Upon arrival in California, freshly outfitted miners were especially eager to have their likenesses taken. In most miner portraits, great emphasis was placed on “looking the part”—wearing the clothing and holding the tools associated with gold mining. The California studios reported that on days just before a ship was to return east, “the gallery would be filled with miners in rough suits carrying their mining tools and a pair of pistols in the belt,” and that the studio would make “several sittings before [a sitter] left the chair and usually sold them all.” It seemed remarkable that
Californians were so anxious that their friends in civilized countries should see just how they looked in their mining dress, with their terrible revolver, the handle protruding menacingly from the holster, somehow, twisted in front, when sitting for a daguerreotype to send to the States! They were proud of their curling mustaches and flowing beards.
Daguerreotypists like George Johnson encouraged this desire to be photographed in mining attire. Capitalizing on a prime opportunity, Johnson advertised that all interested in “sending their miniatures home, or of being ‘preserved’ in the recherché costume of this latitude to give him a call.”
To be daguerreotyped as a miner had larger social and cultural implications. From the beginning, the gold rush was considered an historic adventure of mythic proportions. As historian J.S. Holliday has noted, “1849 will ever be a memorable epoch in the history of our country. Neither the Crusades nor Alexander’s expedition to India (all things considered) can equal this emigration to California.” Miner portraits were made to confirm and commemorate participation in this once-in-a-lifetime experience. As these portraits were sent to loved ones left behind, even those who had not directly participated could establish a personal connection to this great event. The personal separations caused by the gold rush were difficult. Because the journey to California involved months of arduous travel, miners were not only separated from, but for a time unreachable by, their loved ones. Once in California, a miner faced the realities of brutal labor, likely disappointment, and fear of the unknown. To fill the void of separation, a daguerreotype portrait preserved the appearance of a missing son, brother, or husband, unchanged through time and distance. Letters and daguerreotypes helped families back home reinforce emotional ties and participate vicariously in the miner’s distant experience.