I Made a Daguerreotype — Annika heegaard

“The Good Death” has existed long before post-mortem photography. Created to “soften the emotional toll of death on friends and family”, the concept of a “Good Death” was designed to narrate the passage into the afterlife. These narratives were told through posthumous portraiture, though not all of these portraits depicted the dead in death. Joseph Goodhue Chandler painted a portrait of three year old Charles H Sisson in 1850. Commissioned by Sisson’s parents, the painting is a depiction of life. Charles is seen playing with children’s toys in a warmly lit landscape. According to the Guardian, it was hung in the Sisson family living room. The “Good Death”, or perhaps the “Good Life”, was an important part of posthumous portraiture. Yet, some of these paintings are more grief-stricken and morbid than others. “Rachel Weeping” (1772) by Charles Willson Peale shows a dead infant in mourning dress beside its wailing mother. “Death of William” (1807) by Michele Felice Corne paints an infant on the brink of death with its mother weeping behind a closed curtain. A “Good Death” is part of these posthumous paintings, demonstrating innocence, love, and the pain of loss. A memento for families who may have wanted to cling to the last moments of life, the posthumous portrait has served a role before the technological advances of photography. Notably, the posthumous, painted portrait was limited to the higher social classes – though a memento, it was also a strict symbol of wealth and power.

The concern with accurately depicting the dead was found in all forms of art. The death mask was about as close as society got to a realistic depiction of humanity before the invention of photography. A cast of a person’s face posthumously, death masks were “used as part of the effigy of the deceased, displayed at state funerals. During the 18th and 19th centuries masks were also used to permanently record the features of unknown corpses for purposes of identification.” One woman in particular, unnamed but known as “L'Inconnue de la Seine,” is famous for her posthumous death mask. Pulled out of La Seine, this young woman likely died by suicide. Nonetheless, the pathologist at the morgue was “mesmerized by her beauty [so much so] that he called in a ‘mouleur’ – a molder – to preserve her face in a plaster death mask.” The mask was subsequently mass produced, found in the homes of artists and authors like Picasso, Man Ray, Nabokov, and Camus. The desire to create an accurate and intimate portrait of the dead extends beyond the painting. Society has always longed for a tangible and morbid but lively depiction of the dead. To be able to grasp at a passed soul symbolizes both the mortality and eternity of mankind.

Yet by the 1820s, most American middle class and upper class homes did not have death masks. They contained prints instead. The rise of lithography enabled the spread and accessibility of print culture in homes. The Early American Daguerreotype characterizes most 19th century families as containing prints of “landscapes, portraits of celebrities, or other public or historical figures, or copies of Old Master paintings.” Thus, when the daguerreotype was invented in 1839, it found itself in a world “increasingly hungry for imagery.” Originally, the daguerreotype was used to mass produce and circulate images of art. Sculptural works which could not be reproduced nor transported easily were now better represented in a daguerreotype. The daguerreotype was also used as a tool in painting. As the most realistic measure for capturing an image, the daguerreotype provided artists with a long-term reference for portraiture and posthumous portraiture. But, the daguerreotype was not like any quick-snap digital photography. Each print was a unique metallic composition, requiring detailed and mechanical effort from a trained daguerreotypist.

The early American daguerreotype was a dangerous endeavor – it consisted “of a potent chemical mixture that, if prepared improperly, could severely damage or ruin the plate, even the daguerreotypist’s health.” The daguerreotype was named after Louis Daguerre, the French artist and photographer who is credited with inventing the daguerreotype process. In Daguerre’s “A Full Description of the Daguerreotype Process,” he goes in depth about the step-by-step process of producing the mirrored image. He identifies a list of essential materials which includes a strange assortment of olive oil, carded cotton, pumice powder, a bag of muslin, nitric acid, iron wire, spirit lamp, and plates of silver, plated on copper. Divided into five operations, “the first consists in polishing and cleaning the plate.” Daguerre and other daguerreotypists would have likely bought a silver coated copper plate at any shop catering to the industry. Chemistry and metalist shops are listed in Daguerre’s handbook as popular destinations for otherwise mysterious ingredients. This plate was meant to be buffed and polished using pumice powder and olive oil. By doing this, it would create a mirror-like surface on the silver. More importantly, it would prepare the surface for fuming and light sensitivity.

