“As
early as January 1840, Thacker and Company of Calcutta were importing
daguerreotype cameras and advertising them in the daily paper,
Friend of India, but the first-known commercial photographer was F.
Schranhofer, who had a calotype studio at 2 Kyd Street, Calcutta
(1849). In 1850 Augustus G. Roussac opened a daguerreotype studio in
Bombay. Two years later, J. B. Newland opened a studio for
daguerreotype studio at 6 London Buildings, Calcutta. Though
daguerreotype studios persisted as late as 1868, they gave way to
calotype establishments in India as everywhere else. Fred Fiebig, who
was an experienced lithographer (1847), turned to calotypes and took
a large number of studies of Calcutta, Madras, and Ceylon.”1
It
might seem somewhat incongruous to think of applying the idea of
traditional knowledge towards the whole field of photography, and the
science and art of its preservation. However, in the day and age of
the digital camera, the techniques and processes of darkroom
photography are becoming more and more a lost art. Historical
processes in photography are even more in the realm of arcane. This
poses many challenges to a conservator of photographs, vis materiel
and process. Here, I will first expand on the scope of photographic
objects that a prospective conservator would have to deal with, and
how the idea of traditional knowledge ties in with the practice of
photography. After doing so, I will propose methods whereby a greater
understanding can be had of photography, and how the practice of not
just conservation of photographs, but also the history of the
photograph in India can be enriched.
Where
photography first emerged is a contentious topic, with supporters on
the sides of both England, and France. However, what is not
contentious is that the spread of photography to India was not
without its complications. The Indian climate was so radically
different, and the conditions so much more harsher then that of
western Europe that not only the photographer, but the photographic
process were affected. Possibly the first photographer in India, John
McCosh2
had this to say about photography in India
“I
would strongly recommend every assistant-surgeon to make himself a
master of photography in all its branches, on paper, on plate glass,
and on metalic [sic] plates. I have practised it for many years, and
know of no extra professional pursuit that will more repay him for
all the expense and trouble (and both are very considerable) than
this fascinating study ...The camera should be made of good
substantial mahogany, clamped with brass, made to stand extremes of
heat. The flimsy, folding portable cameras, made light for Indian
use, soon become useless … French paper, Canson frères is the
best, and does not get damaged by damp so soon as English paper
”3
The
first commercially feasible photographic process that allowed
multiple prints was the calotype, of Fox Talbot. The process was
based on the idea that sensitised paper could used as negative
materiel, and a variant of the same could also be used as a positive
printing materiel. While simple in concept, the execution was a lot
harder. The calotype process is notably finicky, and requires
absolute chemical purity and proper technique. Reading correspondence
from the period, one is struck by the necessity for proper paper for
the process. Talbot himself preferred to work with paper from Saxe or
Rives paper mills. He also suggested that the most optimal paper for
the work according to his process was manufactured by Whatman's
Turkey Mill establishment.
Today,
calotypists still spend most of their time looking for the optimal
paper for making negatives. When I started working towards making
calotype negatives, I found to my dismay that almost none of the
paper found in India was optimal. The presence of alkaline buffers
negate most archival papers. Residual bleaching compounds make most
commercial paper useless, and the lack of proper quality control make
unbuffered rag or Daphne papers a wasteful enterprise. Consensus is
that Canson still makes the best paper for calotypes.
Of
course, with all methods of working, there was sizeable variations in
the techniques used. There were as many variants of the process, as
there were practitioners. In England, Talbot's process reigned
supreme, whereas across the English Channel, Pelegry's method was
more popular, using Whey as
a carrier for the photographically active salts.
In India, Alexander Greenlaw used his variant of the process, making
for easily transportable negatives which
could cope with the extremes of temperatures.
Down south,
Linneaus Tripe had his own variant. All these different processes
were then printed on salted paper, or albumenised paper, or
platinum/ palladium paper et
cetera.
With
the coming of wet collodion, there was some measure of uniformity in
the process, and a large part of our photographic history is
collected in wet collodion negatives. Photos of the Mutiny by Felice
Beato, landscape views of Samuel Bourne, and portraits of Lala Deen
Dayal are all in wet collodion. Most conservators are already
familiar with the primary materiel used in these process. Cellulose
Nitrate is dissolved in ether and alcohol and halide salts are
dissolved in this solution, making a film, which is coated on a glass
sheet. The issue is that the heat affects the drying rate of the
plates, making it a tricky operation, and many photographers stuck
with calotypes.
Attempts
were made to make the wet collodion plates dry down slower, and
honey, glycerin, beer, casein, whey, and a multitude of expedients
were tried. In my meager research, I have not found mention of any
such arcane methods being used in India, however, possibilities still
remain. It was not until the coming of mass produced gelatin dry
plates that photography was standardised the world over. This leaves
us with a window of around 60 years, where variability and lack of
standardisation makes for a trying conservation effort.
This
very abbreviated history of photographs through process serves to
merely illustrate my point that the photograph, and its conservation
is not a simplistic matter of working with gelatin prints. I have not
even started talking about the esoteric printing processes used in
history. Images were made using uranium salts, gum arabic, casein,
iron salts, platinum salts, et
cetera.
However, the majority of the photographic firmament in India is
unaware of this variety of techniques. The few people who do practice
these processes do them just like craftsmen do, working in obscurity
and in small numbers.
