa de Dower, la señora Prinsep alojaba a Watts y a Burne Jones y recibía a numerosos amigos, entre árboles y prados que parecían estar en medio del campo, aunque el tránsito de Hyde Park Corner estaba sólo a dos millas de distancia. Cualquiera fuese la cosa que emprendía, fuera en pro de la religión o de la amistad, era hecha de manera entusiasta.
¿La habitación era demasiado oscura para un amigo? La señora Cameron mandaba inmediatamente abrir una ventana para que entrara el sol. ¿Estaba el sobrepelliz del Reverendo C. Beanlands apenas pasablemente limpio? La señora Prinsep organizaba una lavandería en su propia casa y lavaba toda la ropa del clérigo de St. Michael a su propia costa. Luego, cuando sus allegados intervenían y le imploraban que controlara sus extravagancias, ella hacía un gesto afirmativo con la cabeza con sus blancos y coquetos rizos en señal de obediencia daba un suspiro de alivio ni bien los consejeros la abandonaban y volaba al escritorio para despachar a sus hermanas telegrama tras telegrama describiendo la visita.
“Ciertamente, nadie podía refrenar a los Pattle sino ellos mismos”, doce Lady Troubridge. Cierta vez, sin embargo, se supo que el gentil señor Watts montó en cólera. Encontró a dos pequeñas, las nietas de la señora Prinsep, gritándose una a la otra con los oídos tapados de manera que no podían oír otras voces, salvo las propias. Entonces les dio una charla sobre la obstinación, un vicio que, dijo, habían heredado de su antepasada francesa, Madame de I’Étang. “Crecerán siendo mujeres autoritarias”, les dijo, “si no se cuidan”. ¿Acaso no cargan con un antepasado que hizo saltar la tapa de su ataúd?
Ciertamente Julia Margaret Cameron se había convertido en una mujer imperiosa; pero carecía de la belleza de sus hermanas. En el trío en el que, se decía, Lady Somers era la Belleza y la señora Prinsep el Brío, la señora Cameron era indudablemente el Talento.
“Ella parecía reunir en sí misma todas las cualidades de una familia notable” escribía la señora Watts, “presentándolas en una forma doblemente destilada. Doblada la generosidad de la más generosa de las hermanas y la impulsividad de la más impulsiva. Si ellas eran entusiastas, ella lo era el doble; si eran persuasivas, ella era invencible. Tenía ojos extraordinariamente bellos, que centellaban como sus frases, y que se volvían más suaves y tiernos si estaba conmovida…” Pero para una niña, ella era una aparición aterradora: “baja y llenita, sin nada de la gracia ni de la belleza de los Pattle, aunque con un porcentaje mayor de obstinación y de energía apasionada. Vestida con ropas oscuras, manchada con los químicos de su fotografía (y oliendo también a ellos), con un rostro ávido y redondo y una voz fuerte, un poco dura, y sin embargo, de alguna manera, apremiante e incluso encantadora”, salía precipitadamente del estudio en dimbola, ajustaba pesadas alas de cisnes a los hombros de los niños y les ordenaba permanecer quietos y actuar la parte de los Ángeles de la Navidad apoyados en los baluartes del Firmamento

Pero la fotografía y las alas de cisne todavía no se vislumbraban. Durante muchos años su energía y sus poderes creativos fueron dirigidos a la vida familiar y a los deberes sociales. En 1838 se casó con un hombre muy distinguido, Charles Hay Cameron, “jurista benthamita y filósofo de gran erudición y capacidad”, que desempeñó el cargo, previamente ocupado por Lord Macaulay, de cuarto Miembro del Consejo en Calcuta. En ausencia de la esposa del Gobernador General, la señora Cameron estaba a la cabeza de la sociedad europea de la India, y era esto, en opinión de Sir Henry Taylor, lo que avivaba su desprecio por las maneras mundanas cuando regresaron a Inglaterra. En todo caso, tenía poco respeto por las convenciones de Putney. Llamaba a su mayordomo perentoriamente “Señor”. Vestía batas de un terciopelo rojo subido, caminaba con sus amigos revolviendo una taza de té al andar, camino a la estación de trenes, en tiempos de un calor estival. No había excentricidad que no se permitiera en nombre de ellos, ni sacrificio que no hiciera para procurarse algunos minutos más de su compañía. Sir Henry y Lady Taylor padecieron la furia extrema de su afecto. Chales hindúes, brazaletes de turquesa carpetas incrustadas, elefantes de marfil, “etc.”, llovían sobre sus cabezas. Les prodigaba cartas de seis hojas de largo “todo sobre nosotros”. Desairada por un momento, “le dijo a Alice (Lady Taylor) que antes de que acabara el año la querría como a una hermana”, y antes de que acabara el año Lady Taylor difícilmente podía imaginar lo que sería la vida sin la señora Cameron. Los Taylor la amaban; Aubrey de Vere la amaba; Lady Monteagle la amaba; e “incluso Lord Monteagle, a quien no le gusta ninguna otra excentricidad, siente aprecio por ella”. Era imposible, pensaba, no amar a esa mujer “genial, ardiente y generosa”, que tenía “una capacidad de amar en un grado nunca superado por nadie y una misma determinación de ser amada”. Si era imposible rechazar su afecto, era aún más peligroso rechazar sus chales. Amenazaba con quemarlos o, si el obsequio era regresado, lo vendía y compraba con las ganancias un costoso sofá para inválidos que regalaba al Hospital de Incurables Putney con una inscripción que decía, para gran sorpresa de Lady Taylor, cuando se topaba casualmente con él, que se trataba de un obsequio de la propia Lady Taylor. Era mejor, en definitiva, doblegarse y conformarse con el chal.

