While collecting ground glass loupes featured in my last post, I did meet a few good people around the world, and those kind folks helped that collection grow. Last year, knowing that I make ambrotypes, one of my loupe friends from United Kingdom emailed me saying that at a local car boot he found what appeared to be a blank black ambrotype, still in its case. I was perplexed, as I’ve never seen such a thing found, but in his photos that’s exactly what it appeared to be, and so he sent it to me with the next couple of loupes. Upon receiving it and examining its carefully curved surface and precisely ground edges, I started suspecting it wasn’t actually just a blank glass ready for an image. With time I addressed some experts, and was surprised to learn that what I had was indeed a pre-photographic object called Claude Glass.
What is a Claude Glass and how does one use it?
This simple but beautiful viewing device is named after 17th century miniaturist Claude Lorraine, and it is basically a black mirror. They came in variety of shapes and sizes, usually about 4in across in order to fit comfortably into someone hand. To protect their reflective surface Claude Glasses came in protective cases much like those used for housing daguerreotypes and ambrotypes, but with a metal hinge. The case also had a loop to enable user to hang it in perfect position for viewing and have both hands free to enjoy a glass of wine and a cigar, or indeed to paint the scene while referencing the glass.
I have found very few references to how exactly they were made, and some of those explanations didn’t seem to make much sense. To the eye it looks like a highly polished piece of black glass, and the back surface surely does look like a solid unworked piece of old color glass, but one detain within the polished surface side has me puzzled. At a certain angle and with the aid of strong light one can see a faint perfect circle ‘emerging’ up to the surface, as if two pieces of glass were glued together and that’s the seam, but the finish is exactly the same within that circle as outside of it, the ‘seam’ is absolutely perfect, and the circle is cut off by the rectangular shape of the device itself. So I’m still not exactly certain as to how they were made so perfect and smooth as to give a flawless reflection. Below images show this ghost circle; in order to have it show up I had to exaggerate exposure and contrast a lot, as that circle is barely visible even to the naked eye in most situations.
To use a Claude Glass, a person would turn their back to the scene they wish to view, and view that scene via that reflection instead of observing it directly. Now why would someone do this? Once we take into account culture and emerging trends of the period, there are actually several good reasons to be discovered. Certainly the aesthetic of the image seen in such a way is indeed reminiscent of oil paintings; the color palette is slightly subdued and shifted into the same hue, which is usually slightly less warm. After centuries of seeing nature through oil paintings, quite often miniatures as those were quicker to complete and thus more affordable, audiences of 17th, 18th, and early 19th century were not quite accustomed to seeing Nature in all its true glory and brightness. Additionally, the vastness of Nature was still a very imposing thing to face for our ancestors; most often referred to as a wild beast in need of overpowering and taming, Nature was still much too powerful for them to consider. It was one thing to sit by the fireplace with a glass of brandy and hold a view of the Alps in your hand, and a whole new thing to step out of your carriage onto a side of some cliff and to look out at those mountains with your own two eyes. Heck, I know I get overwhelmed when I’m alone on the edge of Grand Canyon, and I’ve met people who experienced panic attacks at that place. Staring at the glass held in hand gives one a level of control over the scene behind them, and the familiar oil painting color palette makes it even friendlier and more familial to the eye. I see a strong parallel here with the behavior of modern day folks and their phone cameras. First thing most of them do when seeing something interesting is snap a picture of it and start staring down at the screen while applying filters to it, in order to make Nature more palatable for their eye; I don’t see how this is much different, if any at all.
Claude Glasses can obviously be very useful to an artist trying to paint a scene. Its image presents an easy way of visualizing which colors and light values are predominant in the scene.
Another fun use was to have a larger version in your carriage fixed in such a way that it pointed out the window. This way you not only wouldn’t need to turn your head in order to see the passing scenery, but it will appear to you as if passing on a screen (sound familiar?) and in its own specific colorization, not unlike Kodachrome or Technicolor having their own distinct looks.
In addition, the image seen through the Claude Glass is pleasantly dimmer than a sunlit scene one may be facing, and so there’s less strain on the eye. Here’s how the image looks when you just opened up the case, and are starting to line up the correct cropping you wish to view.
Claude Glass on Location
After a good deal of looking, I found a number of good articles describing philosophy behind the use of this device, and several of them have been written rather recently. However, almost no sources had good and clear examples of what actual images taken through it could be like. This inspired me to take my Claude Glass on the road, on a very quick trip around some of my favorite spots around California. I figured that this intriguing relic was worth taking to places like Sequoia and Yosemite National Parks, redwood forests of Northern California, and the beautiful coastline stretch above San Francisco.
Images were made with an iPhone 11Pro as seen below; I had to shoot them at quite a strong angle to avoid having the phone showing up in the scene. Lining things up within the frame this way is no easy task, and so do forgive the few images where I couldn’t quite correct the keystone effect all the way. All editing was done on standard phone camera software, as I haven’t had Photoshop for the past few years and really don’t miss it at the least. Reference images on the left were left nearly untouched, and Claude Glass images were adjusted at the time of capture to represent what I saw as closely as possible.
For those who know my work I’ll confirm that going on such a beautiful road trip without either wet plate or daguerreotype equipment is unfathomable to me, and so of course I brought along my smallest and most maneuverable tintype setup. There wasn’t much time for its use, and it was rather hot, dry, and windy in most all locations visited, so I only brought back about 20 plates. Below is one of my four or five top favorites. I love the way the wind picked up during my short exposure, made with 1860s Dallmeyer Triple Achromat, and was trying to brush away the mighty waters of Yosemite Falls.
Thanks for reading and supporting independent artists,
Anton
