|
 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.
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Estudio a la manera de Francia, 1865
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Estudio de Beatrice - 1866
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Ellen Terry at age 16 - 1864
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The kiss
of peace - 1865
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Julia
Jackson -
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The shadow of the cross -
1865
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