The Mountain and the Mole-hill: Julia Margaret Cameron’s Allegories Ksenya A. Gurshtein Fig. 1. Julia Margaret Cameron, Goodness from the series Fruits of the Spirit, 1864, albumen print, 25.4 × 20 cm. Gernsheim Collection, Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center, The University of Texas at Austin. 5 The nineteenth-century British photographer Julia Marga- ret Cameron did not acquire during her lifetime anything close to the fame and financial success she felt she deserved. In 1864, having entered the world of Victorian art photography as a “lady amateur” late in life and a decade later than the men who founded the field, she plunged into her endeavor head first. But her path was littered with financial disappointments and mixed reception, including disparagement from the pho- tographic establishment and its voices in the professional press. Violet Hamilton puts Cameron’s predicament in rather stark terms when she writes, “During her lifetime the photographic press condemned almost all her work.” Hamilton adds that even among the well-received works, “the art critics preferred her portraits to the ‘fancy subjects’” (Hamilton 1996, 59). In the hundred-odd years since the photographer’s death, how- ever, critical opinion has shifted rather significantly, so that it is with issues raised by some of the “fancy pictures” that this essay is concerned. The distinction between the generally better-received portraits and other works is an important one. Cameron also used it herself, though the work that lies outside the bounds of explicit portraiture can present a challenge to classification. In the album she gave as a gift to Lord Overstone, she saw the categories as “Portraits,” “Madonna Groups,” and “Fancy Sub- jects for Pictorial Effect” (Hamilton 1996, 19). Pam Roberts, in looking at Cameron’s “portraits” of women, subdivides them into “three categories: allegorical (of quality, trait or emotion); historical or mythical; and straight, identified portraits of real women as themselves.” In explaining her divisions, Roberts writes, In the first category, women are immortalized as a celebration of feminine truths such as Innocence, Love or Goodness. These portraits, on the whole, tend to be the least successful. . . . When Cameron matched aspects of her sitters’ personalities to those of historical or mythical personages, the results are far more impres- sive . . . because the qualities Cameron imagined existed in the named subject-matter are amplified by her sitters’ own peculiar characteristics. (Roberts 1992, 66) Yet the neatness of this division is problematic for at least two reasons. For one, Cameron executed few works that contained abstract concepts as their titles, and most of them are confined to one series, The Fruits of the Spirit of 1864 (fig. 1). More importantly, the hallmark of her best-known “historical and mythical” images, the large-format close-ups of heads, is the almost complete evacuation of any specific (e.g. iconographic) references to the stories in question. Only the titles guide the viewer, and even those Cameron famously changed around, assigning multiple ones to almost identical images (as in the case of The Mountain Nymph, Sweet Liberty and Cassiopeia, both 6 Fig. 2 (above left). Julia Margaret from 1866 [figs. 2 and 3]) or using the same model as multiple Cameron, The Mountain Nymph, characters (as in the case of Alice Liddell, photographed as both Sweet Liberty, 1866, albumen-silver Pomona and Alethea [figs. 4 and 5]). Thus, the claim that one print, 36 × 28.1 cm. Gernsheim can separate this group out based either on the specificity of Collection, Harry Ransom reference (which is hardly greater than in the “pure” allegories) Humanities Research Center, The or on a traceable correlation between the “nature” of the title University of Texas at Austin. subject and the character of the sitter is somewhat shaky.1 Fig. 3 (above right). Julia Margaret Rather, one can see Cameron’s oeuvre as a spectrum. Cameron, Cassiopeia, 1866, On one of its ends, we find the “straight” portraits of famous albumen-silver print, 34.9 × 27.4 contemporaries and family members; on the other, bookending cm. National Media Museum/ her artistic career, the 1874 series of illustrations she created for Science & Society Picture Library, Tennyson’s Idylls of the King. Spread between these poles is a di- UK. verse group of images that range from attempts at the sublimely symbolic to wildly hammed-up genre scenes from Victorian domestic theatricals. What I wish to suggest is that some of them—perhaps the most compelling ones—are, indeed, alle- gorical. They functioned as such at the time of their production and do so now, inciting the greatest contention when the al- legory succeeded best. Yet great care should be taken to define this term. 1 Cameron also describes, in “Annals of My Glass House,” her un- completed autobiography, how Sir Henry Taylor “consented to be in turn Friar Laurence with Juliet, Prospero with Miranda, Ahasuerus with Queen Esther, to hold my poker as his scepter, and do whatever I desired of him.” Cameron 1996, 13. 