Since its invention, photography has been recognized as both an art and a science, linked by the technology through

which its images

are captured and then preserved. It is natural that aspects of these three components, in varying degrees, would be evident in
photographic images. Th e extent to which art, science, or technology dominates the photographic expression is in the hands and the
imaginative eye and mind of the practitioner. Th e importance of the motives in photography is as relevant in the digital age as it was
for Daguerre and Fox Talbot, both of whom made some of the first photographs of scientific subjects. Once its potential was
realized, the intent of scientific photography has always been to make images without the photographer’s personal biases being
unduly evident. However, true objectivity is not possible, since someone has to press the shutter, light the subject, and frame the
scene. In addition, the myriad
of considerations necessary to convert a threedimensional view into a two-dimensional image are almost all influenced by the
photographer or imposed by the technology. So while the intent may be complete objectivity, subjective influences inevitably
intrude. Most scientific photography is done with visible light and traditional cameras, but it may also be used to record invisible
objects with dimensions of atomic or cosmic proportions, exploiting almost any region of the electromagnetic spectrum and in ways
that are unconventional or highly specialized—holography and electron microscopy come to mind here. Scientific imaging also
embraces the representation of scientific data that have no visual counterpart, such as a radiograph, or that is purely numerical, such
as a fractal. Many of the subjects are recorded specifically because they have not been observed before, or cannot be observed
directly, or simply because an image is the most convenient way to capture a rich stream of data, as in an outward- looking
astronomical telescope or downward gazing earth-orbiting satellite. Consequently, a frame of reference is often absent from many
science pictures, and when presented without scale, title, or context, they may appear as abstract images to the uninformed viewer. It
is clear that scientific photography off ers a vast opportunity for anyone with a creative eye, although many of its practitioners would
not consider themselves artists. Indeed many would not admit to being photographers in any conventional sense either. Nonetheless,
it is hardly surprising that images made for science can be aesthetically pleasing or even inspirational,
since they often reflect aspects of the world of nature, of science, and of technology that are not easily observed. Sometimes this
world is inaccessible, unseen, or non-visible, yet can produce images that are mysterious, revealing, provocative, or inspirational to
the science community and beyond. Much of this was foreseen by the French astronomer Arago, who introduced Daguerre’s
revolutionary invention to the French government in July, 1839, with the intention of making the details public in return for a
generous life pension for Daguerre. Th e full text is in Eder’s History of Photography. It was clear that Arago saw the new process as
useful in archeology, astronomy and lunar photography, photometry, microscopy, meteorology, physiology, and medicine, while
noting “. . . its usefulness in the arts.” Th us from the beginning, the value of photography in the sciences was recognized. The
objective of preserving scientific data through permanent images was a key motivation before photography itself was invented. Th e
idea of recording the outlines of leaves and insect wings using light alone was suggested 1802 by the photographic pioneer Th omas
Wedgwood. This became a practical reality with Fox Talbot’s calotype salt-paper prints and through John Herschel’s cyanotype
(blue-print) process, invented in 1842. A year later this led to the first book to be illustrated with photographs, Anna Atkins’ British
Algae: Cyanotype Impressions. Atkins’ book contained over 400 shadowgraphs and appeared a year before Fox Talbot’s much better
known Pencil of Nature. In the preface to her book Atkins wrote, “Th e difficulty
of making accurate drawings of objects as minute as many of the Algae and Confervae has induced me to avail myself of Sir John
Herschel’s beautiful process of Cyanotype, to obtain impressions of the plants themselves, which I have much pleasure in off ering
to my botanical friends.” Despite its prosaic title and unusual subject matter, it contains images of science that are delicate and often
quite beautiful, revealing the variety, transparency, and detail of natural
forms in a way that no drawing can.
Photography is now a constant and indispensable servant in certain meteorological records. Applied periodically to living
plants, photography supplies the botanist with the easiest and best data for judging of their rate of growth. It gives to the
zoologist accurate representations of the most complex of his subjects, and their organisation, even to microscopic details.
The engineer at home can ascertain…the most complex works on the Indian or other remote railroads. The physician can
register every physiognomic phase accompanying the access, the height, decrease, and passing away of mental disease.