Fotografía norteamericana en la primera mitad del siglo 20 - Entrevistas con Fidel Castro - Vida y Obra de Farabundo Marti - Textos externos: La luz en la naturaleza y en el laboratorio

Mientras tanto, ella buscaba una expresión más permanente de sus abundantes energías en la literatura. Traducía del alemán, escribía poesía y avanzó lo suficiente en una novela como para poner a Sir Henry Taylor bastante nervioso: no fuera que lo instara a leerla toda. Volumen tras volumen fue despachado por correo. Escribía cartas hasta que el cartero se iba, y luego comenzaba las posdatas. Mandaba al jardinero en busca del cartero, al hijo del jardinero tras el jardinero, haciendo que el burro galopara todo el camino a Yarmouth en pos del hijo del jardinero. Sentada en la Estación Wandsworth escribía página tras página a Alfred Tennyson hasta que, “cuando ya estaba cerrando tu carta me llegó el silbido del tren y luego el vociferar de los maleteros con la amenaza de que el tren no me esperaría”, por lo que tuvo que deslizar el documento en manos extrañas y correr escaleras abajo. Todos los días le escribía a Henry Taylor, y todos los días él le respondía.

(
Virginia Woolf - Retrato de Man Ray - 1935 - A la derecha)

Muy poco queda de esta enorme locuacidad cotidiana. La era victoriana mató el arte de escribir cartas por gentileza: era simplemente demasiado fácil recibir el correo. Una dama sentada en su escritorio hace cien años tenía ante sí no sólo ciertos ideales de lógica y reserva, sino también sabía que una carta que costaba tanto dinero enviar y que entusiasmaba tanto recibir era digna de tiempo y de esfuerzo. Con Ruskin y Carlyle en el poder, un correo barato, un jardinero, el hijo del jardinero y un burro al galope para atrapar el desbordamiento de inspiración, la reserva era innecesaria y la emoción daba, quizá más crédito a la dama que el sentido común. Así, sumergirnos en las cartas privadas de la era victoriana es estar inmersos en las alegrías y en las penas de familias enormes, es compartir sus tos ferinas, resfríos y desventuras, día a día, en verdad hora tras hora. El grado de afecto familiar era muy alto. La enfermedad provocaba una lluvia de preguntas y ternezas. Se observaba el tiempo ansiosamente para ver si Richard se mojaría en Cheltenham o si Jane agarraría un catarro en Broadstairs. Las fechorías por parte de las institutrices, los cocineros y los doctores (“incurrió en un descuido culpable, en profunda ignorancia”, la señora Cameron diría del médico familiar) eran detallados profusamente y el más mínimo alejamiento de la moral familiar era puesto de relieve escrupulosamente y comunicado con locuacidad.
Las cartas de la señora Cameron se formaron según este modelo; ella aconsejaba, exhortaba e inquiría por la salud de la querida Emily con soltura, pero sus corresponsales eran con frecuencia hombres de genio exaltado a quienes ella podía expresar el lado más romántico de su naturaleza. Con Tennyson discurría sobre la belleza de la señora Hambro, “traviesa y agraciada como una gatita y con la forma y la mirada de un antílope…Su complexión (o más bien su piel) es perfecta, como la hoja de “esa flor consumada”, la magnolia –una flor, pienso, tan misteriosa en su belleza como si fuera la única cosa inmaculada e incorrupta que quedara del jardín del Edén …Nosotros teníamos un árbol de magnolia común en nuestro jardín de Sheen, y en las calladas noches de verano la luna iluminaba aquellos ricos floreros maduros, y despedían un aroma que hacía que el alma desfalleciera en esa sensación del lujo del mundo de las flores”. A partir de frases como éstas, es fácil intuir por qué Sir Henry Taylor veía la perspectiva de leer su novela con terror. “Su genio (del que está bien dotada) es demasiado profuso y redundante, no distingue entre lo afortunado y lo desafortunado”, escribió. “Vive de superlativos como si fuera su pan de cada día”.
Pero el apogeo de la carrera de la señora Cameron estaba a un paso. En 1860, los Cameron compraron dos o tres casitas cubiertas de rosas en Freshwater, las administraron juntos y les anexaron algunas cabañas para dar cabida al desbordamiento de su hospitalidad. Porque en Dimbola –tomaron el nombre de la propiedad del señor Cameron en Ceilán– todo el mundo era bienvenido. “Las convenciones no tenían lugar allí”. La señora Cameron era capaz de invitar a almorzar a una familia que había conocido en el vapor sin preguntarles su nombre, o invitar a pasar a un turista sin sonmbrero a quien había conocido en el acantilado para que escogiera un sombrero él mismo, o adoptar a una mendiga irlandesa y enviar a su hija a la escuela junto con sus propios hijos. “¿Qué será de ella?”, se preguntaba Henry Taylor, pero se consolaba a sí mismo con la reflexión de que aunque Julia Cameron y sus hermanas “tienen más de esperanza que de sensatez”, “la humanidad es en ellas más fuerte que el sentimentalismo”, y que generalmente llevaban buen fin sus excéntricas empresas. De hecho la hija de la pordiosera se convirtió en una hermosa mujer, pasó a ser la doncella de la señora, posó para un retrato, el hijo de un hombre rico la pidió en matrimonio, ocupó esta posición con dignidad y eficacia, y en 1878 gozaba de un ingreso de dos mil cuatrocientas libras al año. Poco a poco la villa tomó forma y color bajo las manos de la señora Cameron. Se construyó un pequeño teatro donde los jóvenes actuaban. Cuando las noches eran agradables iban a lo de los Tennyson y bailaban. Si había tormenta (y la señora Cameron prefería la tempestad a la calma) caminaba por la playa y mandaba a buscar a Tennyson para que caminara a su lado. El colorido de las ropas que usaba, el brillo y la hospitalidad de la casa que ella gobernaba, les recordaba el Oriente a sus huéspedes. Pero si es cierto que había un elemento de “familiaridad feudal”, había también un sentido de “disciplina feudal”. La señora Cameron era extremadamente franca. Podía ser terriblemente despótica. “Si llegas a caer en la tentación”, le decía a una prima, “arrodíllate y piensa en tu tía Julia”. Era cáustica y cándida de lengua. Perseguía a Tennyson hasta su torre gritándole: “¡Cobarde!, ¡Cobarde!” y lo obligaba a dejarse vacunar. Tenía oídos y también sus amores, y su ánimo oscilaba “entre el séptimo cielo y un pozo sin fondo”. Había visitantes que encontraban perturbadora su compañía, tan extraños y audaces eran sus métodos de conversación, mientras que la variedad y el brillo de la sociedad que agrupaba en torno suyo ocasionó que una “pobre señorita Stephen” se lamentara: “¿Es que no hay nadie común y corriente?”, al ver a cuatro jóvenes de Jowett bebiendo brandy con agua y escuchar a Tennyson recitando Maud, mientras que el señor Cameron, con un sombrero en forma de cono, un velo y varios abrigos, caminaba por el jardín que su esposa, en un rapto de entusiasmo, había creado durante al noche.
