James Tissot 1861 - 1870

Editor: So, this is a gelatin silver print, a photograph taken between 1861 and 1870 by Robert Jefferson Bingham. It's simply titled "James Tissot" after the artist, and honestly, he looks rather dashing but also a bit…melancholy? Almost like he’s posing as a romantic hero from a novel. What do you make of it? Curator: You know, sometimes I imagine myself back then, in Bingham's studio, watching Tissot arrange his coat just so. Was he aware he was playing a part? Or was that just how artists presented themselves? Think about the era; photography was still relatively new, a curious dance between documentation and aspiration. Do you get a sense of the real man, or is it an expertly crafted persona? Editor: It’s hard to say! The photo feels so deliberate, doesn't it? I see confidence, but also vulnerability in his eyes. Perhaps he’s caught between wanting to appear successful and revealing his true self. Curator: Exactly! It's this push and pull that makes portraiture so endlessly fascinating. What I find striking is how modern this feels, despite the sepia tones and the formality. His gaze feels direct, challenging even. We’re still wrestling with those same questions of identity and performance today, aren’t we? Perhaps that is why I feel he has been eternally cast by this performance in front of the camera, even if just for that instance. Do you think about what he was like on any normal day? Editor: I hadn't really thought about that, but it makes so much sense. It definitely changes how I see the photo now, thinking of how it blends a person's life, craft and maybe a pinch of mystique, to immortalize an artist. Curator: Yes, and the photo captures the moment and reflects us too. What stories we project onto it, and what pieces of ourselves we find in it.