Carleton E. Watkins. the Grizzy Giant. Ca. 1870. Smithsonian American Art Museum
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/octo/article-pdf/doi/10.1162/0162287041886476/1751133/0162287041886476.pdf by guest on 30 September 2021 Carleton E. Watkins. The Grizzy Giant. ca. 1870. Smithsonian American Art Museum. Museum purchase from the Charles Isaacs Collection made possible in part by the Luisita L. and Franz H. Denghausen Endowment. They Might Be Giants: Carleton Watkins, Galen Clark, and the Big Tree* Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/octo/article-pdf/doi/10.1162/0162287041886476/1751133/0162287041886476.pdf by guest on 30 September 2021 ELIZABETH HUTCHINSON To mid-nineteenth-century Americans, California was well-known as the origin of many a “tall tale.” “The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” Mark Twain’s classic 1865 fable about a grizzled old-timer whose acrobatic amphibian— “Dan’l Webster”—did not measure up in the final competition, captures the larger-than-life spirit that surrounded the men and women living in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.1 Calaveras County was already known as the home of California’s most legendary heroes: the giant sequoia trees. After their “discovery” by European Americans in 1855, the mammoth trees became the immediate subject of national attention. The gigantic scale of these trees, and the implication of age that went with their height, captured the country’s imagination. The summer that Twain published his Californian myth, Carleton Watkins ventured into the area for the third time to make photographs of these giants that would convey their almost unreal greatness. He made several photographs of the “Grizzly Giant,” then the largest and oldest known tree in the United States. Watkins split his portrait into two views: a full-scale image that shows the height of the tree and a section that emphasizes its girth. It is the latter that is the focus of this investigation. An extraordinarily large photograph for the time, the 18-by-22 inch Section of the Grizzly Giant, 33 Feet Diameter tries to approximate the scale of its subject. The negative was created with a “mammoth” camera specifically constructed to capture the scale and grandeur of California’s overgrown landmarks: waterfalls several times higher than Niagara, rock formations bigger than cathedrals, and trees on an unheard-of scale. The Grizzly Giant seems almost too big to fit into this frame. It stretches nearly to the * Earlier versions of this essay were presented at Arizona State University on November 17, 1999, and at Columbia University on March 18, 2000. This research was begun for Alexander Nemerov’s course on American Art 1840–1914 at Stanford University in the winter of 1993. Further research was supported with a grant from the Research Allocations Fund Committee of the University of New Mexico. The Gilder Fund of Barnard College provided help with reproductions. I would like to thank Geoff Batchen, Alexander Nemerov, Bill Truettner, and Gray Sweeney for their helpful comments on earlier drafts. 1. Mark Twain, The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches, foreword by Shelley Fisher Fishkin, introduction by Roy Blount, Jr., and afterword by Richard Bucci (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996). The story was originally published in a New York newspaper in 1865. OCTOBER 109, Summer 2004, pp. 47–63. © 2004 October Magazine, Ltd. and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/octo/article-pdf/doi/10.1162/0162287041886476/1751133/0162287041886476.pdf by guest on 30 September 2021 Watkins. Section of the Grizzly Giant. 1865. Courtesy Department of Special Collections, Stanford University Libraries. sides of the print, the trunk shooting out of the top without beginning to narrow, as if it could go on forever. If this is not enough to cast the viewer into a state of awe, the vast girth of the tree is underscored by positioning a figure at its base. This man is, physically and symbolically, no slouch himself; he is the six-feet-two-inch Galen Clark, the caretaker of the copse of giant sequoias in which the Grizzly Giant stands. Clark’s knowledge and skill as a naturalist and guide were made famous in countless articles and books about the region. The photograph’s significance is further underscored by the stature of its photographer. When he exposed the image, Carleton Watkins was already the best-known California landscape photographer of his day.2 Susan Stewart has written provocatively about the subject of giants in Western culture. The gigantic, Stewart claims, provides a metaphorical screen through which an individual can work out his or her relationship to the exterior world: “We find the gigantic at the origin of public and natural history. The gigantic becomes an explana- tion for the environment, a figure of the interface between the natural and the human.”3 Made the year after the Yosemite Valley and nearby Mariposa Grove of Big 2. For a