En 1865, cuando ella tenía cincuenta años, su hijo le regaló una cámara que sdo por fin salida a las energías que había disipado en poemas y ficciones, arreglando casas y elaborando curries y entreteniendo a sus amigos. Ahora se volvió fotógrafa. Toda su sensibilidad se expresó –y lo que quizá fue aún más conveniente, se contuvo– en el arte recién nacido. La carbonera se convirtió en cuarto oscuro, el corral en su casa de vidrio. Los barqueros se transformaron en el rey Arturo, las aldeanas en la reina Ginebra. Tennyson fue envuelto en harapos; Sir Henry Taylor fue coronado con oropel. La doncella posó para su retrato mientras un huésped atendía la puerta. “Trabajaba infructuosa, pero no desesperanzadamente”, escribió la señora Cameron por esta época. En verdad, era infatigable. “Solía decir que en su fotografía había que destruir cien negativos antes de alcanzar un buen resultado, y su objetivo era superar el realismo disminuyendo al mínimo la precisión del foco”. Como una tigresa cuando de sus hijos se trataba, era extraordinariamente flexible en relación a su arte. Manchas pardas aparecían en sus manos y el olor de los químicos se mezclaba con el aroma de la zarza dulce en el camino cercano a su casa.
Nada le importaban las miserias ni el rango de sus modelos. Tanto el carpintero como el príncipe coronado de Prusia debían permanecer sentados e inmóviles como piedras en las actitudes que ella elegía, entre los cortinajes dispuestos por ella, y durante el tiempo que ella quisiera. No tenía en nada a las dificultades ni a los fracasos ni al agotamiento. “Ansiaba capturar toda la belleza que llegaba a mí, y a la larga mi anhelo fue satisfecho”, escribió. Los pintores alababan su arte; los escritores se maravillaban con el carácter que revelaban sus retratos. Ella misma ardía de satisfacción ante sus propias creaciones. “Es una bendición divina la que ha acompañado a mi fotografía”, escribió, “da placer a millones”. Prodigaba sus fotos entre sus amigos y familiares, lsa colgaba en las salas de espera de las estaciones de ferrocarril y las ofrecía, se dice, a los maleteros a falta de cambio.
El viejo señor Cameron, mientras tanto, se retiraba cada vez con mayor frecuencia a la relativa privacidad de su cuarto. A él no le gustaba la vida social, pero la soportaba como soportaba todos los caprichos de su mujer, con filosofía y afecto. “Julia está repartiendo Ceilán”, decía, cuando ella se embarcaba en otra aventura o extravagancia. Su hospitalidad y las pérdidas en la cosecha de café (“Charles me habla de la flor de la planta de café. Yo le digo que los ojos del primer nieto deben ser más hermosos que todas las flores”, decía ella) habían llevado su economía a un estado precario. Pero no eran sólo las ansiedades propias de los negocios las que hacían que el señor Cameron quisiera visitar Ceilán. El viejo filósofo se obsesionó cada vez más con el deseo de regresar a Oriente. Había paz, había calor; estaban los monos y los elefantes entre los que una vez había vivido “como amigo y hermano”. Súbitamente, pues lo habían mantenido en secreto entre sus amistades, los Cameron anunciaron que irían a visitar a sus hijos a Ceilán. Se hicieron los preparativos y los amigos fueron a despedirse de ellos a Southampton. Dos ataúdes les precedieron a bordo, llenos de cristal y porcelana, por si no se conseguían ataúdes en Oriente. El viejo filósofo, con sus ojos fijos y brillantes y su barba “bañada en la luz de la luna”, sostenía en una mano su báculo de marfil y en la otra la rosa encarnada de Lady Tennnyson le había regalado antes de partir, mientras que la señora Cameron, “grave y valiente”, gritaba sus últimas indicaciones y gobernaba no sólo innumerables bultos sino también una vaca.
Llegaron sanos y salvos a Ceilán, y en agradecimiento la señora Cameron abrió una suscripción para obsequiarle al capitán un armonio. Había tantos árboles en torno a su casa en Kalutara que los conejos y las ardillas y los pájaros minah entraban y salían, mientras un hermoso ciervo domesticado hacía guardia ante la puerta de entrada. Marianne North, la viajera, los visitó allí y encontró al viejo señor Cameron en un estado de perfecta felicidad, recitando poemas, caminando de aquí a allá por la veranda con su largo cabello blanco derramándose sobre sus hombros, y su báculo de marfil en la mano. Adentro de la casa, la señora Cameron tomaba fotos todavía. Las paredes estaban cubiertas de cuadros magníficos que se tambaleaban sobre las mesas y las sillas y se mezclaban en una confusión pintoresca con libros y tapices. La señora Cameron decidió de inmediato fotografiar a su huésped y durante tres días estuvo enfebrecida por la excitación. “Me hizo permanecer de pies con unas puntiagudas ramas de coco elevadas sobre mi cabeza…y me dijo que adoptara una apariencia absolutamente natural”, observó la señorita North. Los mismos métodos e ideales que un día imperaron en Freshwater imperaban en Ceilán. Se conservó un jardinero, aunque no había jardín y el hombre jamás había oído de la existencia de tal cosa, por la sola razón de que la señora Cameron pensaba que su espalda era “absolutamente soberbia”. Y cuando la señorita North, desprevenida, manifestó su admiración por un hermoso chal verde brizna que la señora Cameron llevaba puesto, ella tomó un par de tijeras, y diciendo: “Sí, te sentará de maravilla”, lo cortó por la mitad de extremo a extremo instándola a que lo compartieran. Por fin, llegó el momento de que la señorita North se fuera. Pero la señora Cameron aún no podía soportar que sus amigos la abandonaran. Igual que en Putney salía a acompañarlos revolviendo el té mientras caminaba, también en Kalutara ella y toda su comitiva debieron escoltar a la invitada cuesta abajo por la colina y esperar al cochero a la medianoche. Dos años más tarde (en 1879) murió. Los pájaros, revoloteando, entraban y salían por la puerta abierta; las fotografías se agitaban sobre la mesa. Y, acostada ante una gran ventana abierta, la señora Cameron vio las estrellas brillar, murmuró la sola palabra “Hermoso”, y entonces murió.