7 Fig. 4 (above left). Julia Margaret The Oxford English Dictionary defines “allegory” as “A Cameron, Pomona, 1872, albumen figurative sentence, discourse, or narrative, in which proper- print, 34.6 × 27 cm. Royal ties and circumstances attributed to the apparent subject really Photographic Society/Science & refer to the subject they are meant to suggest; an extended or Society Picture Library, UK. continued metaphor” (“Allegory” 1989). The Grove Dictionary of Art provides further specifics on allegory as a Fig. 5 (above right). Julia Margaret Cameron, Alethea, 1872, albumen [t]erm used to describe a method of expressing complex abstract ideas print, 32.5 × 23.7 cm. Gernsheim or a work of art composed according to this. An allegory is principally Collection, Harry Ransom constructed from personifications and symbols, and, though overlapping Humanities Research Center, The in function, it is thus more sophisticated in both meaning and operation University of Texas at Austin. than either of these. . . . [It is] a means of making the “invisible” visible . . . [and functions] on the basis of a conventionally agreed relation between concept and representation, refer[ring] to an idea outside the work of art. (“Allegory” 2008) In the Dictionary of the History of Ideas, Angus Fletcher notes that for centuries, “Allegory . . . had tried to be the image of permanence in a world of flux” but contends that, in its mod- ern form, this is no longer an end it can serve (Fletcher 1973, 47). This is very much the case with Cameron. The allegorical content of her images should not be decided based solely on the presence of women and children called upon to pose as embodiments of abstract ideas with biblical, literary, or artistic allusions. As I will show, the connection so crucial in traditional allegory of the literal images to specific external frames of layered metaphoric references here is tenuous, indeed. Rather, 8 we should take allegory to be a quality present precisely to the same degree to which an image highlights, in striving to over- come it, a significant internal logical rupture. It is by making disjunctions between intention and effect into a constitutive element of meaning and by incorporating the aporias of in- congruous desires that allegory, at least in its modern iterations, fulfills its function as “other speech.” Celebrating the internal paradoxes of her images was not, as I will argue, Cameron’s goal. Retroactively, the politics of the project she did attempt may strike us as flawed at best and contemptible at worst. Thus, Steve Edwards, in what must be the definitive book on early British photography, The Making of English Photography: Allegories, states bluntly, “Pace the criti- cal attention devoted to her work, I believe that the politics of snobbery made Cameron’s inventive gambit possible” (Edwards 2006, 230). Edwards’s analysis sums up the main points of the “gam- bit” in which Cameron’s work, called into question the emerging category of photographic art. . . . She did not need the compromise of pictures that were “sharp” and “soft” because she had no interest in balancing commercial studio work with the prevailing standards of artistic taste. . . . In the interest of her own transcendence, she disputed their space of compromise and drew their fire. But her account left the deeper figurations in place while working them to her advantage. She did not want to have anything to do with . . . mechanics any more than the trade press did. (Edwards 2006, 229) She was no Marxist, and one cannot accuse her of rocking the boat of economic hierarchies. But not so, I would argue, with ideology. It was not only the professional press that Cam- eron made uncomfortable when she undermined their efforts despite following their own logic. Even those who wanted to like her work inadvertently paid it compliments best described as backhanded. The unease Cameron’s practice caused went beyond simple misogynistic disparagement, although there was enough of that, too.2 As her critics understood intuitively, how- ever, it also stood as the most compelling and vivid allegory of the untenability both of her own project and of the logic of Victorian art photography whose limits she tested. What was it about Cameron’s work in general and the “fancy pictures” in particular that galled her critics? A paradigmatic example of the opposition Cameron consistently faced can be found in the writings of Henry Peach Robinson. In the 2 I do not discuss in what follows the related issue of the artist’s gender and the kind of criticism and dismissal she faced due to it. Texts that examine these issues more fully include Lukitsch 1992 and Oliphant 1996. 9 compact body of The Pictorial Effect in Photography (1868), the book that remained art photography’s theoretical Bible into the 1890s, he dedicated more than a page to disparaging Cameron as a foil to his own practice. While her name is not given, the detailed description points squarely at Cameron, the only per- son treated at such length. Some years ago a number of photographs by a lady—many of them failures from every point of view, but some of them very remarkable for their daring chiaro-oscuro, artistic arrangement, and, in some instances, delightful expression—were brought prominently before the public. These pictures . . . received the most enthusiastic praise from artists and critics ignorant of the capabilities of the art, and who . . . attributed the excellences which these photographs undoubtedly . . . possessed, to their defects. These defects were, so little definition that it is difficult to make out parts even in the lights; in the shadows it often hap- pens that nothing exists but black paper; so little care whether the sitter moved