Our collective appetite for visual spectacles has a history which long predates the projections of the earliest film, back to the early nineteenth century, when crowds lined up across Europe and America to see massive depictions of spectacular disasters, ranging from the Battle of Waterloo to the Great Earthquake of Lisbon to the burning of Sebastapol. If our own time can be characterized, as it was by Guy Debord, as that of the 'Society of the Spectacle,' then its timeline must be extended to include the Panorama, where the very sense of society self-seen in the mirror of media was born, and whose technology was as characteristic of its age as the cinema is of the twentieth century.
For the "panorama" was not found, but invented, and patented as well, by Robert Barker in 1794. The technical challenge was to create a painting on a curved surface that looked like the view from a great distance, and in every direction. Some geometrical calculations were involved to ensure that the landscape did not seem distorted, a problem Barker was said to have solved by looking at the lines made on the floor of his prison cell by the grid of bars. A small one was first exhibited in Edinburgh, to which Barker invited the eminent authority Sir Joshua Reynolds. There was a feeling, at that time, that things which merely mimicked reality did not count as art -- Barker wanted very much to have his paintings considered as art -- a desire to which Sir Joshua gave his seal of approval. A purpose-built structure -- which still stands (see this GoogleEarth view) -- was erected in London's Leicester-square, and the first Panorama, of 'London from the Roof of the Albion Mills,' was unveiled. This was soon followed by a view of the British fleet at Spithead, was unveiled. The effect was said to be so realistic that it made Queen Charlotte seasick.
The phenomenon spread all around the world; by the mid-nineteenth century there was hardly a major city in Europe or America without at least one Panorama rotunda; many had several. Here in the United States, there were dozens, beginning with Vanderlyn's Panorama of the Palace and Gardens of Versailles (the building is long gone, but the painting survives at New York's Metropolitan Museum), the recently-restored Gettysburg Cyclorama in Gettysburg, and the Cyclorama of the Burning of Atlanta in Atlanta (A "Cyclorama" is a Panorama with the addition of false scenery and other special effects). Boston had one too -- a so-called "Cyclorama" of the Civil War -- but its case is the opposite of Vanderlyn's; the painting is gone but the building still stands.
The phenomenon spread all around the world; by the mid-nineteenth century there was hardly a major city in Europe or America without at least one Panorama rotunda; many had several. Here in the United States, there were dozens, beginning with Vanderlyn's Panorama of the Palace and Gardens of Versailles (the building is long gone, but the painting survives at New York's Metropolitan Museum), the recently-restored Gettysburg Cyclorama in Gettysburg, and the Cyclorama of the Burning of Atlanta in Atlanta (A "Cyclorama" is a Panorama with the addition of false scenery and other special effects). Boston had one too -- a so-called "Cyclorama" of the Civil War -- but its case is the opposite of Vanderlyn's; the painting is gone but the building still stands.
Some scholars insist and perhaps rightly so, that one should not seek to understand the Panorama primarily as the predecessor of the cinema. They like to cite Theodor Adorno's maxim that "nothing is more detrimental to a theoretical understanding of modern art than attempts to reduce it to similarities with what went before." Yet the kind of history at stake in the Panorama seems not to be the "progressive" history of which Adorno was so suspect, but rather a kind of Borgesian history, in which the present casts its shadow upon the past, and artists 'invent their precursors.' And now, as the "Panorama" option on the iPhone enables everyone to create all-encompassing views, we can look back to the original London Panorama as a shadow of ourselves, one which we should be perfectly free to regard as an early Victorian version of 'virtual reality.'
Both readings for today were extremely interesting, and there are some noteworthy things to point out in both. Firstly, the idea that this idea came to Barker in a prison cell is really awesome. Imagine, this man sitting alone in a cell, without a view of anything at all, except for the small amount of light that was able to slip through some bars, and him creating an entirely new way to "see" from it. Thinking about him seeing nothing of beauty, and wanting to create something all encompassing and beautiful from it is really cool.
ReplyDeleteI have to say that I disagree with the idea that the panorama is a precursor to the moving picture. I think it's something entirely of its own validity. While the panorama may be able to capture some "movement" it really doesn't change itself. It's really just one 360 degree view of a particular second in time, that doesn't actually have any "movement" that would lead me to consider it as a pre-moving picture. On the contrary, it is the patron that must move in order to consider the entire view that the image has to offer.
I do understand that for the time, this is entirely revolutionary. The idea that one image can hold a view as spectacular as a persons own sight is something that even today is really spectacular with the iPhone's that you mentioned earlier.
This does make me wonder, and I don't believe it was mentioned in either of the reading, but I wonder if the idea of the panorama had any influence of the creation of the 360 degree theater, like the Globe or the Rose Theaters in London, almost 100 years later. Is the average patron just constantly seeking the ability to "see" more of the world around them, from all angles?
Precursor, not exactly -- but certainly an early form of "mass media." When we get to "moving panoramas" we'll see the term applied to yet another form that, at least horizontally, embodied the sensation of movement. And, though "Panorama" is now something you make with your digital camera, the "-orama" part has in the past been applied to wide-screen film formats, such as Cinerama.
DeleteI suppose that this makes sense, because the idea of film had to begin somewhere !
DeleteI can very much understand Robert Barker's desire to want his Panoramic paintings to be considered art, since during that time things that mimicked reality weren't considered art; reminds me a lot of Plato's view on poets. Richard Altick argues that "it belongs to the history of entertainment rather than art" (Oleksijczuk 8) because it was put into commercial use right away. I disagree with this point, I think Robert Barker invented something new in that era of art and just because he made incredible amounts of money from it, unlike starving artists, doesn't make it any less artistic.