Biography - Cameron, Julia Margaret - Robert Leggat - 00 - Source Robert Leggat

b. 11 June 1815; d. 26 January 1879

Julia Margaret Cameron was an English photographer known for her portraits of eminent people of the day, and for her romantic pictures which, despite their technical imperfections, stand the test of time.

Her involvement in photography came about as a result of the kindness of her eldest daughter. Julia Margaret, by this time was aged forty-nine, her children had grown up, and her husband was often abroad on business. As a result she suffered from loneliness, and her daughter, to make her life more fulfilling, bought her a camera. From this simple beginning a new hobby began, which was to turn into an obsession. The comments in her book give a delightful glimpse of this lady:

"I longed to arrest all beauty that came before me, and at length the longing has been satisfied. Its difficulty enhanced the value of the pursuit. I began with no knowledge of the art. 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..."

"I turned my coal-house into my dark room, and a glazed fowl-house I had given to my children became my glass house! The hens were liberated, I hope and believe not eaten. The profit of my boys upon new laid eggs was stopped, and all hands and hearts sympathised in my new labour, since the society of hens and chickens was soon changed for that of poets, prophets, painters and lovely maidens...."

As to the delight that her first successful portrait brought her......

"I took one child... appealing to her feelings and telling her of the waste of poor Mrs. Cameron's chemicals and strength if she moved. The appeal had its effect, and I now produced a picture which I called "My first success."

"I was in a transport of delight, I ran all over the house to search for gifts for the child. I felt as if she entirely had made the picture. I printed, toned, fixed and framed it, and presented it to her father that same day: size 11 by 9 inches."

"Sweet, sunny haired little Annie! No later prize has effaced the memory of this joy....."

It has to be said that Julia Margaret Cameron was not the best of technicians. Some of her negatives show uneven coating of collodion, and above all, dust particles. Many of her prints are faded. Indeed, a critical entry in the Photographic Journal commented: "Mrs. Cameron will do better when she has learned the proper use of her apparatus." Lewis Carroll's comments were in the same vein:

"In the evening Mrs. Cameron and I had a mutual exhibition of photographs. Hers are all taken purposely out of focus - some are very picturesque - some merely hideous - however, she talks of them as if they were triumphs of art."

Nevertheless, Cameron had a tremendous capacity to visualise a picture, and her portraits show a measure of vitality which the work of many others of the time did not. Among her most famous portraits are those of Herschel and Tennyson. She was greatly appreciated abroad, and won a number of major prizes. No less a person than Victor Hugo, the poet, wrote "No one has ever captured the rays of the sun and used them as you have. I throw myself at your feet". She must also have been a tremendously magnetic personality; Benjamin Jowett wrote of her: "Perhaps she has a tendency to make the house shake the moment she enters, but in this dull world that is a very excusable fault".

She was also influenced by the Pre-Raphaelite school, which sought to return to artistic practices of Europe in late Mediaeval times; a classic example is the delightful portrait of Alice Liddell (on whom the story of Alice in Wonderland is based), entitled "Alethea." Another is the "Kiss of Peace." Many of her photographs of women and children are undisguisedly sentimental, others are delightful and penetrating studies.

Exposures lasting between one minute and as many as seven, the fact that the pictures show such lack of self consciousness may be largely due to her overpowering personality.

We tend to remember her best pictures. Some, to put it mildly, were pretty awful. "Idylls of the King" , for example, has a very poor attempt at a moon on the top left, and cheesecloth to represent water, whilst "The Passing of Arthur" almost verges on the ridiculous! Looking beyond the banal, some remain as rather lovely pictures; an example is "Venus Chiding Cupid and Removing His Wings."

One of photography's eccentrics, her work is still admired and greatly sought-after today. In her book "Annals of my Glass House", which was unfinished, she wrote of the distinguished people who faced her camera:

"When I have such men before my camera my whole soul has endeavoured to do its duty towards them, in recording faithfully the greatness of the inner as well as the features of the outer man"

The photographic press spoke harshly of her technical mastery of photography, or rather the lack of it; Thomas Sutton wrote of her work:

"Admirable, expressive and vigorous, but dreadfully opposed to photographic conventions and proprieties"

whilst The Photographic Journal for 15 February 1865 reads:

"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."

The Photographic News, 20 March 1868, reporting upon one of her exhibitions in London, reads:

"There is, in many cases, much evidence of art feeling, especially in the light and shade, and composition... often being awkward. The subjects... such as Sir John Herschel, Henry Taylor, Holman Hunt, Alfred Tennyson and others - are full of interest in themselves, and are often noble in form and appearance, a circumstance which alone gives value to the exhibition. Not even the distinguished character of some of the heads serve, however, to redeem the result of wilfully imperfect photography from being altogether repulsive: one portrait of the Poet Laureate presents him in a guise which would be sufficient to convict him, if he were ever charged as a rogue and vagabond, before any bench of magistrates in the kingdom......."