The speaker had been very prescient and within a few years, other writers echoed his words. In 1860, F.F.
Statham referred to “the handmaid of the sciences,” and four years later, a reviewer described photography
as “the child of science,” emphasising the freedom from fallibility in observations. Praise continued
because of photography’s ability to preserve a faithful image.
“The sensitive photographic fi lm is the true retina of the scientist,” declared the eminent French
astronomer, P.J.C. Janssen at a meeting of the Société Française de la Photographie in June 1888. The
potential of photography to the scientifi c disciplines had been present from the beginning. In 1839,
William Henry Fox Talbot had anticipated future developments by challenging
his “photogenic drawing” to capture the image within his solar microscope. Many other investigators soon
exploited the advantages of photography, and their research benefi ted from sharing reliable results with
other practitioners. In France, the daguerreotype process was also used with the microscope and, in spite of
the lack of rapidity in the plate, Alfred Donné obtained satisfactory images for demonstration to the
Academy of Sciences in 1840. His philosophy was summarised: “… we shall let Nature reproduce herself
… with all her details and infinite nuances.” The poor response of his plate to daylight, however, prompted
him to develop alternative lighting
forms, and he successfully adapted the oxy-hydrogen torch as a light source for his microscope. By 1845,
Donné and Léon Foucault had published an illustrated atlas of histological photomicrographs intended for
teaching—“it is so to speak the object itself which will be placed before the eyes and in the hands of the
audience.” There was no formalised programme for developing photography as a tool of the sciences.
Whilst others accepted photography as an art form, the scientific practitioners welcomed photography as an
aid to their work, and used it in different ways. Some realised that emulsion sensitivity extended beyond the
boundaries
of human vision and that it was possible, for example, to probe the night sky and secure ocular proof of
their observations. At times, it was possible to dispense with lenses and optics, but instead, to build
equipment designed to “write” direct to sensitive plates. At an early stage, analyses of solar and other
spectra benefited by having images for comparison with other versions. Practitioners in medicine, natural
history and crime recognised the potential for creating standardised records, records that provided an
image, which was adequate to serve as the original. Botanists were prompt to recognise the advantages over
drawing, and when Anna Atkins
made cyanotypes in 1843, she overcame diffi culties “in the interest of the botanical value.” Robert Hunt
declared,
“Specimens may be copied with a fi delity which cannot by any other means be obtained.” At Surrey
County Asylum Hugh W Diamond believed photographic evidence of his suffering patients would
contribute to improvements in treatment. Staff at London Zoological Gardens undertook
to compile a catalogue of “type specimens” from the animals in their collection and in 1871, unwittingly
created a photograph of the last surviving quagga. Police services recognised the merits of “the rogues
gallery” when a police sergeant from Bristol was able to identify
“a hardened offender” in Birmingham.

Other disciplines of a scientific nature also annexed photographic techniques for recording aspects of their
pioneering work. Liberated from free-hand drawing, archaeologists utilised photographic prints in lectures,
in exhibitions and in publications. Space saving was
welcomed by travellers. Prior to the use of photography, expeditions had relied on casting plaster images of
the faces of native tribes. Photographic prints would serve ethnology just as well, stated The Photographic
News. On any Arctic voyage, space was at a premium, but the merits of securing permanent records of the
explorations were seldom overlooked, in spite of the hardships to be endured by the photographic offi cer,
who was obligated to work in diffi cult conditions.
In astronomy, photographic recording became such an asset, that many of the astronomers made important
contributions to photographic science. Janssen advised on good laboratory practice for photographing with
the telescope, and valued photography—“[it] gives us today
images of the sun in such perfection that they permit us to employ them in work of the greatest precision.”
For twenty years, he had cherished a belief that “a photograph offers for purposes of measurement and
examination such previous details that they surpass in value the observations of the most skilful
astronomer.”
At the observatory in Bonn in 1894, the first assistant, Dr. Julius Scheiner, devised a sensitometer for
establishing reliable plate speeds for his photographic exposures, which subsequently evolved as the
Scheiner speed system. Regular adjustments to equipment and techniques sometimes revealed the need for
improvements to sensitised materials. For example, in 1884, Josef Marie Eder proposed a formula for
orthochromatic plates, colour-corrected to improve rendition of yellowgreens. Early in the twentieth
century, further improvements delivered the panchromatic emulsion. The single astronomical record was
valuable, but photography was a tool that could be applied to a constructive purpose. In 1882, some
observers agreed to document stellar positions, but by 1891, eighteen worldwide observatories were
working in co-operation to assemble a comprehensive dossier of the night sky. Such was the authority of
the assemblage that the undertaking was not repeated until 1949. Similarly, in medicine, the compilation of
an “atlas” of conditions often provided confi dence to diagnostic procedures. The applications of
photography multiplied for two reasons. It provided results in a permanent form, and some techniques
could be adapted to reveal data that were otherwise undetectable. Talbot’s use of the solar microscope in
1839 had been successful, but within three years, he was demonstrating polarising microscopy,
and showing its potential for crystallographic studies. In combining his enthusiasm for pictorial
photography with his studies in crystallography (1853), Sir William Crookes admitted his motive had been
to “retain in a more tangible form the well-known beautiful fi gures observed…” (That is, the distinctive
ring structures that permitted identifi cation of crystals.) However, Crookes’
results provided a welcome surprise; his photographic plate revealed more than four times what he had
expected from his visual observations, which, in turn, initiated further enquiries within the scientific
community, and the evolution of standardised techniques.
The possibility of recording beyond the limits of the human eye was considered possible. Sir John Herschel
had succeeded in identifying infrared radiation by observing temperature change, and he forecast the
likelihood of detecting energy in the “lavender” region of the spectrum (i.e., ultra violet radiation.). When
the ultra violet spectrum was eventually recorded in 1864, it was the precursor for twentieth-century studies
in atomic structure … and later, in 1935, ultra violet radiation was supplanted by the electron beam and a
new style of microscopy evolved. In 1851, Talbot demonstrated “an instantaneous photogenic image” to
the members of the Royal Institution by exposing a page of The Times (which was fastened to a rotating
drum) to the light from an electric spark. The relationship between photography and time now developed in
different ways. High-speed photography had its derivation in the pistol camera of Thomas Skaife who
made modifi cations that allowed him to capture what he termed the “epochs of time, inappreciable to our
natural unaided organ of vision …”
Advances to the dry plate fulfilled the specification for recording shock waves. In 1888, Ernst Mach
adapted August Töpler’s schlieren layout and succeeded in preserving the distinctive patterns of currents
that surrounded a bullet in fl ight. In 1893, CV Boys was engaged in studies intended to demonstrate the
effects of a projectile (bullets) striking different materials, such
as glass and metal. Photography was now providing a range of ideas on which to base experiments, to
record sequences, and to compare results, all with certainty
and confi dence. Photography offered other ways of capturing time.
Experiments, which preceded the development of cinematography, exploited the ability to capture
movement, and Eadweard Muybridge used photography when he set up a series of cameras in 1872 to
study the motion of a horse. Success encouraged him to reduce exposure times
and thus eliminate blur, by improving his chemistry and equipment. By 1878, he had secured sequences of
horses walking, trotting, and galloping, men running and leaping, women dancing, doves in fl ight, water
splashing and sufficient experience to synthesise his multiple images
into an apparent single moving picture. In France, Etienne Jules Marey, a physiologist,
improved the idea and designed cameras for recording sequences on a single plate. His
“chronophotography” was applied to many motion studies—locomotion, aerodynamics,
vibration, blood circulation and heartbeats.
When the Englishmen, William Frieze Greene, modified a magic lantern around 1886, he introduced a
rotating shutter and four lenses to capture images, which gave the impression of movement.
Subsequent improvements to emulsions, to lighting and to timing equipment provided the basis of scientific
techniques that continued into the heart of the next century, but some nineteenth-century investigators
struck out in a different direction. They had realised the merits of using sensitised photographic material as
a “self-recording” method, which would automatically indicate changes to the quality of light and other
phenomena. Captain William de Wiveleslie Abney equipped a “sunshine recorder” with a discrete hole
through which sunlight smeared its image on slowly-moving piece sensitive paper. To analyse the quality
of daylight, Vero Charles Driffi eld modified the actinometer patented by his colleague, Dr. Ferdinand
Hurter, and collected
“daily diagrams of light” for twelve months during 1885 and 1886. From the mass of data, now
accumulated on bromide paper, the two men designed the Actinograph exposure calculator.
Anxious to explore the solar spectrum (and improve the characteristics of dry plates for solar photography),
Abney registered evidence of infrared radiation by directing sunshine, via the spectroscope, onto his
photographic plate (1880). He had been confi dent “there are some faint rays which lie below the limit of
the red.” Eventually (1930), special plates were sensitised for
infrared photography.