comprehensive bibliography of works on Carleton Watkins, see Amy Rule, ed., Carleton Watkins: Selected Texts and Bibliography (Boston: G. K. Hall & Co., 1993). The most helpful for this study are Nancy K. Anderson, “‘The Kiss of Enterprise’: The Western Landscape as Symbol and Resource,” in William Truettner, ed., The West as America: Reinterpreting Images of the American Frontier, 1820–1920 (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991), pp. 237–84; Nanette Margaret Sexton, “Carleton E. Watkins: Pioneer California Photographer (1829–1916): A Study in the Evolution of Photographic Style, During the First Decade of Wet Plate Photography,” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1982; and the numerous publications on Watkins by Peter Palmquist. 3. Susan Stewart, On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1993), p. 71. They Might Be Giants 49 Trees were set aside as national monuments, the juxtaposition of these three “giants” can be seen as a testament to the possibilities of giants, natural and human, to appropriately structure an American relationship to the Western landscape. The choice to use a work by Watkins to investigate the cultural meanings of images of the West in this period is an obvious one. Long praised for the beauty of Downloaded from http://direct.mit.edu/octo/article-pdf/doi/10.1162/0162287041886476/1751133/0162287041886476.pdf by guest on 30 September 2021 his quasi-modernist formal compositions, he has recently been described as a propagandist for the exploitation of California’s natural resources, creating aesthetic images that legitimized the commercial development of the region. The debate over how much attention to pay to Watkins’s unique vision continues today.4 However, my focus is not primarily on the artist but on his audience. In what follows I’d like to speculate about the meanings the photographs might have communicated to their viewers by closely examining the prints themselves, the physical contexts in which they were viewed, and the period visual culture they invoke. I do this by examining two prints made from this negative, one produced shortly after the negative was exposed and one printed sometime after 1875. By grounding this analysis in two products of a single negative, I hope to avoid a common pitfall in writing about photographs, which is to reduce them to unproblematic, virtual illustrations of social forces instead of active players in the field of visual culture. For at least two decades, scholars have called for a turn away from formalist readings of nineteenth-century photographs toward an understand- ing of the historical changes that were supported by the books, periodicals, and archives in which they appeared.5 Interestingly, this process of rehistoricizing can take us away from the materiality of the objects being discussed. While many schol- ars describe the content and even the style of photographs at length, they often look past the details of individual prints.6 By this I mean the exposing, developing, and printing that are necessary to creating the final illusionistic image, as well as the signs of wear and use that show the unique histories of each object. In other words, historians of photography tend to write about pictures and not prints. We discuss what a photograph depicts as if our access to it is uninfluenced by such extraneous visual information. And yet it seems to me that such signs of construc- tion and use directly affect how we see what we see in a photograph that is the subject of historical investigation. My interest comes from a desire to investigate how close looking allows us to see more clearly how visual culture is the bearer of meaning in specific historical contexts for specific audiences. If we really want to understand photography’s role in changing attitudes toward the American West, 4. This is evidenced by Douglas R. Nickel et al., Carleton Watkins: The Art of Perception (San Francisco: San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 1999). 5. See, for example, Douglas Crimp, “The Museum’s Old/The Library’s New Subject,” Parachute 22 (Spring 1981), pp. 32–37; Rosalind Krauss, “Photography’s Discursive Spaces: Landscape/View,” Art Journal 42, no. 4 (Winter 1982), pp. 311–19; and Allan Sekula, “The Body and the Archive,” October 39 (Winter 1986), pp. 3–64. 6. An exception to this might be found in Carol Armstrong’s discussion of the variance in prints used in early photographically illustrated books. See Armstrong, Scenes in a Library: Reading the Photograph in the Book, 1843–1875 (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1998). 50 OCTOBER for example, we can learn a lot from how these two prints invite changing views. As I will argue below, one print—in its internal form and in the contexts in which it was viewed—encourages an attitude of grandeur and reverence toward the Grizzly Giant, while the other, made two decades later and viewed in different contexts, encourages the dispassionate, even commodified attitude of the tourist.