Her force of personality made her a formidable photographer, capable of bullying anyone, however famous, into submission. Sitting for her could be quite an ordeal. Tennyson once brought Longfellow to her studio, warning him:

"Longfellow, you will have to do whatever she tells you. I shall return soon and see what is left of you."

Commenting about a portrait of Wilfred Ward, she once wrote to a friend:

"I counted four hundred and five hundred and got one good picture. Poor Wilfrid said it was torture to sit so long, that he was a martyr! I bid him be still and be thankful. I said, I am the martyr. Just try the taking instead of the sitting!"

Because she believed in subdued lighting and had large photographic plates, exposures could last several minutes. After each picture had been taken she would disappear into her coal-cellar cum darkroom, to prepare another plate, her victims having been warned not to move a muscle.

She was clearly supported by a long-suffering family. In her book she writes:

"Personal sympathy has helped me on very much. My husband from first to last has watched every picture with delight, and it is my daily habit to run to him with every glass upon which a fresh glory is newly stamped, and to listen to his enthusiastic applause. This habit of running into the dining-room with my wet pictures has stained such an immense quantity of table linen with nitrate of silver, indelible stains, that I should have been banished from any less indulgent household...."

Cameron received honours abroad, but recognition did not come easily at home. She wrote:

"The Photographic Society of London in their Journal would have dispirited me very much had I not valued that criticism at its worth. It was unsparing and too manifestly unjust for me to attend to it...."

She presented an album to Sir John Herschel; this is now in the National Portrait Gallery in London.

Julia died in Ceylon in January 1879. In a lengthy obituary The Times gives a vivid picture of this remarkable lady:

"Mrs. Cameron appealed to a..wide...public by her pefectly original and unique photographic work and subject pictures in which, after a daring fashion of her own, forfeiting the sharpness of definition which ordinary photographers strive for, and which is one of the things artists most dislike in photographic portraiture...she produced a series of heads and groups... unique in their suggestiveness...

Mrs. Cameron's singular ardour of enthusiasm, the energy with which she flung herself into whatever she undertook, her rare forgetfulness of self and readiness to help others, endeared her to a wide circle of friends.

...so full of life and energy, so ripe with plans and projects, so buoyant of spirits, so vivid in her interests, so keen in her friendships, and so overflowing in her friendliness."

The Royal Photographic Society owns nearly 800 of her albumen and carbon prints and portraits, together with a handwritten manuscript of her autobiography.

A Trust has been set up to ensure the preservation of Dimbola Lodge and Cameron House, and to provide historical information on Julia Margaret Cameron's life and works. Details can be found at http://www.dimbola.co.uk

Julia Margaret Cameron - Katherine Marsh - Source University of Rochester

Julia Margaret Pattle was born in British India, on June 11, 1815, the daughter of an official in the Bengal Civil Service and a descendant of the French aristocracy. After her early years she received an education in France and England, returning to India in 1834. Four years later, in 1838, she married Charles Hay Cameron, twenty years her senior (Lukitsh 285). In 1848, after Charles retired, he and Julia returned to England where they raised five children, adding a sixth in 1857 when they adopted Mary Ryan. Through Julia's sister, Sarah Prinsep, the new arrivals cultivated a wide circle of elite, intellectual friends. It is this company of friends, family, and servants that Cameron used as models for her "tableux vivants" (Lukitsh 286).

In the course of her lifetime Cameron would come to know of the push for women's emancipation, the end of slavery in America, and the emergence of a new medium -- photography. Through her photography, Cameron expanded on the Victorian ideal and transcended her family legacy of women noted solely for their beauty. The aristocratic salons fostered her intellectual and artistic interest, and her social position afforded her the opportunity to pursue the arts and sciences while managing an active household.

In 1860, the family business required Charles and his sons to return to Sri Lanka, at which time the remainder of the family took up residence in Freshwater, Isle of Wight. It was then that Cameron became a neighbor and close friend to Alfred Lord Tennyson and his family.

By 1863, the coffee plantations, which provided the Camerons with the time and resources to entertain, began to suffer. Charles was again called away and, in his absence, Julia received a camera from her daughter and her son-in-law as a birthday gift. It is widely held that the young couple hoped to provide some diversion for her while Charles was attending to financial crises in Sri Lanka (Malcom 10). Her daughter, Julia, may have been aware of Cameron's rudimentary interest in photography when she suggested "It may amuse you, mother, to try to photograph during your solitude at Freshwater" (Malcolm 10).

Julia tried enthusiastically. The newly discovered ability of the photograph to create and document beauty triggered a fashionable interest as well as a heated debate as to whether or not the medium constituted art. Cameron's view is clearly stated in a letter to Sir John Herschel, to whom she writes, "My aspirations are to ennoble Photography and to secure for it the character and uses of High Art by combining the real and ideal sacrificing nothing of Truth by all possible devotion to Poetry and beauty" (Johnson 364).

By the year 1869, many women aspired to lives that involved less sacrifice than convention called for, and John Stuart Mill had published his feminist plea entitled On the Subjection of Women. Some maintain that Cameron was a purely Victorian woman, who held firm to the subordinate female role outlined by her Bible and society. It has been stated that her photographic collections are an indication that she "accepted maternity and marriage as high and holy offices" (Malcolm 12). Cameron maintained her matriarchal role, pursued her work, and received financial rewards as well as professional recognition while transcending conventional femininity, which required women to choose between home and career.