Daguerre describes the process of fuming the plate with iodine as “applying [the] coating.” This part of the process is still essential today. The plate had to be – and must still be – set above pure, solid iodine. The fumes will make the plate light sensitive, allowing the metal to act as a negative. Daguerre’s third step instructs the daguerreotypist to place the prepared plate in the camera and to take the photograph. He cautions the reader’s optimism: “The fourth [step] brings out this image, which at first is not visible on the plate being withdrawn from the camera obscura.” Daugerre’s famous fourth step, which is no longer part of the process today, requires a phial of mercury, a lamp with spirit wine, glass funnel, and an apparatus. This image, Figure 16 in Daguerre’s manual, identifies B as the structure intended to catch the plate. C, meanwhile, is the cup containing the mercury. D is the lamp with spirit wine, intended to heat up the entire contraption. E’s function is saved for last as it provides a hole through which the mercury can be drained at the end of the development process. In short, Daguerre’s method uses a hot mixture of mercury to develop the image. Today, we use a sheet of red glass and the sun. And, like any dark-room printed photograph, the daguerreotype has to be fixed, otherwise the image will disintegrate under direct sunlight. Fixing “[removes] the sensitive coating on which the design is first impressed”, as Daguerre puts it.

Daguerre sums up his instruction manual with some advertisements in the back pages. He tells his readers that the daguerreotype apparatus (Figure 16) can be purchased with 25 to 50 dollars from Dr. J.R. Chilton, a practical chemist who lives at 243 Broadway in New York City. To buy the daguerreotype plates, Daguerre suggests Corduan, Perkins, and Company, which can be found at 28 and 30 Cherry Street. And, if Daguerre’s instructions truly failed to illuminate the material, you could go and see Mr. Seager in room number 13 at the Clarendon House on 304 Broadway for further instructions. Dr. Chilton’s 243 Broadway is now an unnamed apartment building on the Lower East Side. It sits next to 245 East Hair Studio, but no remnants of the daguerreotype remains on the street. Corduan, Perkins, and Company’s 28-30 Cherry Street has also been lost – New Way Deli and Grocery and Louisa, a used computer store, are the only businesses that sit on this street. And Clarendon House on 304 Broadway is now the U.S. Treasury Department, the IRS Taxpayer Assistance Center, and EPA Region 2 all in one.

The daguerreotype did not come without controversy. Before the daguerreotype, there was the miniature painting. “Decimated by the arrival of the daguerreotype,” miniature painters were undoubtedly furious with the development of daguerreian technologies. More than just painters were concerned, “The New Yorker worried that ‘painters of views’ would be ‘superseded,’ with ‘many worthy and industrious men out of employment.’” But, the daguerreotype’s “sublime power to transmit the almost living power of our loved ones; to call up their memories vividly to our mind” was a power too many could not resist. The Daguerreian Journal, a semi monthly publication released on the 1st and 15th of every month, is proof of this infatuation. An 1850 copy edited by S.D. Humphrey is filled with advertisements for cameras, daguerreotype galleries, plates, chemicals, daguerreotype cases, and every other material in the business. A question and answer chapter, or “Correspondence Section”, is the modern day FAQ and customer support section of the journal. W.S. Gear wrote a rather impatient demand: “DAGUERREIAN JOURNALS LOST [...] What is your reason of your not sending me my Journals?” The editor sincerely responded, publishing in the next journal: “Dear Sir: – Your Telegraph Dispatch came to hand. In answer, – I do send a Journal directed to you as often as published. The last was mailed last Friday, i.e. the February 15th number, that being the last out [...] however, I try it again and send one today.” The Daguerreian Journal was undoubtedly in high demand and high regard. It was frequented by daguerreotypists and those who needed a daguerreotypist: “WANTED – A PARTNER to engage in the Daguerreotype business. One Thousand Dollars can now have an unequaled opportunity to join with one of the best Artists in the country.”

The Daguerrian community placed a large value on their daguerreotypes as well. One such collector was published in the journal in a desperate plea: “$5 REWARD: STOLEN from the door of Clark Brothers, 551 Broadway, one full size of Daguerreotype View, in papier mache frame, oval fire gilt mat. Said View of a GOTHIC COTTAGE.” Adjusted for inflation, this person was offering a reward of $191.03. It is undeniable that the daguerreotype had made its way into every facet of American life. Whether posthumous photography, documentation of sculptures, or a tool for creation, the daguerreotype changed how we consume art. It created a technological industry never seen before, allowing for up close and personal memories of human life.

