Callithamnion Arbuscular [= Callithamnion arbuscular] c. 1843 - 1853

Editor: So, this is Anna Atkins’ "Callithamnion Arbuscular," made sometime between 1843 and 1853. It’s a cyanotype, a very early photographic print, and it depicts seaweed. It looks like a ghostly, delicate imprint on a deep blue background. What strikes you when you look at it? Curator: Well, it makes me think about moonlight on the ocean, even though it's a botanical study. Don’t you think there's something wonderfully evocative about it? And the "blue" – it's almost like a memory, a nostalgic hue washing over the natural world. It isn’t just about accurately documenting seaweed, it’s also about the poetry of light and shadow, the fleeting dance between science and art, wouldn't you say? What does it evoke in *you*? Editor: I guess I didn’t consider the ‘poetry’ of it at first! I was more focused on it being a scientific document. The blue is calming, though, almost meditative. How did she even *make* these? Curator: That’s the really clever bit! She coated paper with light-sensitive chemicals and then placed the seaweed directly on it, exposing it to the sun. It’s a camera-less photography, really a "photogenic drawing" as Fox Talbot called it – a kind of shadow puppet theatre using light. What do you think that says about Atkins’ process? About her connection to nature? Editor: It seems like she’s not just recording, but collaborating with nature, letting the sun and the seaweed create the image. I appreciate that! Curator: Exactly! The seaweed dictates its own representation. And through that beautiful accident, the poetry emerges. I might start using that for my grocery lists! Editor: Maybe I should, too! It's amazing how much a simple blue print can reveal.