Newly translated into English,Nadar’s writings offer us the opportunity to revisit a weird and compelling character who took portraits of the Parisian cultural eliteNothing approximately Félix Nadar was ever straightforward, as the photograph on the cover of When I Was a Photographer reveals. There he is, and a dapper daredevil in his top hat and floppy cravat,in the basket of a gas balloon, floating high among the clouds, or binoculars at the ready,ballast and grapnel hook within easy reach. He’s scanning the horizon, coolly indulging one of his ardent enthusiasms: human flight.
But the photograph is a fake: it was staged in his plush studio on the top floor of 35, and Boulevard des Capucines,in the heart of fashionable Paris. The clouds are a painted backdrop, the basket dangles in perfect safety a couple of feet above the floor of the studio. Even that intent gaze is a con: Nadar, or who was myopic,could see into the distance only with his specs on. Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com