—and the comet of 1858, which was visible in daylight for six months but remains invisible in all the ordinary photographic plates of the era. This room evokes the long list of frustations and failures and the creative ferment, the inventive drive, the complex ideas of those who, after Nicéphore Niépce, tried to improve photographic processes. And the plural is essential: there really were many “inventors,” and some mysteries remain unresolved to this day.
One such enigma concerns “leptographic paper.” Although a doctoral thesis in 2000 attempted to clarify what was known about this elusive material, it was not until a recent auction of part of Alfred Coulon’s collection—Coulon being both a friend and likely photographic companion of Olympe Aguado—that a sufficiently complete and coherent group of leptographic prints was discovered. This find finally allowed us to understand the true nature of this photographic paper. In 1866, two photographers based in Spain traveled to Paris to present their invention: a remarkably fast photographic paper, unfortunately too expensive to produce on a large scale, which eliminated many of the laborious steps required by earlier methods and opened the door to experimentation with overlays, collages, and photomontages. This is precisely what Coulon and Godeau did in 1866–67, during the brief period when leptographic paper was available in Paris.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudtjt-mcujltt-y/> <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudtjt-mcujltt-j/> They somehow acquired the original negatives of Eugène Le Dien, who had died the previous year (1865), and used them to make remarkable prints—so surprising that they are not immediately recognizable.
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The artists blurred boundaries, adding skies, clouds, boats, and sometimes even trees, recomposing the images. For the first time, visitors in Senigallia can view these prints.
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As Henri de La Blanchère wrote in his marvelous, though too rarely cited, photographic encyclopedia of 1868: “Leptographic paper, ready-made and already sensitized, offers significant advantages, but also comes with certain drawbacks. The positive images produced capture all the subtle nuances of the negative; they faithfully reproduce tonal values, details, half-tones, whites, blacks, and so forth… Leptographic papers can be stored for a very long time, protected from light and moisture, without any loss of sensitivity. Printing is three times faster than with albumen paper. Prints can be fixed several days after exposure, without deterioration. The resulting prints are exceptionally fine, delicate, and durable once fixed.”
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudtjt-mcujltt-k/> John Hannavy describes the decisive improvement of Leptographic paper in his history of photographic processes: « In 1866, the Frenchman Juan Laurent, in collaboration with Spaniard José Martínez-Sánchez, perfected ‘Leptographic’ paper (‘Leptofotografía’), a collodio-silver chloride printing paper which was sold ready to use. The light-sensitive silver chloride was held in a binding layer of cellulose nitrate, separated from the paper by a layer of barium sulphate (later known as baryta), giving a much whiter base color to prints than had been previously possible with albumen paper. The baryta layer acted as a barrier, eliminating the spotting from rusting metal particles in the paper which sometimes happened with albumen papers, and at a stroke, the introduction of this paper removed from the photographer all the paraphernalia of having to sensitize the paper before use, as had been needed with albumen. As the manufacturers claimed it had three times the sensitivity of albumen, exposure times for contact printing could also be reduced significantly. Despite such promise, the paper was not a commercial success, and it would be the 1880s before ready-made silver chloride papers achieved significant popularity. One of the first collodio-chloride papers to achieve success—and very similar in chemistry to Laurent’s—was introduced in 1884 by Paul Eduard Liesegang of Düsseldorf, who called his paper ‘Aristotype.’ Collodion and gelatine-based printing papers, when developed, produced a neutral image, whereas when used as printing-out papers, the rich warm brown tones of the gold-toned albumen paper could be imitated. The year after Liesegang’s success, in 1885, the Britannia Works Company in England—forerunner of Ilford Ltd—introduced the first of their gelatine-based silver chloride papers, a product which was replicated throughout the world by several companies. It is the successor of that gelatine-based silver chloride emulsion which persists as a specialist product today. »
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudtjt-mcujltt-u/> Fortunately, to help shed light on these mysteries, some of the prints bear stamps with the word “leptographie.” There is also a tiny print on thick paper, which Laurent referred to as “carte porcelaine.”
The only certainty in the history of photography is that it remains incomplete. There is still much to discover and understand, and true progress is only possible through direct experience and hands-on engagement with original materials. The Erasmus program in Senigallia offers students—accustomed mostly to PowerPoint lectures—the rare opportunity to handle these documents themselves.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudtjt-mcujltt-o/> Let’s conclude by introducing the series of educational postcards we have created for the Biennale, beginning with a special card dedicated to Roger Bacon, the medieval philosopher who first insisted that “no discourse can provide certainty—everything depends on experience.” Roger Bacon wrote and sent to Pope Clement IV—at the Pope’s own request—a copy of his Opus Majus, in which he argued that scientific progress is possible only through experimental proof. He wrote: “Experimentum solum certificat.” In the fifth part of the Opus Majus, Bacon examines reflection, refraction, the structure of the eye, and optical phenomena such as the rainbow. “Argumentum autem ex per se nihil certitudinis habet, sed certitudo experimentum tantum.” (Opus Majus, Pars VI, cap. 1)
Roger Bacon – Oxford, 1267. Frate francescano e filosofo, Roger Bacon scrive e invia a papa Clemente IV, che gliel’aveva richiesto, una copia del suo Opus Majus, in cui sostiene che la scienza progredisce solo grazie alla prova sperimentale. Scrive: «Nessun discorso può dare certezza. Tutto dipende dall’esperienza. » Nella quinta parte dell’Opus Majus, studia la riflessione, la rifrazione, la struttura dell’occhio e i fenomeni ottici come l’arcobaleno. Eliocromia pubblicata come cartolina, procedimento misto su base digitale: collage, incisione, ritocco a gouache e interventi manuali, e fa parte della prima serie I Misteri della Fotografia, dedicata ai miti ed ai precursori Edizioni Atelier 41, via Fratelli Bandiera, Senigallia
La Fotografia è la più bella delle collezioni … Senigallia, città della fotografia, ospitera nuovi spazi dedicato alla ricerca e promozione della fotografia. Atelier 41 si trova 41 via fratelli Bandiera. Senigallia diventerà la Città delle collezioni. Any question : fotografia@atelier41.org <mailto:fotografia@atelier41.org>
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