It is paradoxical that daguerreotype materials were once so readily available. The Daguerreian Journal is an incomprehensible concept today – almost all of the necessary materials involved in making a daguerreotype are now nowhere to be found. The 243 Broadway shop that once housed Dr. J.R. Chilton – a practical chemist – is not a part of 21st century life. The entire industry that once housed daguerreotypes – galleries, chemists, metalists, and artists – has crumbled to dust. The one daguerreotypist I found in the entirety of New York state is located in Buffalo. His name is Rob McElroy and he introduces himself on his website by putting forth the inaccessibility of the daguerreotype: “[I have made my] own daguerreotypes using all of my own equipment, most of which I had to design and build myself.”

I found myself considering how to make a daguerreotype after looking at an example in the Vassar Loeb Art Center’s printing room. A quick search on google showed me that I do not have to use mercury today. In fact, a simple red glass sheet will do. I still do need, however, pure iodine crystals, silver plated copper, buffing and polishing tools, rottenstone, lamp black, fixer, distilled water, gold chloride, and a film camera.

The instructions directed me to find a piece of silver plated copper and buff it using oil, rottenstone, and lamp black. Once a mirror-like surface had been achieved, the plate was to sit on top of iodine fumes. These fumes would, in theory, make the plate light sensitive, just like a film negative. I was then to put this negative-inspired plate in my camera and shoot an image. The plate would then be placed in the sun under a red glass sheet. This would enhance the developing process, almost like that of a polaroid. Then, the plate was to sit in a fixer solution before being gilded under heat with distilled water and gold chloride.

I am an optimist – at first glance I determined that I can easily access all of these materials: I have a film camera, rottenstone and lamp black are purchasable online, fixer and distilled water can be found in the darkroom, iodine crystals should be found in the chemistry department, and silver plated copper, well I imagine someone must produce it. Much to my dismay, about half of my assumptions were wrong. The silver plated copper was my most glaring problem. Without it, I would have nothing to expose my image onto. After what felt like an adequate search online, I determined that silver plated copper was not accessible. I found one daguerreotype maker who sold six 6x6 silver plated copper sheets for $1000. An infeasible price, I had to think of different options. I considered how old daguerreotypes are fragile, and even damaged by touch. I hypothesized that if I were to use old, already used daguerreotypes and buff off the old image (almost until the portrait had a ghostly quality), I could reuse the plate and superimpose my portrait I originally intended to shoot. I did exactly this – I bought two old daguerreotypes, portraits of two sisters from the 19th century which once cost 25 cents a piece.

Though I am an optimist, I am also a perfectionist. I was not entirely content with this hypothesis – I had doubt it would work as the “negative” as the silver plated copper had already been exposed to light in its lifetime. A camera negative can not be properly reexposed, so I had difficulty justifying why it would work on metal. I reinvigorated my search for silver plated copper. I emailed jewelers, art shops, metal platers, and daguerreotypists alike. One art studio mentioned in a 2008 daguerreotype forum wrote back and said they no longer make silver plated copper. A metalist I called in Brooklyn, NY told me that buying “silver plated copper was not a thing.” I admitted defeat and ordered a silver sheet instead. I thought that some sort of chemical reaction would occur on the sheet, an image or not.

