Alter Ego

          Recently, I auditioned successfully to portray a historical character for the Humanities Council in West Virginia. Her name is Frances B. Johnston, a photographer of considerable renown at the turn of the last century. She was born in Grafton, WV, in 1864, lived to 88, and died in 1952. I portray Frances in the year 1910. By that time, she had accomplished an astounding number of artistic creations via her photographs and a considerable reputation as a business woman and feminist advocate, living and working in Washington, DC. 

          After attending the Academy Julian in Paris, where she studied art, she returned to Washington to put her artistic talents to work as an illustrator for Demorest Family Magazine. Soon she noticed the changing technology allowed photographs to accompany articles. She wrote to family friend, George Eastman, to ask what camera she might use. By way of an answer, he sent her a Kodak, a lightweight camera he’d recently invented. She never looked back. She said, “The camera will allow me to go wherever I want to go.” And that meant into a man’s realm if that’s what she wanted to do.

          Business and art were equally driving forces in Frances’s life, but beyond these forces were contrasting traits in her personality. On the one hand, there’s her diplomacy and decorum necessary to make money. She was professional, kind, thoughtful, thorough, and resourceful, and through her business efforts supported herself all her life. After working hard all day, in the evening she became a Bohemian of the first order. She and her friends held parties that sometimes involved dressing up in silly costumes and photographing themselves. She smoked and drank—bourbon, neat. She lived in a time when women’s lives were circumscribed by society to few opportunities other than as wife and mother. She chose to be neither, but was a champion of a woman’s ability to choose her course in life.

          Like the photographer Margaret Bourke-White a generation later, Frances forged new ground by visiting places considered not “proper” for a lady. She descended underground to photograph coal miners in Pennsylvania; perched on a narrow scaffolding 20 feet above President McKinley at the Pan-American Exhibit in Buffalo to take what turned out to be the last photo of the president before he was gunned down by an assassin. As the “American Court Photographer” she photographed the most powerful men in the world—five sitting presidents: Cleveland, Harrison, McKinley, Roosevelt, and Taft.

          Frances, at times, could be a bit condescending, but she had a generosity of spirit that adds to her complexity and brings her alive. She gave of her time, money, and artistic expertise to many fledgling photographers. Historically, she didn’t create events recorded in our history books, but she photographed a good bit of history, often as it was happening. The Library of Congress holds 25,000 of her photos.

          Because of her strong sense of equality, we have the photographs of students at Hampton and Tuskegee; workers—mostly women—in the Lynn Shoe factory at the end of the 1800s, a female supervisor of men at a box factory. We have photos taken at the US mint showing African Americans and Whites working side by side in equality in an era of Jim Crow laws. Because of her talent, the famous flocked to be photographed by her. Besides the presidents, she photographed Mark Twain, Susan B. Anthony, Booker T. Washington, and many others. She also photographed ordinary people in the countryside, capturing their grace and dignity. She believed anyone on the other side of the lens had as much dignity as she. Her legacy continued in the latter 25 years of her life when she photographed Southern architecture that led to the core of photographs used in the establishment of the Department of Historic Preservation.

         Frances lived her life as she saw fit. She spent little time pontificating on the current issues of the day and did not participate in collective protest. She made her statement through her work and in how she conducted her life. I could wish she was my alter ego, but I will never have the courage of Frances. I can only try to portray her with grace and dignity in a modern-day setting, hoping I sink into her character enough so that the audience senses her reality and her beauty and depth. She still has much to show us about how to be in this new century.

          Soon, I’ll post a brochure with information about appearances as Frances B. Johnston. Keep her in mind for events and festivals, educational and cultural venues. The photo is of Frances B. Johnston c. 1896.

Comments

[Jennifer Singletary]

Hey, Cat! This is so great to see. She seems like one hell of a gal.

I have one hell of a gal who's been around for about 8 months or so who'd be blessed to meet you.

love!
jen