Her career could not have been more timely, as the coffee crops failed in Ceylon, Cameron was paid by Charles Darwin for the portraits she had produced of him. Her most highly acclaimed work included portraiture, but she also created allegorical narratives, tableaux vivants, and spiritual meditation in her photography. Her images, which often appear to have a degree of "theatricality and artificiality" (Malcom 14), offer typological interpretation of the Bible and anticipate the Pre-Raphaelite painters by one generation (Weaver 15). The soft focus, which serves as her trademark, was initially achieved by accident (Malcolm 14). While critics may look back and see a life of eccentricity and self-indulgence, it is difficult to accept claims that Cameron had not intended her family to benefit from her endeavors. In an ironic twist of fate, the thoughtful gift she had received from her daughter was to become a source of solace. In 1873, ten years after receiving her first camera, Cameron lost her first and only biological daughter, Julia. Symbolic of Cameron's quieted spirit, there are no records of any published photographs in that year. In his recollection of young Julia, Henry Taylor captures the void that Cameron's friends and family suffered. She had, he observed, "An entire simplicity, and unconscious honesty of mind...strength of understanding and clearness of purpose...resilience which is so often...regarded as a provision of Nature, and her originality took, along with other forms, the form of a determination to be commonplace" (Mozley 14).

Determination appears to have been characteristic of the Cameron women; the mother seemed to recall her daughter's gift and words, "try to photograph during your solitude," and Cameron forged ahead with her art. While the void born of her daughter's death remained, Cameron was not isolated for very long.

Cameron was surrounded by the visionary artists Lewis Carroll, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and Alfred Lord Tennyson. One of the more prominent influences in Cameron's work was Henry Peach Robinson, who believed photography should follow the artistic rules of composition for the canvas (Bogardus 101). George F. Watts encouraged her use of symbolism. The salon atmosphere of her gatherings established a degree of equality and trust between the sexes, and Cameron appears to have won the respect of her peers, despite the fact that the artistic value of photography was still widely questioned. Tennyson, before a photographic seating took place, once warned his friend in earnest, "Longfellow, you will have to do whatever she tells you. I shall return soon and see what is left of you" (Millard 188).

The "distraction" of her camera had evolved to a vocation that allowed Cameron to reflect on the issues and influence of her culture, using the medium to negotiate her own identity, and influence the destiny of others. Her portraits effectively celebrated the artists of her elite circle of friends and contributed to public recognition of men such as Henry Taylor, Sir John Herschel, and Robert Browning. While her fame seems to rest on her images of famous men, more recent analysis reveals a "more complex and enigmatic" (Malcolm 14) representation of women, suggestive of a feminist reading of her work.

Cameron's photographs show women in sharp contrast to the objectified female images previously represented in photography. Her women emanate purity through the lighting, and the fact that many of her figures appear out of focus suggests that she wished to emancipate the woman from a rigidly discounted identity. The collective woman could potentially be redefined as being free from the sins of Eve while her conventional attributes were represented permanently in the foreground. In her print "Girl Praying" (1866) one sees the child surrounded by, as well as filled with, light. The 1872 image "A Study of a Holy Family" shows a mother, almost Christ-like in her crown and bare shoulders, subdued by the cross. Additionally, the "Pensive Nun" image, in which Cameron has emblazoned a cross of light on the forehead of her subject, denotes a spiritual mind in woman -- divinely recognized -- that has historically been discounted by mortal man. The injustices done to women by patriarchal convention also resonate in the somber gaze of her "Hypatia," the scientist/physician who was killed by a Christian mob for her attempts at inclusion in the male-dominated realm.

Most significantly, Cameron sought to redeem women through England's Arthurian legend. In August, 1874, Tennyson requested that Cameron capture the sentiment of his verse in her art for The People's Edition of, The Idylls of the King. Her work captures both the text and the context of Tennyson's work, portraying the diversity of characters and representation of consequences for rigidly maintained principles, doctrines, and passions.

Although Cameron created approximately two hundred images, forty-two of which depicted The Parting of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, only two of her photographs were selected for the publication, and these were to be reproduced as woodcuts of a reduced size (Millard 188). Determined to see her creations exhibited in their full size and features, Cameron arranged for Henry S. King to publish an analogous volume entitled Illustrations to Tennyson's Idylls of the King, and Other Poems, which was produced with images made directly from her negatives in 1875 (Mozley 14).

Cameron's photographs reflect Tennyson's circumspect approach to the binary oppositions of male and female, good and evil, or true and false. As had Chaucer, these artists seek to import the duality of the individual in their art to subvert socially constructed identities and hierarchies. Cameron translated Tennyson's world of "flesh and shadow" ("The Last Tournament", 315-16) with costumes, props, and lighting to both support and subvert the stains assigned to various characters. The sequence and substance of her photographs capture the symbolism of the double-edged Arthurian sword, Excalibur, showing how men, and women, are taken up or cast away.

Cameron's illustrations are culled from the segments entitled "Gareth and Lynette", "Geraint and Enid", "Merlin and Vivien", "Lancelot and Elaine", "The Holy Grail", "Guinevere", and "The Passing of Arthur". While the actual images available in different albums vary slightly, and Cameron's choice of caption is inconsistent, each segment presented in her albums alternately questions the human failings of male and female, however, her photograph of Galahad and the Grail Maiden represents the achievement by a man and woman of a common faith in The Holy Grail.

The first illustration to the Idylls is Gareth and Lynette, which portrays a remorseful Lynette tenderly watching over Gareth. Cameron has penned the lines "Worse the being fool'd of others,/ is to fool one's self" ("Gareth and Lynette" 1242-43). This scene of nurturing provides and reinvents an identity for Lynette, who is traditionally portrayed spurning the kitchen-knave knight. The garden imagery reflects an Edenic scene, signifying woman as one with Nature and reinforcing Victorian concepts of woman as a reconciling entity.

Cameron and Tennyson both counter the initially harsh female in the first tale with the second poem entitled "Geraint and Enid". The photograph depicts Enid acquiescing to the demands of her husband with the caption, "If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault!" ("The Marriage of Geraint", 132). Enid returns to her wardrobe, at her husbands order, for the faded silk dress that he will require her to wear. Cameron uses a soft focus and arranges for an ethereal light to fall upon the devoted and maligned wife.