ReplyDeleteIn our previous Victorian literature class, I found myself defending Panoramas from the comparison to cinema. I think it's a genre of art that can stand on its own without the need to call it the predecessor of cinema. I will say however there are similar themes that both encompass; nationalism that can "produce imperially minded viewers" (Oleksijczuk 9). Panoramas that sprang up during or after times of battle were very one sided which is very popular in Western media and, to take it a step further, Western paintings.
On a personal note, I think I would have really enjoyed Panoramas and, oddly, just by viewing a few of the hyperlinks of Panoramas, I kind of likened it to being spun around in a chair and trying to get my bearings. It's an odd sensation and I wonder how the feeling of sea sickness overcame the viewers.
Well-put, Ruba. I think the Panorama was, in a sense, closer to modern "VR" than to the cinema -- they were advertised as being just as good as visiting the actual place depicted, and *place* was their calling card. It's too bad that there isn't a proper one near enough to make a field trip -- there's nothing quite like the magic of standing on the viewing platform, free to turn about without breaking the illusion!
DeleteI remember this from about a year ago, but the New Bedford Whaling Museum finished restoring the 1848 Grand Panorama of a Whaling Voyage 'Round the World. They did have it displayed but not as a moving Panorama, what a gem!
Deletehttps://www.whalingmuseum.org/explore/exhibitions/spectacle-motion-grand-panorama-whaling-voyage-round-world-the-original/
Hi Ruba,
DeleteI also wish I could experience the panorama. I don't really get motion sickness, but I have had that oddly unbalanced feeling at the IMAX, when my mind couldn't decide where my body was.
We are exposed to so much media today, so we're more accustomed to dealing with "virtual realities," so I can only imagine what it was like for people two hundred years ago.
When I read what you wrote about some scholars insisting “that one should not seek to understand the Panorama primarily as the predecessor of the cinema” it helped (along with the readings) to disabuse me of the idea of the panorama as simply a form of entertainment that was popular a century or two ago. My first thoughts about the panorama were that it seemed like a cleverly designed antiquated art form, but I think that’s an ignorant way of looking at it. The panorama is a reflection of the culture of the time, but it also presents some interesting ideas on how we interact with media.
ReplyDeleteWhen I think of the word “virtual,” I think electronics, so Friedberg’s use of the phrase “virtual spatial and temporal mobility” (400) really made me look at it in a different way. It’s not correct to view panoramas as a quaint technology; I had to consider the experience that people of that time period would have had with them. I think it’s easy to think of art as something one simply views and only experiences on an emotional level, so I found it intriguing to think about the physical and mental effect that panoramas had. The idea of people being transported by the panorama is a simple enough idea, but I liked the paradox that Friedberg brings up about how the “‘mobility’ of the gaze” leads to the observer becoming “more immobile, passive, ready to receive the constructions of a virtual reality” (403). I wish the author would have expanded on that idea a bit more, because I’m not quite sure what my feelings are about it. I think she’s saying that the need to provide the sense of having moved to a new location leads to the observer being forced to be more constrained in how they view such detailed images.
I was also genuinely fascinated by Oleksijcuk’s argument that the panorama made the observer become a part of the image and this was used as propaganda “by making ‘a people’ out of a multitude” (7). By placing the viewer within the image, whether they want to or not, they’re part of it. I’m not surprised that such a tool could be used to support the government’s wars abroad and that so many of the panoramas depicted battles. I’d like to actually read some of the book to really learn about how “observers became the active agents that mad the images work as ideology” (17). He touches on it, but I’d love to get a more in-depth explanation of what exactly Oleksijcuk means when he writes that the spectator “became subject to the images’ control” (17).
*On a side note, I’ve read and reread the line “produced a crisis of confidence in the eye itself” (Friedberg 396) multiple times, but I’m not quite sure what exactly she means by this, so if anyone has any ideas, I’d love to hear them. Is it about how people could no longer trust their eyes? She mentions the crisis kind of out of nowhere, so I am at a loss.
**I also question Oleksijcuk’s claim that the panorama makes the spectator question the “limits of human vision” and “their own bodies” (13). This both a vague and lofty claim to make, so I’d like to see this fleshed out. Did people truly question these things, or is there some embellishment here?
Reading on the subject of panoramas has reminded me of a few days I spent in Ireland after a deployment, finding a glass dome high up in one of Belfast's malls that let me see all of the surrounding city from somewhere approaching a hundred feet up. This natural panorama makes me wonder a bit on why, with the opportunity to simply build a glass dome, Robert Barker chose to fill the space between viewer and outdoors with a manufactured panorama. As an artistic statement, certainly, and as a way of transporting the viewer as realistically as possible, but why else? The simple act of elevating the viewer, the changing of perspective, changes nearly everything about their surroundings, and the transportation of the viewer is accordingly achieved. Was the presentation of exotic places (or even, as noted in the /Panoramas/ introduction, cities in Britain and Ireland) expected to draw in more observers, or was the construction of such an exhibit itself expected to appeal?
ReplyDeleteI'm curious about Barker's influence on the idea of a panorama--where he got the idea, and why he decided to make it as photorealistic as possible. Was it the convention of the time, or one which he introduced? Is it a convention that has carried on to today? Certainly, any time I hear the word, I think about a natural landscape, not a city skyline. More than that, I think of pastoral landscapes--open fields with distant mountains, nothing like the treelines I can see from high up in CCRI's Knight campus. How did I come to formulate this opinion of this art form?