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In Greek and Roman mythology, Narcissus was a handsome young man who, while stopping to drink from a pond, fell in love with his own reflection. He was so overcome with adoration that he refused to leave and died of hunger. Like this mythical figure, we humans have always been fascinated by our own image, as can be seen today in the culture of influencers and the never-ending quest for the perfect selfie.
A new exhibition at the Cantor Arts Center entitled “Solid Pictures: Photosculpture and the Making of Modern Likeness” explores that innate need for representation, as well as the little-known tale of a French inventor named François Willème, who sought to bring one of the most elite forms of artistic media, sculpture, to the masses.
On display until Jan. 18, this sleek and sophisticated exhibition of archival materials, prints, slides and actual photosculptures has numerous objectives: to recount the rise and fall of Willème and his invention, which fused photography and sculpture; to provide a context for the reasons why photography exploded in popularity; and to offer a cautionary tale about visionary creatives who find their dreams extend beyond the realities of their times.
To fully appreciate the forward-thinking Willème, for whom there is little biographical information, we have to go back to the mid-1850s, before photography became widely available. Among the upper classes, there was a custom to leave a “carte de visite” at the home of friends and business acquaintances. These were small cards, usually 4 x 2 inches in size, with a portrait of oneself on one side. It became a Victorian rage to trade, collect in albums and even display these cards, perhaps to show how well-connected one was in society.
“Willème naturally figured that he could find success in the corresponding medium of sculpture. He even created tiny busts which he called “buste-cartes,” advertising them as three-dimensional calling cards,” said Cantor Arts Center Associate Curator of European Art Patrick R. Crowley.
But why sculpture? A visit to most museums includes gazing upon painted portraits of the rich and famous in their best finery and, perhaps, displaying their wealth via backgrounds of ornate rooms or even in outdoor settings to show off their estates. But to have a three-dimensional representation of oneself was the ultimate tribute, usually reserved for political and military heroes.
An artist and inventor, Willème devised a method that used synchronized photography and mechanical instruments like the pantograph (a tool that aids in duplication) to create solid figures from silhouette profiles. This is a very condensed description of the process, which the exhibition explains in more detail using maquettes and wall text.
Like a true entrepreneur, Willème advertised his process and product as being a fast — within 48 hours — and economical means of capturing one’s image for posterity. He found investors, formed a company and got notable people to endorse his new invention. Now a patented product, photosculpture found its way into the court of Queen Isabella II of Spain. Her 1865 photosculpture is remarkably realistic, due to the intricately rendered details of her face, jewelry and garments.
Unfortunately for Willème, the last step in the complicated process involved sculptural modeling of those fine details, which could only be done by hand. This added costs to the photosculpture, due to the need to hire skilled craftsmen.
This aspect of the story is nicely illustrated by the inclusion of a mannequin in a crinoline (a stiff, structured petticoat) dress. It was the style at the time, with yards of cascading ruffles and mounds of lace – and no self-respecting woman of the age would want those fashion details to be omitted in her portrait. The extra work of replicating all these details by hand meant that photosculptures of women cost more than those of men. The photosculptures in this section of the exhibition are exquisite in their workmanship, capturing the voluminous folds of skirts and delicate embellishment of laces. They were finished in bronze, painted plaster and silver-plated plaster and must have been quite the treasure in a late-19th-century parlor.
Crowley said that he first learned about Willème and his work when he was in graduate school. Upon coming to work at the Cantor, he set out to acquire examples for the museum, which now owns 12. “We have the second largest collection behind the Patrimonio Nacional of Spain, which boasts 39.”
Walking into the exhibition, the first indication that one will encounter something different and new is the three-dimensional title wall. The first room gives a chronology of how Willème began with a fairly rough-looking wooden prototype and started to sell his idea around town. Crowley said that this is his favorite work in the show because “it’s more about the processes than the products of art.” Willème showed this early model for the first time at a lecture in 1861 and Crowley made an interesting correlation between then and now.
“It’s like when Steve Jobs took the stage to show the iPhone for the first time,” said Crowley.
Wall-sized reproductions of photographs of Willème’s studio and of a woman posing for a photosculpture take the viewer back in time and give a sense of how revolutionary the process must have seemed. There was the subject, standing in the middle of a circular space, under a plumb bob (a vertical level tool), while cameras set in the walls captured a 360-degree likeness on glass plates. These negatives were projected on a screen, a profile was traced, a pantograph copied the likeness in scale and a stylus with a blade cut into clay to create a mold of the figure. These were most often cast in plaster bisque with the detailed work, as noted previously, having to be done by hand.
Willème’s efforts to democratize the medium was undone by this unforeseen necessity, despite his advertisements for “10 seconds of posing,” and a quick turn -around. The exorbitant price was the final blow, resulting in financial ruin and Willème leaving the company in 1867.
“The whole point was that photosculpture was supposed to be a labor-saving device; while it was capable of producing astonishing maquettes, it certainly underestimated the costs of those finishing touches, especially in the case of women’s dress,” explained Crowley.
The last room of the exhibition contains information about an American named Steele MacKaye, who attempted to bring the photosculpture process to the United States in 1866. He founded the American Photosculpture Company, which MacKaye predicted would create public monuments and ornamental sculpture. Civil War general Ulysses S. Grant was a notable customer, and his 1867 photosculpture, made a couple of years before he became president, is included here. Like Willème, MacKaye also underestimated the skilled labor force needed and he went bankrupt after just one year.
A wall label states that photosculpture was “an early example of a gimmick … an aesthetic phenomenon rooted in the misappraisal of value.” We know, however, that one person’s gimmick – or even failure – can be the pathway for another person’s innovation and success. Crowley has included four contemporary artists whose work would not be possible without the historical groundwork laid by Willème.
“I decided to include contemporary works because it was important to me to make the links between this older, largely forgotten technology and our modern world explicit. I selected works that foreground aspects of process that are indebted to photosculpture: CT scanning, 3D scanning, CNC machining, and so on,” said Crowley. (CNC machining and CNC milling refers to processes in which machines guided by a computer fabricate or carve objects.)
One of these artists, Oliver Laric, used a combination of processes (3D printing, CNC milling) to create an homage to Willème, in the form of three sculptures, in diminishing scale. “Self-Portrait,” from 2026, shows the inventor in full figure, arms crossed and deep in thought.
A one-minute, black-and-white video created in 1972 by Ed Catmull and Fred Parke shows a disembodied hand in motion. It seems simple, but read the label: this pioneering use of three-dimensional animation began with a plaster cast of a hand, painstakingly digitized, and would change the history of animation forever, with Catmull later becoming a founder of Pixar.
What began as a simple idea — to satisfy the human need to be represented and seen — has obviously evolved beyond anything François Willème could ever imagine. Presenting these seldom-seen art works here, in the heart of Silicon Valley, seems timely and well-placed. Crowley, however, pointed out that the exhibition has been long in the making (five years) and “long before AI played a dominant role in our discourse.”
What would he like the visitor to take away from the story of Willème and his visionary, but ill-fated photosculpture experiment?
“I want people to come away with much deeper, and perhaps more troubling questions, about the creative labor that lies at the heart of what makes us human.”
“Solid Pictures: Photosculpture and the Making of Modern Likeness” is on view through Jan. 18 at the Cantor Arts Center, Stanford. Admission is free. museum.stanford.edu/exhibitions
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