The third image, Merlin and Vivien, aligns the fall of Camelot with the fall of Eden. The serpentine qualities allocated to Vivien are apparent in the lines Cameron had underscored in the volume:

And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel,
Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat
Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet
Together, curved an arm about his neck,
Clung like a snake; and letting her left hand
Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf,
Made with her right a comb of pearl to part
The lists of such a beard as youth gone out
Had left in ashes... ("Merlin and Vivien", 236-44).

Although Vivien appears to subordinate herself to Merlin in the text, Cameron negates this servitude by enthroning Vivien in the center of the image and allowing her model's presence to all but obscure that of Merlin. The photograph also depicts the lovers/rivals in an intimate negotiation which few other illustrators have elected to highlight.
The tension and reciprocity between man and woman is found also in the fourth image of Vivien and Merlin. This image resembles most illustrations in that the intimacy between the two is replaced with consternation and distance. Cameron captures the moment of betrayal as defined by Tennyson's lines, "Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm/ Of woven paces and of waving hands" ("Merlin and Vivien", 965-66).

The combination of these two images offers the audience alternative dynamics for the male/female relationship; they may be cooperative or oppositional. Cameron has highlighted her partially disrobed model of Vivien to signify the character's shame and guilt. Further, the placement of the two subjects affords Vivien, who appears to float above Merlin, a dominant location. From this height, Vivien extends a condemning finger at Merlin, remanding him to an ancient oak in keeping with Tennyson's text.

Cameron then depicts Elaine, the willing victim of love who, although in great contrast to Vivien, is equally self-serving and willful in her passions. In this particular image, the despondent Elaine rests beside the cover she had woven for Lancelot's shield. The cover, to which Elaine had added a border of branch, flower and yellow-throated nestling, is a metaphor for the romantic fantasy she had constructed around Lancelot in her mind. Left only with the remnant of her own work, Elaine sings her "Song of Love and Death" ("Lancelot and Elaine", 997). Cameron portrays Elaine as one resigned to be cast away, a woman possessed by the rapture of passion. The art of photography imitates other forms of art in that Cameron etched the branch, flower, and bird designs of the shield cover directly onto her glass plate negative. The illusion devised with her camera and equipment also signifies the manner in which humans willfully impose their vision on reality.

The consequences of unrequited passion are evidenced in Cameron's image of Elaine in the barge, a scene in which the cover of Lancelot's shield hovers above the corpse. Cameron arranges the drastic contrast between the singing Elaine of the former image and the now silent maiden being rowed away.

Silence engulfs Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot as they confront the cost of passion in Elaine at Camelot, in which the lifeless Elaine rests under their gaze. Cameron echoes this silence with the absence of any caption. She also arranges for the male characters to be consigned to the shadows, while the lighting and centrality of the women establishes a bond between Guinevere and Elaine. This scene seems to speak subtly to Cameron's own sense of loss regarding her late daughter, and to the photographer's affection, empathy, and admiration for her own sex.

The contributions of women, which have been absent in many illustrations of the legend, are highlighted further in Cameron's visual adaptation of "The Holy Grail". Traditionally, this segment is depicted with Galahad and the Grail, or the relationship between Galahad and the Nun shows the latter as a subordinate through placement and lighting. Some of these representations include "The Golden Girdle" by Ernest Chapman, "Galahad and Percival's Sister" by Lancelot Speed, "The Communion of the Holy Grail" by Franz Stassen. Cameron has placed the two side by side, identifying marriage as an achievement of shared faith, beneficence, and agency.

The passion of this woman is a "deathless passion" ("The Holy Grail", 163) which removes her from the mortal realm of flesh and shadows. Although Arthur recognizes that there is none holier than she, he defines the nun's significance as "a sign to maim this Order which I made" ("The Holy Grail", 296-97). Ironically, it is the mortal passion of Camelot's most renowned woman, Guinevere, that is framed as the greatest stain on Arthur's Order.

Arthur's earthly queen appears to have found no happiness in her sin in "The Parting of Lancelot and Guinevere." The queen and the once stainless knight, Lancelot, are cast in partial darkness, and the costume, pose, and lighting convey the doom that hovers over the lovers. Lancelot, in profile, is cloaked in shadows to suggest the dark aspect of his nature that is often overlooked. Although Guinevere is also shown in partial profile, she is made to appear the victim of a greater force. The placement of hands shows that the two have acted in concert, but the queen is dressed in white, bathed in light, and bent under the will of her lover. The pose emphasizes the concept that Guinevere was the pawn that society required women -- even a queen -- to be. Cameron reveals Guinevere as a soul struggling to maintain her vows and innocence, and the harmony of Camelot, where the dominance of the male is unquestioned. The attendant lines detail the queen's repeated plea; "Passion-pale they met and greeted.../ O Lancelot, if thou love me get thee hence./ And Lancelot ever promised, but remained..." ("Guinevere", 92-8 as arranged by Cameron).

The consequences of Guinevere's indiscretion are witnessed in Cameron's next image, Guinevere and the Novice. Cameron has placed the queen on a different form of throne, and her rigid stance and remote glance reflect her loss of all joy. It is possible that Cameron's personal sense of loss regarding her late daughter is revealed in the abyss that resides between the two females in the photograph. The solace Cameron found in children, her absent daughter in particular, seems to be underscored with lines culled from the Guinevere section of the text; "But communed only with the little maid,/ Who pleased her with a babbling heedlessness" ("Guinevere", 148-9).

The next image to be presented is that of King Arthur. In his helmet, a "golden dragon sparkling over all" ("Holy Grail", 263), Cameron has captured Tennyson's sense that Arthur has not made his "high place the lawless perch/ Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage-ground/ for pleasure" ("Dedication", 21-3). Concurrently, the image accentuates the remoteness of the stainless King, that aspect of the man which Guinevere perceived to be "cold,/ High, self-contained, and passionless" ("Guinevere", 402-3). Arthur's majesty makes the queen's observation that one "who loves me must have a touch of earth" ("Lancelot and Elaine", 133) understandable. The photographer noted the following words from Tennyson's poems to highlight the difference between the immortal man and his mortal wife: "And even then he turned.../who seemed the phantom of a giant" ("Guinevere", 596,598).