Yet, right before a trip home into New York City, I got an email from a small jeweler and metal worker on West 47th. It read: “Hello, It will cost you $40 per Sheet. We are open tomorrow between 10:30 am to 4:00 pm. We will be closed on Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving. Will reopen on Monday from 10:30am till 6:30pm. Have a Great Thanksgiving.” To which I responded: “Ok, amazing! Thanks so much. I’ll be sure to come by tomorrow.” So, on November 23rd, I found myself in a part of Manhattan known by others as the setting in “Uncut Gems.” West 47th is not like the rest of midtown – it is not filled with tourists and people walking around in business suits. The Diamond District, as it is more formally called, is hustling and bustling with jewelers and metal workers. Orthodox Jews and immigrants from South Asia and Eastern Europe are the general worker demographic. Each store is a diamond, gold, or silver exchange shop; 37 W 47th houses dozens of little shops on its own. I found my way through the back of the exchange and up the steps. Each stand had an older gentleman huddled over a small piece of metal, magnifying spectacles over their eyes. I navigated through this maze until I arrived at Vijay’s. I politely asked about silver plated copper, to which he said something along the lines of: “We don’t have that. We can plate the copper with silver, but you should go to Myron Tobback on 45th street to get sheets of copper. It’s on the 10th floor.” I took this new instruction and walked to 45th street. The elevator opened onto a store that was a mixture of a chemical facility, a metal cutting studio, and a jewelry repair shop. I asked the lady at the counter: “Do you have 6 x 6 cm .4 mm copper sheets?” A strange request (apparently these are remarkably small dimensions for a piece of copper), but she cut them and asked me to pay the price of $4. I took out my debit card to pay only to be told that I had to pay over $25 to use my card – I only had $3 in cash. As I stood there offering to go to the ATM, a man working on jewelry from behind the counter came out and told me to take them: “Happy Thanksgiving, you are a sweet girl.” So with some hesitation, but also gratitude, I took these sheets back to Vijay who promised to plate them with silver by the following Tuesday. This was a win – I had not been this close to a silver plated copper sheet in weeks.

Iodine crystals have posed their own challenges. Most retailers sell Potassium Iodide, which is KI, not pure Iodine. It is sold online, largely over the counter, for various purposes. It finds itself in the hands of conspiracy theorists who fear radiation poisoning is standing at their doorway. One review of the KI I purchased read:

“I hope Never to Use it. I bought this when Russia’s Putin first warned the Western world he was prepared to use nuclear weapons if he thought necessary because of the Ukraine war [...] We haven’t had occasion to use it but it is here in my home in place I am familiar with and can be used within a moment’s notice. One thing I didn’t notice that you will definitely want to know about is that you must take it safely…which means the crystals ust be swallowed in a gel capsule [...] Here’s hoping we don’t ever have to use them!”

To properly fume the silver plated copper, however, the daguerreotypist needs pure iodine. Half way into my preparation, I realized that my Potassium Iodide would not suffice. Thus, I devised a new experiment, one that would turn Potassium Iodide into solid Iodine. To do this, I needed hydrochloric acid, hydrogen peroxide, and a filtering system. This idea came with its own dangers – hydrochloric acid is an incredibly potent acid to work with, notorious for acidifying, or dissolving, bodies. And when hydrogen peroxide is added to a mixture of iodine and hydrochloric acid it creates chlorine gas, a substance banned by the Geneva Conventions in 1949.

I am always ready for a challenge, however, and emailed my Chemistry teacher from high school asking if there were any safety objections to my idea. I received more critiques than I anticipated, as Mr. Afshinnekoo responded:

“Theoretically if you add acid first and then hydrogen peroxide you will produce some iodine and your filtrate will be contaminated with trace amounts of acid and if you dry it you will produce a very small amount of crystals [..] If I was desperate and had no access to iodine I would use electricity and produce iodine from a solution of KI, on the positive pole of electricity iodine would precipitate out and then filter it out.”

Electricity, for the first time, felt like a task out of reach. I emailed the chemistry department asking about pure iodine crystals, but to no avail. More importantly, I was not entirely sure I wanted to conduct the iodine fuming process in a chemistry laboratory. A light sensitive plate would have to be created in a light sensitive room. And so, I found a man named Jacob on Etsy.com who sells strange samples of periodical elements for $10 – as of November 29th, I had my red glass sheet, rottenstone, a film camera, nail buffers, silver plated copper in the making, and iodine in the mail.

My process was immediately disrupted by the copper plate. After putting it in the film back of my camera (Hasselblad 500c), I found that it was jammed. I tugged, though hesitantly, until I successfully pulled the plate out. In doing so, the film back was damaged, now incapable of closing. When the film back cannot properly shut, the photograph cannot be taken. I decided I would try to find another camera to access, and in the meantime, prepare my plates for iodine fuming.