or not during the enormous exposure . . . that prints were exhibited containing so many images that the most careless operator would have effaced the negative as soon as vis- ible under developer; and, apparently, so much contempt for . . . the proprieties of photography, that impressions from negatives scratched and stained . . . were exhibited as triumphs of art. The arguments of the admirers . . . were, that the excellences existed because of the faults. . . . This is not true; and if it were, I should certainly say, Let the merits go; it is not the mission of photogra- phy to produce smudges. . . . [P]hotography is pre-eminently the art of definition, and when an art departs from its function, it is lost. (Robinson 1881, 151)3 Another critic similarly noted, “She [Cameron] should not let herself be misled by the indiscriminating praise bestowed upon her by the non-photographic press and she would do much better when she has learnt the proper use of her apparatus” (Roberts 1992, 52).4 What her fellow photographers objected to was Camer- on’s photographic “diction,” which highlighted the arbitrariness of the premium placed on the skills of an “efficient operator.”5 3 Very similar comments can be found in reviews from both The Photographic Journal and The British Journal of Photography in January and February of 1865. The BJP thought it charitable to concede that “[They] should be pleased to see similar attempts by better photog- raphers.” The former is cited in Metropolitan Museum of Art 1999, 34–35, the latter in Simpson 2004, 86. 4 For original source, see “Report of the Jurors of the Exhibition,” The Photographic Journal 9 (1864) note 5. 5 For yet another similar criticism, see Roberts 1992, 53. For origi- nal source, see “The Photographic Society’s Exhibition,” The British Journal of Photography 12 (19 May 1865): 267–268, note 9. 10 Not being one, Cameron celebrated and retained evidence of the material experience of image-making: the application onto a glass plate of wet collodion, which dripped and trapped specks of dust; the act of choosing the degree and specific cen- ter of focus; the trace of the time necessary to take the picture. The resulting image revealed its indexicality, what Roland Bar- thes called “the absolute Particular, the sovereign Contingency” (Barthes 1981, 4). The intrinsically photographic ability to provide detail and definition was thus wasted on visual “non- sense” one should have eliminated, while its creator claimed that it occupied a higher rung in the hierarchy of photographic production. The second cause for disparagement was Cameron’s choice of subject matter; here too reading Robinson is instruc- tive. It’s not that he objected to transposing the language of Art into photography.6 Quite the contrary. A s Steve Edwards demonstrates, “[T]he first viewers of photographs approached them through the established language of art” (Edwards 2006, 120–121), while the “photographers drew on the established categories of Academic art theory.”7 But if photography were, in a sense, to “pass” for art, it had to understand its limitations. Robinson wrote, “The art of photography has arrived at a suf- ficient state of perfection . . . [to acknowledge] that the sublime cannot be reached by it; and that its power is greatest when it attempts simple things. But if it is not the mountain that it can represent best, what art can equal it in its representation of the mole-hill?” (Robinson 1881, 49). And yet Julia Margaret Cameron strained for the moun- tains. Consider her 1869 photograph The Kiss of Peace (fig. 6), which she described in an 1878 letter as “[t]he most beautiful of all my photographs” (Cox and Ford 2003, 459). Its title refers to the early Christian tradition wherein a kiss was both a part of liturgy and a greeting (Wolf 1998, 66). Yet the photograph 6 Steve Edwards also traces the intricacies of the class rhetoric and economic incentive associated with the question of producing a “document” vs. an artistic “picture.” See Edwards 2006, chap. 3. 7 An early response by the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning to the invention of the daguerreotype in 1839 is also exemplary here. She wrote of the new medium, “It is the very sanctification of portraits I think—and it is not at all monstrous in me to say what my broth- ers cry out against so vehemently . . . that I would rather have such a memorial of one I dearly loved, than the noblest Artist’s work ever produced.” Quoted in Heron and Williams 1996, 2. The earliest qualms as to what exactly a photographic representation could reveal were already intertwined with considerations of its relationship to the ontological category of Art. With time, the need to price, classify, and interpret the growing corpus of images only exacerbated this tension. For other important considerations of the function of early daguerre- otype portraits, see Trachtenberg 1992, 181, 187. 11 Fig. 6. Julia Margaret Cameron, The Kiss of Peace, 1869, albumen print, 23.2 × 18.1 cm. University of Michigan Museum of Art purchase, 1975/1.63. 