It is difficult to imagine the sense of wonder instilled by the earliest photographs. In the 1830s, photography was a marvel and those who viewed those early pictures were amazed by the process that could render a person’s likeness or a scene with exquisite detail. But this amazement was tinged with disappointment in the absence of color. People wondered how something that showed the world so perfectly was not able to show its colors. Early photographers partnered with skilled miniatures painters to color black-and-white photographs. Even at its best, however, these popular hand-colored photographs remained an arbitrary and unsatisfactory means of presenting the world in color, subject to the artist’s interpretation. Almost immediately after photography’s invention, the search began for a process that could accurately show both the forms and the colors of nature.
Anna Atkins, Confervae, 1843–1845, cyanotype. Courtesy of the J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles
Botanist Anna Atkins’s interest in rendering nature’s forms was not one of art but of science. Seeking to record botanical specimens for a scientific reference book, British Algae: Cyanotype Impressions, she began experimenting with cyanotypes, a process invented in 1842 by Atkins’s neighbor Sir John Hershel. Atkins placed her specimens onto paper coated with an iron-salt solution and left them in the sun. When she developed the paper in water, the specimens left white silhouettes against a vibrant, Prussian blue. While Atkins’s cyanotypes are vibrant, they do not capture the colors of the world they document.
Half a century after Atkins made history with the first book illustrated entirely with photographs, the Lumière brothers invented in 1903 what is considered the first true color photography process—autochrome plates. Three plates were covered in layers of potato starch grains dyed red, green, and blue. Light passing through the combined filters rendered a full color image. The plates were simple to use but the density of the multiple filters required longer exposure times than traditional black-and-white photographs, resulting in hazy images. John Cimon Warburg was known for his work with autochrome, embracing the atmospheric quality with his seaside photographs. His fixation on the color blue is evident in the color of his subject’s clothing, often contrasted with bright reds, and the slate blues of the ocean.
John Cimon Warburg, Margate Beach Blue Girl, 1915, autochrome
By the time Kodak introduced color films in the 1930s, interest in color photographs had waned somewhat. Kodak’s films were expensive and could not be developed at home, making them inaccessible to most enthusiasts. Serious photographers conflated color film with advertisements and family snapshots. They saw black-and-white as the more authentic photograph, which could be developed and printed in their own darkrooms.
The 1960s and 70s saw a slight shift in the response to color photography as a fine art. Ernst Haas published color photojournalism in Life, Marie Cosindas received a Guggenheim grant for her work in color Polaroids, and William Eggleston exhibited his color photographs at the Museum of Modern Art. Other photographers soon explored color film, but the learning curve proved steep. Unlike working in black-and-white, color film responds to temperature shifts, rendering warmer or cooler tones depending on the temperature in which it is stored and exposed. Andre Kertesz embraced the cool tones of Polaroid color film in a body of work made in the 1960s after the death of his wife. His still lifes made from the windowsill of his New York City apartment are set against the cityscape and feature many blue skies and objects, made almost surreal by the blue tones of the film.
By the 1980s, technological advancements had made color photography ubiquitous in family pictures and snapshots, fashion photography and photojournalism. As a fine art, however, photography still struggled to be taken seriously and color photography more so. To photograph in color was to make a statement about color—not merely record it, but seek it out, construct it, and tell its story. Joel Meyerowitz explored blue oceans and twilights in Cape Light and Alex Webb’s Hot Light/Half-made Worlds: Photographs from the Tropics silhouetted dark shadows against bright blue skies.
Erik Madigan Heck, The Evening Close, 2021. Courtesy of the artist and Jackson Fine Art
In the digital era, color has become commonplace and the roles have reversed. Color is now the default and it is black-and-white that represents a considered, deliberate choice. Still, some photographers place a special emphasis on color, and on the color blue in particular. Erik Madigan Heck harnesses its power in thoughtful, deliberate ways. His blue portfolio is a spectrum from deep, dark, and moody to vibrant, joyful, and light pastel washes. “For me,” he says, “blue is the color of transcendence.” And transcend it does, through nearly two centuries of photography history, the blue has transformed from a scientific default to an avenue of photographic expression—something to be cherished on its own.