I started this process in the living room of my town house. On our small coffee table, I set up some paper towels and the required materials. I began by pouring some olive oil and rottenstone powder on a buffing block. Using gloves and a taped handle, I first scrubbed my silver plated copper on the block. To my surprise, a red color emerged on my plate. I quickly realized that the silver had been buffed off, revealing the copper plate underneath. I stopped the process immediately and went to wash the rottenstone and oil off of the plate. I decided I would print on the other side of it but without it being buffed and polished. I hoped that this would mean that the image printed would be blurred, or less clear. I still remained hopeful that an image would appear on the unbuffed silver plated copper.

I decided then to try the buffing process on the pure silver plate. Little changed with this plate. I buffed, washed, and then buffed again, but to no true avail. The most curious change, however, occurred on the old daguerreotype. The two daguerreotypes, each a picture of a sister from the 19th century, were bought with the intention of being superimposed on. I took one of the sisters and began buffing her like I had the other two plates. Much to my amusement, the sister disappeared. “You just erased the last living image of that person,” one friend told me. “You are going to be haunted,” my other housemate remarked. With ghosts, broken cameras, and unsuccessfully polished plates in the air, I decided to stop touching my materials and move onto the more mathematical stage.

In order to hover the plate above iodine fumes, there needs to be a device that delicately holds the plates. A friend who is particularly interested in my project offered their time and advice for this part. Outlining a box the size of the plates, we cut out the inside to create a hole for the fume and the plate. Then, we made a slightly smaller empty square, one that would be glued or taped to the other cardboard. In doing this, the smaller cut out would create a ledge that the plate could sit on while still being exposed to the iodine. So far, this was the only step that was not absurd.

When exposing the plates to iodine, it has to be done in a light sensitive room. The living room would no longer suffice for this part of the experiment. Though I intended to use Vassar’s darkroom, I was recently informed that it not only requires a certification but a fee as well. I decided it was easier to create a darkroom in my bathroom than to deal with the bureaucracy of Vassar’s photography department. I bought a red light, a black bin, and a black trash bag. The red light was to be hidden behind my shower curtain, just in case it was brighter and less filtered than I wanted. The black bin (enclosed in the black trash bag) would hold the iodine and the plates in pure darkness. I would use the red light to navigate the room. But to be extra careful, the bathroom door would be stuffed shut with shirts and other fabrics alike. Not too bad for a DIY darkroom, I thought.

On December 8th, I poured the iodine into a small container and placed a larger container on top of it. This is meant to begin the fuming process so that when I place the plate on top, it begins fuming immediately. Iodine can be toxic when consumed in large amounts – it can cause breathing problems and other mucous related issues. So, I was careful to make sure I did the majority of my iodine work outside and wore proper equipment (double masked, goggles, and gloves).

I brought my pure silver plate outside to my fuming box after thirty minutes and opened up my iodine contraption. I then placed the plate on top of the iodine container and closed the box. A plate should take no longer than 30 seconds to sensitize, but this process has been largely experimental. In my red lit bathroom, I took the plate out of the box and placed it in my camera. My camera is a 6 x 9 Professional Fuji and is smart enough to know whether or not there is film in the camera. As a protection mechanism to prevent photographers from shooting with no film, the camera will not allow you to press on the shutter without film. This required me to load the plate, tape it into place, and then load the film on top.

I then shut my camera and brought it out for an image. A plate does not have the same ISO (light sensitivity) as film. Typically, people use 400 speed film, but a silver plate is more likely 1/500 speed. This means that the exposure time for the image has to be incredibly long. While regular photography requires no longer than 1/250th of a second on a relatively sunny day, this plate was first tested with 10 minutes of exposure. Only a still life can properly be caught in this period of time – it is impossible to hold a camera that long or stand that still for 10 minutes. And so, I thought I’d photograph something in my home. What did Daguerre never get the opportunity to photograph that I can today? A blender is the obvious choice here. An ironic mix of technological advancements and classic inventions, I thought this photograph might have a humorous edge. I set up the photo, extended the exposure to ten minutes, and then brought the camera back into my dark room. Here, I took the plate out and taped it to a red glass sheet. I sat and waited as it began to expose itself under light.