12 readily suggests that it is neither anthropological interest, nor historic accuracy, nor even the particular moment of action that Cameron is after. The faces of the two women float against a dark background that reads as both utterly flat, thus pushing the close-up out toward the viewer, and infinitely deep, creat- ing a cocoon of darkness that cuts its inhabitants off from any recognizable time or space, be they physical or historical. The “prop” of the women’s garb does take its wearers out of V icto- rian England, but it relocates them to such a vaguely classicized past that it refuses to be pinned down to so much as an era. The loose hair catches the light but in its proliferation serves to confuse, merging ambiguously with the folds of Mary Hillier’s (the older woman) wrap, making one wonder where the locks end and shadows begin. This sense of physical indistinctness of objects combines with a diffuse timelessness, both accom- plished through the hallmark soft focus, a technical parameter of central import to both Cameron’s supporters and detractors. Even the women’s positioning suggests that these are not bodies that just encountered each other—the torsos are far too close and worked snuggly into each other for that. Nor are the older woman’s lips actually planting a kiss in a usual sense; they touch the forehead but show no tension that would suggest an action. This is not an event; it is a languid state of mind, one that exists outside of geography, time, action, or individual- ity (though the frozenness might also simply be explained by the difficulty of holding poses for the very long exposure). Much is suggested by the spot in the photograph that serves as both literal and metaphorical center of focus—the highlighted brow, which emphasizes the body’s relationship to the absolute darkness behind it and throws into greater contour-softening shadow the blunt fleshliness of the faces. On the one hand, the faces are a physical presence that is the only absolute fact at our disposal. On the other, they are not quite there and not too “here.” It is on this last point that an ambivalent Oscar Rej- lander commented, “Without arguing in favour of wooliness and the effect of imperfect vision, much may be said in favour of the idea of having relation of flesh without an exaggerated idea of the bark of the skin” (Jones 1973, 32). As far as Cameron was concerned, her task was “to ennoble Photography and to secure for it the character and uses of High Art by combining the real & Ideal & sacrificing nothing of Truth by all possible devotion to Poetry & beauty” (Hamilton 1996, 29). She was unwilling to give up the “real”— the ultimate in verisimilitude—which was provided by the most literalist technology available to date. But neither could she disavow the Ideal and its necessarily absolute form. In de- scribing her practice, then, she implicitly sought reconciliation in the symbol—the rhetorical figure and pattern of thought that literary critics identify as fundamental to Romanticism. 13 Pitted against allegory’s contrived connection between the particular and the general, the symbol presupposed “an inti- mate unity between the image that rises up before the senses and the supersensory totality that the image suggests” (De Man 1983, 189). Such an “intimate unity”—a complete coincidence and correlation of external material form with transcendent content—produced Beauty, Cameron’s primary aesthetic cat- egory. As Walter Benjamin theorized it, “As a symbolic con- struct, the beautiful is supposed to merge with the divine in an unbroken whole. The idea of the unlimited immanence of the moral world in the world of beauty is derived from the theo- sophical aesthetics of the romantics” (Benjamin 2003, 160). In this framework, Cameron could quite justifiably desire almost religious transcendence and access to moral truths from her imagery. Thus, in her uncompleted autobiography, “Annals of My Glass House,” she wrote, “When I have had such men [as Carlyle] 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 photo- graph thus taken has been almost an embodiment of a prayer” (Cameron 1996, 15).8 Nor could she be indifferent to the inner character of other sitters, even if not as great as Carlyle. She noted of Mary Hillier, her maid and most photographed (if never publicly named) model, “The very unusual attributes of her character and complexion of her mind, if I may so call it, deserves mention in due time” (Cameron 1996, 14). Cameron’s desire for the unity of image and truth found in the symbolic echoed the writings of John Ruskin, who applied to the visual arts the high Romantic paradigms so prevalent in poetry. In volume 1 of Modern Painters, Ruskin wrote, “If there be in painting anything which operates, as words do, not by resembling anything, but by being taken as a symbol and substitute for it, and thus inducing the effect of it, then this channel of communication can convey uncor- rupted truth, though it do not in any degree resemble the facts whose conception it induces. But ideas of imitation, of course, require the likeness of the object” (Ruskin 1888, 20). Ruskin never came to regard photography as a viable artistic medium precisely because it could never do more than record obtrusive facts too faithfully (Harvey 1984). But his injunction, to which Cameron’s own stated goals are very close, suggests what a huge challenge she was setting for herself.9 8 It is also worth noting that, along with S. T. Coleridge, Thomas Car- lyle was one of the most important English theorists of Symbolism as a literary philosophy. 9 H. P. Robinson also felt the need both to address the obvious difficulties Ruskin’s ideas posed and to try to coopt them. Robin- son positioned that which he pioneered as the enhancement of the 14