The x-ray, possessing unusual properties but detectable on conventional plates, was discovered by Wilhelm
Röntgen in 1895. Working with a luminescent screen and a cathode ray tube, the hitherto unrecognised rays
revealed themselves “by making darkness visible,” when Röntgen placed his hand in the ray’s path and
revealed the internal bone structure. X-ray techniques opened the way to non-invasive probing of the soft
tissues of the human body, teeth, fractured limbs, Egyptian mummies, precious stones, machinery and
metal castings. The applications in medicine alone prompted The Lancet (1896) to describe the technique
as “the searchlight of
photography.” It was seen as “photography of the invisible.” Relishing the chance to photograph the
invisible, Josef Maria Eder teamed up with Eduard Valenta in 1896 to produce a series of radiographic
studies, that were acclaimed for their artistic content as much as the scientific disclosures. Once the value
of x-radiography was accepted, progress was swift. Exposures of quarter an hour were reduced to a few
minutes and the nineteenth-century pioneering efforts contributed substantially to the twentieth-century
techniques of ultra-sound, pulse echo
recording, and tomography based on positron emission. Radiotracers were employed on cadavers in 1896
but by 1927, the technique of angiography had become an
in vivo procedure. The first autoradiograph emerged in 1904, and in 1912, x-rays were used to produce
diffraction patterns of crystals.
Not all the applications of photography were successful and many ideas for taking advantage of
photography either failed to materialise, or did not fulfi l the requirement. In a review of progress in 1888,
Dr. C.H. Bothamley deplored the lack of “scientifi c method.” His thesis was that few people had the
ability to plan satisfactory experiments, and some research failed to establish “the existence of a given set
of phenomena.” In his opinion, investigators sometimes drew incorrect
conclusions from their data, and Bothamley criticised results that did not distinguish between “that which is
actually established and that which is only rendered probable or possible.” His remedy was “systematic and
somewhat severe training.”

Photography made satisfactory contributions to nineteenth-century science for three reasons:

• It was welcomed as a means of securing reliable
proof that had a degree of permanence and could be
distributed among colleagues
• It documented phenomena and scientifi c events in
ways that replaced the need for human observations
• It could be allied to existing optical equipment, and
could be incorporated in the design of new apparatus.