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Lot Essay
One trait of photography that markedly conveys its immediacy and distinguishes it from all other forms of record making is luck. Chance and the prepared photographer have been symbiotic partners, inseparable since birth. Consider the enormous number of instances that became historic only because photographers were there to document them, such as the 22 photographers who, unbeknownst to them, were to witness the tragic explosion of the Hindenberg airship. They photographed an event that even today resounds with the very definition of human tragedy in the news. Joe Rosenthal at Iwo Jima created an iconic image that could not have been forseen either. Arthur Fellig understood this relationship better than perhaps any other photographer ever and took on the moniker Weegee, based on the popular board game which claimed to be able to predict the future. If forced to choose, any veteran photographer would rather forego ideal conditions than surrender luck. It was W. Eugene Smith, the father of the photo-essay, who described "available light" as any damned light he could get his hands on.
In 1863, in the midst of the terrible war between the states, photographers were dispatched to document, not the action of, but the preparation for and perhaps more poignantly, the aftermath of battle. There certainly were enough sites to choose from and at the time anticipation for the progress of moving troops far outweighed any retrospection associated with past clashes. It is not surprising then that when 18 year old David Bachrach, Jr., who would become the patriarch of the great American family of traditional photographic portraiture, was dispatched by his boss, the Baltimore photographer William Weaver, to assist a now unknown hired replacement to cover the ceremonies dedicating the battlefield at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, it was met with more of a yawn than a yelp. Despite the prospect that President Lincoln might address the crowd of civilians and soldiers that gathered there, the dedication was to be held November 18, 1863, some four months after the terrible carnage that occurred there.
The address given by Lincoln, a mere ten sentences, is now considered one of the most powerful examples of political oratory in American history. It was, however, initially met with indifferent and tepid responses from a press and public that was often hostile to the Great Emancipator. Due to the cumbersome equipment and slowness of the day's sensitized plates, the brevity of Lincoln's speech prevented young Bachrach's superior, whoever he was, from saving for history, an image of Lincoln at the podium. Perhaps it was the crowd of 15,000 observers, but the assistant and the cameraman never met and history fell in favor of the lad, positioned as he was 90 feet from the speaker's dais. Left to his own devices Bachrach made at least this one plate, preserving the sense of the breadth of the crowd and more importantly, the very fact of the Gettysburg Address.
In 1863, in the midst of the terrible war between the states, photographers were dispatched to document, not the action of, but the preparation for and perhaps more poignantly, the aftermath of battle. There certainly were enough sites to choose from and at the time anticipation for the progress of moving troops far outweighed any retrospection associated with past clashes. It is not surprising then that when 18 year old David Bachrach, Jr., who would become the patriarch of the great American family of traditional photographic portraiture, was dispatched by his boss, the Baltimore photographer William Weaver, to assist a now unknown hired replacement to cover the ceremonies dedicating the battlefield at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, it was met with more of a yawn than a yelp. Despite the prospect that President Lincoln might address the crowd of civilians and soldiers that gathered there, the dedication was to be held November 18, 1863, some four months after the terrible carnage that occurred there.
The address given by Lincoln, a mere ten sentences, is now considered one of the most powerful examples of political oratory in American history. It was, however, initially met with indifferent and tepid responses from a press and public that was often hostile to the Great Emancipator. Due to the cumbersome equipment and slowness of the day's sensitized plates, the brevity of Lincoln's speech prevented young Bachrach's superior, whoever he was, from saving for history, an image of Lincoln at the podium. Perhaps it was the crowd of 15,000 observers, but the assistant and the cameraman never met and history fell in favor of the lad, positioned as he was 90 feet from the speaker's dais. Left to his own devices Bachrach made at least this one plate, preserving the sense of the breadth of the crowd and more importantly, the very fact of the Gettysburg Address.