This first plate was a good test. Though no image appeared, I could see where the iodine fumes had exposed the plate. A clear outline of an image exists on the plate, but after waiting for about two hours, no blender appeared. And so, I prepared my second plate – this time the silver plated copper – to be fumed. After doing some more reading on daguerreotype forums, I found that since the plate is so insensitive to light, I could check to see how sensitized it was in light. In other words, if the plate was yellow, I was free to use it. This was not necessarily free reign to operate in the light, but it meant I had some more knowledge when using the plates.

This second plate hence followed a similar process. I fumed it outside, I brought it inside, I checked its yellow tint in the light, and I loaded it in my camera. I decided to try the blender again, but in this trial, I did the photograph outside and I extended the exposure to twenty minutes. I then placed it under the red glass sheet and waited for an image to come to life.

To my great delight, an image did appear. First it was the shadow of the blender and then it was the blender with some minute detail. It is difficult to fully appreciate what is on your daguerreotype when it is under the red glass, but the forms and shapes were enough to create a giant sigh of relief and pride. I decided I was then up for the task of a posthumous inspired daguerreotype.

“The British Journal of Photography’s XX volume in 1873 has a fascinating section on post mortem photography. In this section, a photographer describes how to maximize the beauty in a photograph destined to be grim and repugnant;

The hardness and rigidity of the features after death must be obviated by judicious lighting, and care should be taken not to under-expose in the camera, as this only intensifies the hardness. Lenses of long focus will not be suitable in the great majority of causes; indeed, it is probable that a quarter plate or carte lens offshore focus, used with a small focus, will be found best, there being no limit to the length of the exposure. [...] In no case should a delay of more than twenty four hours after the demise be allowed to intervene before taking the portrait of a deceased person, for the lineaments soon change.

This photographer’s discussion of lighting and timing reminded me that post mortem photography is more than just a photographic skill. It requires the photographer to also act as an artist and make the dead “not dead, but sleepeth.” Thus, inspired by the positioning of the dead in posthumous daguerreotypes, I dressed myself in a long lace white dress and laid back in a chair. I used a fumed silver coated copper plate and placed the camera still, with me as the subject.

For forty minutes I sat still. I kept my head on the back of the chair. I kept my hands on the arms of the chair. The occasional scratch would require me to flinch or move, but I remained remarkably still. My fingers fell asleep, a sensation I’ve never felt before. Many who had their daguerreotype taken likely had to stand still for over ten minutes straight. My forty minutes were put in the context of this wait.

When the exposure was done, I placed my plate under the red glass and waited. After about twenty minutes, I observed that no image was appearing. In hindsight, I think I did not iodize my plate enough, but I waited and I waited until I could wait no more. I decided I would redo this, fume it more on the other side, and shoot my photograph closer to the window with more light. And so I did the entire process again. And again, I sat in a chair for forty minutes without moving.

I felt that this round was more promising, the plate had been fumed more thoughtfully and I had sat next to a window to ensure natural light. But, the image did not show. I have since thought of a few theories as to what went wrong. The first is that there was no black in the image to contrast and create shadows. I was in a white dress in a white chair, it is likely that these shades are harder to show when there is no contrast. The second option is that this plate was overexposed. If this is the case, the whites of the image were blown out, meaning that no forms would show on the plate. Nonetheless, I put all three plates in the fixer and washed them with water afterwards. Though I want to test the next three, I was surprised to find that taking three photographs took me about five hours. At another time (with better materials), I will test my last three plates.

And so, this process now comes to a close. I am moved, I am disappointed, and I am proud. The daguerreotype is no easy task. A month ago, I was walking around Vassar’s campus imagining a clean cut self-portrait posthumous style. I was excited and infatuated with the idea – everybody around me was obligated to know that I was going to make one. Even the process of finding the materials was just as fun as this imagining. To explore new communities, learn about a lost industry, and anticipate what was to come, was powerful in itself.

But, it is no mystery to me why the daguerreotype is a lost art. It surprises me that it was such a popular industry at all, considering its labor and dangers for the artist. Perhaps, this quote puts my criticism in perspective:

When the loved one is smitten down by the cold hand of Death, and no memento is left to recall the features of the departed, there arises [...] a strong and natural desire to secure, not the lifelike portrait of the one who has ‘gone before’ — for that has become impossible — but at least the likeness of the now vacated physical and once living structure so recently the habitat of father, mother, child, or beloved friend.

