From Ashley Vangemeren - Henry Peach Robinson, "Fading Away," 1858

Henry Peach Robinson, Fading Away, albumen print photograph, 1858
I had first seen this print in person at the NGA during their “Faking It: Manipulated Photography before Photoshop” exhibition. For this post, I Googled the photographer’s name and the image came up, like magic!

Robinson used five negatives to create this scene of a family surrounding a young woman/loved one on her deathbed. The intent was to be seamless, hence why the tones are evenly rendered. When it was produced, controversy rose surrounding the subject of the image, questioning whether or not death was an “appropriate” subject for photography. Though for whatever reason, death wasn’t the first thing that struck me upon viewing the print. It was simply the process and intent to piece together a world in which we, the viewer, interpret as authentic and natural when clearly something feels strange, out of place and uncanny.
Ever since I saw it last year, I’ve been fascinated by the print. I’m intrigued by the concept of the constructed image and truly wish I could focus on the technical aspects that initially caught my eye i.e. the velvet quality of the grain, the rich tones, etc. Though as I keep studying the image, I start feeling uncomfortable. I feel uneasy and trapped in something I know isn’t “real” or something that doesn’t seem like it “actually happened” and feel as though the event is legitimate. I find myself desperately trying to find flaws that would help me escape the illusion created but I can’t. I’m perplexed by the implied symmetry of the composition, and the way the dying woman in white mirrors the woman dressed in black. I connect it with the black/death white/life parallel, which feels to be an uncanny “coincidence”. It also speaks to the concept of mirrors and its relationship to the uncanny.
I also find the expressions and body language of the family around her to be strange, as though they are emotionless statues gazing beyond her form. Nothing feels truly present or gone; everything feels like it’s in passing, like a scene reflecting purgatory or limbo. In fact, the only figure that I could read as believably present is the man facing the window, only because his body language seems appropriate. Yet faceless, even eye-less figures appear un-human because there’s nothing to connect to. My uncertainty and hesitation to further explore the print, in fear of being trapped, puts the print in the position of the uncanny and the realm it supports.