Regardless of the medium’s debatable claim to objectivity, 19th-century snapshots serve as a valuable portal for peering into the past, offering a lifelike and arguably more accurate depiction of subjects than paintings and sculptures. The 12 photographs now on view in the exhibition, “Women of Progress: Early Camera Portraits,” at the National Portrait Gallery attest to one of the camera’s greatest strengths: lending visibility to women and other underrepresented groups at a crucial point in the ongoing struggle for equal rights.
In the United States, the rise of studio portrait photography during the 1840s and ‘50s coincided with a period of heightened visibility for women, who were emerging as prominent players in arenas including activism, literature, journalism and theater. Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, for example, sold 300,000 copies across the nation in the first year following its publication, while in 1855, comedic stage actress Laura Keene became the first female manager of a major New York City theater. These women, as well as others making their mark in antebellum America, increasingly found themselves in front of the camera, posing for portraits to be shared with the public or exchanged among loved ones as tokens of affection.
“Women of Progress” catalogues the stories of 13 such mid-19th century figures through the lens of ten daguerreotypes and two ambrotypes. Some of these individuals remain household names today—Beecher Stowe, Lucretia Mott and Dorothea Dix, for example. Others, including Mary Ann Brown Patten, the first woman to sail a clipper ship around Cape Horn; Charlotte Cushman, a popular actress who played both male and female parts; and Mary Ann Meade, a daguerreotypist in her own right—are lesser known. Regardless, the women are united by both their progressive bent and the fact that their camera likenesses survive as a direct result of the burgeoning popularity of photography.
An 1846 photograph of journalist Margaret Fuller falls into the first of these categories: In a letter to her brother, the writer explains that photographer John Plumbe Jr. asked her to pose for a portrait. The resulting image, a sixth-plate daguerreotype, depicts its sitter reading a hefty tome, seemingly so engrossed in the text that she remains unaware of the camera’s presence. The image was later displayed in Plumbe’s studio to attract future clientele.