I
posit that the methodology of working in historical photographic
processes is analogous to that of a dying art form, and as an
extension, practitioners are reserves of knowledge that is
specialised, and restricted to them. What I want to say is that
people still using these processes to make photographs are reservoirs
of traditional knowledge, and it is high time that we as conservators
use this valuable resource to help us do our work better.
This
interaction between the photographer and the conservator is doubly
necessary in India, where so much remains to be known about the
history of photography. A collaborative effort between the
conservator and the photographer can yield
not only to better understanding on part of the conservator, but
greater insight into the technical art history of photographs. I
recollect the first time I found out that many a time, while working
on Indian Miniatures, conservators working on the wasli
would find bills and ledgers on the interior sheets. While those
scraps were a cost saving expedient for the maker of the wasli,
for the conservator and the art historian, they are a valuable window
into the world where the painting was made. I can only wonder what
could emerge with conservators working on photographs. With an entire
scientific arsenal at our disposal, we as conservators can make new
inroads into the study of photographs. Using XRF and Raman
spectroscopy to accurately trace the maker of anonymous photographs
by process variation, identifying matériels,
adding provenance to photos without any
history,
all these things are in the realm of possible.
For
the longest time, a question troubled me. Why would calotypists
import paper from Europe, at excessive cost, when paper making was
firmly established in India? Why did Greenlaw not use paper from
Sialkot, or Srinagar? Why didn't Samuel Bourne not print on Daphne
paper from Nepal? Or did anonymous, and impecunious
photographers use the ingenious paper for their work? Working with
conservators and art historians, we can all try and answer questions
like this, rather then relegating them to the mind of an itinerant
graduate student. Would we find parallels between the photographic
industry and the miniature painting schools in India? Was there
exchange of information there? Answers to questions like these would
make for greater knowledge in the history of arts in India, and the
amateur art historian and photographer in me very excited.
The
question now arises, that how can we go forward with this greater
engagement? I propose that the work in this direction be methodical
and following precepts set forth by folklorists, and ethnologists.
For those working in the field of historical photography, it is
common knowledge that written materiel and patents are essentially
useless for learning the process. The patent applicants would remove
important parts of the technique, or obfuscate, to detract
unscrupulous photographers willing to steal techniques.
However,
the first part of the study of historical photographs should be a
thorough literature review. Thankfully, most of the photographic
literature is out of copyright and freely available online, for the
benefit of antiquarians and researchers. Reading multiple accounts at
one's leisure, a conservator can piece together the rudiments of the
process across varying differing accounts.
The
second step is recording the processes of contemporary workers. The
methodology and the stories of the workers are not only a part of the
intangible heritage of the photographic trade, but also a valuable
resource for conservators, providing insights into the minutiae of
the various processes. An oral history, or a video recording would
not only suffice, but would also leave valuable materiel for the
coming generations, so the knowledge of these processes does not die
out.
As
a side note, This is especially necessary in these troubled times
when digital photography has completely uprooted film photography,
and relegated its knowledge to nostalgic photographers and people
with interest in the science behind photography.
Thirdly,
collaborative workshops should be held, where the conservators
themselves learn how the processes work. This hands on experience is
valuable for the conservator, not only because handling the materials
is the best way to understand how the object is made, but because it
gives the conservator the ability to stand in the feet of the
original maker of the object. Once the conservator actually makes an
image, short
cuts
and areas where errors can emerge become readily evident. These
insights can inform the procedure of preserving and extending the
lifetime of the object.
Finally,
funding should be allocated for residencies in photographic
techniques, where conservators and materiel scientists can study the
processes at length. The Andrew W. Mellon foundation had a long
running project, where they would give grants to photograph
conservators to spend extended periods in the George Eastman House in
Rochester, working with historical processes. The research was
subsequently published online for free, for the benefit of
conservators and practitioners. A similar project here would make for
considerable progress in the still nascent field of conservation of
photographic materials in India.
This
summer, I spent my time looking through old trucks and cupboards
across Delhi, looking for old photographs and negatives. My findings
were astounding. There is an entire folk archive of the Indian life,
residing in shoe-boxes and under beds in this country. The photograph
is the most democratic of art forms. Eastman Kodak's motto of “You
press the button, and We do the rest” comes to mind. Everyone has
had their photos taken, and there are millions of photos, printed on
fading colour paper, or decaying negatives, of trips, theater shows,
birthdays, weddings, and each instance of life as we know it. The
onus is on us as conservators to ensure that these valuable documents
do not disappear.
At
this juncture, I do have to say that I apologise for not giving any
concrete information on how to work on old negatives or prints. This
is not a technical paper, but more of a call to arms for us as
heritage preservationists, to also work on preserving an important
aspect of our history, that until now has been relegated to the
sidelines of preservation departments.
1 Thomas,
G. "The First Four Decades of Photography in India." History
Of Photography 3.3
(1979): 215-26.
2
Again, as with most photographic minutiae, there is considerable
conflict on this topic. Dr A. Toussiant is of the view that a
Frenchman Jules Leger took the first photograph in India, en route
to establishing a Photographic studio in 1945. The topic is fraught
be debates based not on factual accuracy, but national pride.
3Desmond,
R. "19th Century Indian Photographers in India." History
Of Photography 1.4
(1977): 313-17.