Cameron's final image of The Passing of Arthur does not make the King central to the photograph; Cameron bears the king "to the margin" ("The Passing of Arthur", 333), where he lay "like a shatter'd column" ("The Passing of Arthur", 389). The dying Arthur is not "companionless" ("The Passing of Arthur", 404) as he is attended by the three Queens. Behind these women stand robed, stately forms, who hide their foreheads and eyes, have turned their backs to the King. All, save the three Queens, are subordinated in relation to Arthur by shadows, darkness, and strength of will. The women appear to be "the Powers who walk the world" ("The Coming of Arthur", 106) and seem "clothed in living light" ("The Passing of Arthur", 454). They attend to his needs and celebrate the role of women as nurturers and healers, bringing the imagery of Cameron's illustrations full circle. The scene of Lynette's mortal skill in nurturing Gareth that began the collection is balanced by this concluding image of supernatural restoration. The intimacy Cameron has arranged between this man and these women suggests something immortal, not only in the characters, but in the relationship between men and women. The cross of the vessel, a visual that Cameron achieved by making masts out of broomsticks (Malcolm, 14), signifies the journey of the once and future king, perpetuating the Arthurian myth and Christian ideology. Cameron's image of the king is attended by Arthur's decree: "King I am, whatsoever be their cry." ("The Passing of Arthur", 162)

Cameron's photographs for Tennyson's Idylls were not well received by her contemporary critics: Clive Bell admonished her for "trying to make a photograph look like a picture" and Roger Fry stated that they were "failures from an aesthetic standpoint" (Millett 201). An even more harsh critique came from Helmut Gernsheim, who stated that Cameron failed to recognize the limitations of the medium, and that "the Pre-Raphaelites dedicated some of their best work to Tennyson -- Mrs. Cameron, some of her worst" (Millett 201). Despite misgivings over artistic application of the new medium and Cameron's skill, her work on the Idylls reflects a powerful new form of imaging that brought the legends of Camelot into a new light.

The "dirty nurse, experience" ( "The Last Tournament", 317) had taught Cameron, specifically through her relationship with Charles, that a unified realm requires one will. In 1879, in compliance with Charles' wish to end his earthly days among his sons, Julia reluctantly returned to India. In Ceylon, Cameron briefly continued her craft on a lesser scale, capturing images of the plantation workers and regional women before falling fatally ill. Her great-niece, Virginia Woolf, depicted Cameron's final moments, stating that the photographer "lying before an open window saw the stars shining, breathed the one word 'Beautiful'" (Mozley 17).

While many discount Cameron's work as melodramatic or amateurish, her artistic applications expanded on the documentary uses of the photographic medium. The contributions of this muse, are an enchanting legacy showing that "the goal of this great world lies beyond sight" ("To the Queen", 59-60).

The University of California, Wellesley, the Rhode Island School of Design, and Harvard are only a few of the institutions which have internal electronic galleries of Cameron's work. The Royal Photographic Society owns approximately 800 of her albumen and carbon prints in addition to a handwritten manuscript of her autobiography. The George Eastman House is in possession of some of Cameron's equipment, and also offers an extensive online gallery of Cameron's photography. The Cameron Trust, an extensive and permanent gallery, enables one to view Dimbola, Cameron's home in England on the Isle of Wight, as well as a small electronic gallery of Cameron's work.

CAMERON'S WRITINGS

Leonora, Translated by Julia Margaret Cameron. Illustrations by Daniel Maclise. London, Gottfried August Bürger, 1847.
"Annals of My Glass House." Written by Julia Margaret Cameron in 1874; published in Photographic Journal L1(N.S.) (July 1927): 296-301.
"On a Portrait." Written by Julia Margaret Cameron. Dated September, 1875; published Macmillan's Magazine, 33 (Feb. 1876): 372.

Sources

Armstrong, Nancy. "Modernism's Iconophobia and What it Did to Gender." Modernism/Modernity 5.2 (1998): 47-75.

Bogardus, Ralph F. Pictures and Texts. Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1984.

Cameron, Julia Margaret Pattle. Illustrations to Tennyson's Idylls of the King, and other Poems. London: Henry S. King, 1875.

Johnson, William S., Mark Rice, and Carla Williams. Photography: From 1838 to Today, George Eastman House, Rochester, NY Koln; New York: Tashen, 1999.

Lukitsh, Joanne. "'Simply Pictures of Peasants': Artistry, Anthropology, and Ideology in Julia Margaret Cameron's Photography in Sri Lanka." The Yale Journal of Criticism 9.2 (1996): 283-308.

Malcolm, Janet. "The Genius of the Glass House." The New York Review. 4 Feb 1999: 10-15.

Millard, Charles W. "Julia Margaret Cameron and Tennyson's 'Idylls of the King'" in the Harvard Library Bulletin. 21.2 (April 1973): 187-201.

Mozley, Anita Ventura. "Mrs. Cameron's Photographs from the Life." Palo Alto: Stanford University Museum of Art, 1974.

Tennyson, Lord Alfred. Idylls of the King. London: Penguin, 1983.

Walch, Peter. For My Beloved Sister, Mia. University of New Mexico Art Museum, 1994.

Weaver, Mike. Whisper of the Muse. Malibu: J. Paul Getty Museum, 1986.

Weaver, Mike. Julia Margaret Cameron: 1815-1879. London: The Herbert Press, Ltd., 1984.

Obras / Works


 

Estudio a la manera de Francia, 1865

 

 Estudio de Beatrice - 1866

 
Ellen Terry at age 16 - 1864

 

The kiss of peace - 1865

 

Julia Jackson -

  The shadow of the cross - 1865

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