When a loved one of mine passes, I am not sure I will create a daguerreotype. But I would like to take a film photograph. Something remarkable about daguerreotypes, film, and anything that needs to be developed, is that they require you to make them. And in making them, you are given the gift of seeing them come to life. It is that beauty and irony in creating an ever-lasting image that makes the process so human and perhaps so meaningful to the dead.

Bibliography

Afshinnekoo, Rostam. "Chemistry question." E-mail message to author. November 28, 2022.

Daguerre, Louis Jacques mandé. A Full Description of the Daguerreotype Process. New York: J. R. Chilton, 1840. https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/AHFMDT385503646/NCCO?u=nysl_se_vassar&sid=bookmark-NCCO&xid=a7025593&pg=1.

The Daguerreian Journal 1, no. 8 (1850). Accessed December 2, 2022. https://library.si.edu/digital-library/book/daguerreianjourv1hump.

"Death Masks In The Den: Memento Mori Become Hot Decorating Trend." KJ News Wire. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://www.kjnewswire.com/8281/death-masks-den-memento-mori-become-hot-decorating-trend.

Djudjic, Dunja. "How to Make Your Own 35mm Daguerreotype Safely and Cheaply." DIY Photography. Last modified December 4, 2020. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://www.diyphotography.net/how-to-make-your-own-35mm-daguerreotype-safely-and-cheaply/.

Gillespie, Sarah Kate. The Early American Daguerreotype: Cross-currents in Art and Technology. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2016.

"[Google Map View of NYC Streets]." Map. Google Maps. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://www.google.com/maps.

The Guardian. "The Poignant Art of the Posthumous Portrait – in Pictures." December 9, 2016. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2016/dec/09/posthumous-portrait-art-american-folk-museum.

Harris, Racheal. Photography and Death: Framing Death throughout History. Bingley, UK: Emerald Publishing, 2020.

McElroy, Rob. "Daguerreotypes from Rob McElroy." Galerie Photo. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://www.galerie-photo.com/daguerreotype-rob-mcelroy-en.html.

"Post-Mortem Photography." January 17, 1873. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://go-gale-com.libproxy.vassar.edu/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=Newspapers&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&hitCount=32&searchType=BasicSearchForm&currentPosition=5&docId=GALE%7CWBOBXA145052679&docType=Essay&sort=Relevance&contentSegment=ZCEG&prodId=GDCS&pageNum=1&contentSet=GALE%7CWBOBXA145052679&searchId=R2&userGroupName=nysl_se_vassar&inPS=true.

Sciolino, Elaine. "At a Family Workshop Near Paris, the 'Drowned Mona Lisa' Lives On." The New York Times (New York, NY), July 20, 2017. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/07/20/world/europe/paris-mask-picasso-truffaut.html.

SomeMumblingBum. "I hope Never To Use It." Review of Potassium Iodide, High Purity Crystals/Powder, 100%, 100 Grams/Same Day Ship. Amazon. Last modified May 19, 2022. Accessed December 2, 2022. https://www.amazon.com/Potassium-Iodide-Purity-Crystals-grams/dp/B01JKJWXBK/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2Z2KTJB3MLV1K&keywords=iodine+crystals&qid=1669685022&sprefix=iodine+crystqls%2Caps%2C78&sr=8-1.

Vijay's NYC. "Re: New Quote Request from Annika - Plating & Coating." E-mail message to author. November 22, 2022.

PHOTOGRAPH A: A jeweler and metal working stand at the Diamond Trade building at 37 West 47th, New York, NY.

PHOTOGRAPH B: Directions to Myron Tobback from Vijay’s. On the left hand side is my large piece of silver plate and two bubble wrapped daguerreotypes.

PHOTOGRAPH C: Two silver plates, two silver coated copper plates, two 19th-century daguerreotypes, my Hasselblad 501c, Iodine fuming crystals, Rottenstone powder, buffing blocks, polishing blocks, and kitchen/bath gloves.

PHOTOGRAPH D: Me, buffing silver plates using olive oil, Rottenstone, and buffing blocks. This photograph was taken before I erased one of the sisters (both are visible on the bottom left side of the table).

PHOTOGRAPH E: The erased sister and her still existing sister. This piece of cardboard was used to cut out a ridged holder piece for fuming the plates over iodine.