Table of Contents

Images of the Pacific Rim

Chapter Three: 1888: Australia, California and the picturesque industry

The majority of important artists who began their work during the eighties and nineties of last century graduated through the illustrated periodical.
   --Bernard Smith, Place, taste and tradition, 1945.1


The quiet, haunting spell the woodcuts cast is, in part, a gift from the medium. It is hard to find a really ugly woodcut in all of Harper's Weekly in the eighteen-sixties and seventies. There's an instinctive elegance to the black-and-white-and-gray linearism, patches of sun and shade built up from an obvious code of visible line.
   --Adam Gopnik, 'Homer's Wars', The New Yorker, 2005.2

In 1888, the still-separate colonies that comprised the British-governed continent of Australia set out to celebrate 100 years of white settlement at Port Jackson, now the colony of New South Wales. Plans to mark the event elicited ambivalent reactions in many quarters, for the economic and social conditions varied significantly in each region of the Australian land mass. On the one hand, in 1888 the colony of Victoria was still enjoying the era of 'Marvellous Melbourne', that miraculous two decades so labelled by writers to describe the transformation of a bedraggled gold-rush town into a thriving and immensely prosperous cosmopolitan centre, a major provincial city within the British Empire already creating substantial cultural institutions.3 Writing of the period, cultural historian Geoffrey Serle has maintained that '[n]o British city outside London could boast of as many large public buildings or ... as fine ones'.4 A report on the 'Chinese problem' in Australia that appeared in the Los Angeles Times in April of that year called Victoria 'by far the leading colony'.5 An Australian visiting the United States in 1884 wrote:

San Francisco is a wonderful place, one of the wonders of the world, but Melbourne is a still more marvellous example of rapid growth, and substantial progress. Melbourne has more permanent and solidly constructed buildings, far better streets, and a larger population than San Francisco, so that it has no equal in the world among cities of nearly the same age.6

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In his book Inventing Australia, Richard White notes that Melbourne's drive for 'cultural respectability' was so aggressive in the 1880s that 'one visiting journalist advised Victorians to worry less about cultural societies and more about building better hotels'.7

Energised by this enthusiastic institutionalisation of cultural activity, Melbourne in the 1880s also developed a modern art movement, emanating not only from the officially sanctioned art academies and galleries, but also from the casual establishment of artists' camps by independent young men and women in the outer suburbs of Heidelberg and Eaglemont. Interested in developing a 'national' style of art and committed to painting in nature, these young artists were grounded--after study abroad, with the influence of émigré artists and through knowledge gleaned from illustrated publications--in an up-to-date, if at times second-hand, understanding of European plein-air painting.8 Many took on the trappings of 'serious' European artists, portraying themselves as modern, urban sophisticates and enjoying what they thought of as 'aesthetic' lifestyles.

The Victorian capital also supported a thriving illustrated press--one that often offered these same artists a much-needed source of income while they honed their skills in printmaking. These presses produced several journals and pictured publications that rivalled anything coming out of the home culture of England. The English writer Anthony Trollope, upon visiting Australia, wrote that the country had 'the best daily papers I have seen out of England'. 9 The illustrated press had become by this time an essential source of news and visual entertainment for most Australians.

In the most sensational example of the growing dependence on image-based records of events, the decade had begun with the documentation of the thrilling capture in Glenrowan in the Victorian countryside of Australia's most notorious outlaw, Ned Kelly, and the killing of his gang members. The confrontation and capture had been visually and textually documented in gruesome detail by the press and consumed voraciously by a readership that already expected pictures along with their descriptions. Julian Ashton (1851-1942), a major force in Sydney's artistic life who would later work as an illustrator for the Picturesque atlas, was in 1880 working in Melbourne and was one of the artists who took the train to Glenrowan to be present at the scene. He, along with several other artists, produced sketches on site that would be turned into woodblock engravings for the Illustrated Australian News, while photographers such as J. W. Lindt on the scene had their images of Kelly's gang reproduced as photo-engravings throughout the country (see Fig. 3.01 on page 108).10 Australians, then, were already participating in the world of mass-media culture, dependent on visual reproductions, that was transforming the idea of art and culture in the late nineteenth century.

Victoria, first settled in the 1830s and largely free of the burden of convictism, was in the place most likely to want to celebrate the centenary of the arrival of Western settlement and culture in the antipodean colonies. The neighbouring colony of New South Wales, on the other hand, as The First State, considered itself the obvious venue for such historic celebrations, for it was the arrival of the First Fleet into Sydney Harbour in 1788 that the centenary was intended to celebrate. Sydney had also by this time developed into a burgeoning metropolis with all the cultural amenities, but it was in some economic crisis at the time and so not as confident as its southern sister about its ability to support grand symbolic festivities. Unlike its freewheeling, entrepreneurial Californian neighbours on the Pacific, Australia never had enough flamboyantly wealthy individuals to support ambitious private cultural institutions and events. Most momentous communal occasions and nearly all public institutions were dependent on governmentally allocated resources.

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Despite Melbourne's prosperous cultural position in the colonial hierarchy, Sydney also supported ambitious artistic and literary endeavours. Most notable in terms of future directions was the establishment in 1880 of what the writer Sylvia Lawson has called the 'vicious and electrifying' magazine The Bulletin (1880-2008).11 This journal, under its volatile founder J. F. Archibald (1856-1919), vigorously embraced in its editorial writing the campaign for Australian nationalism and championed the 'man on the street', the working-class and middle-class Australian. Iconoclastic and libertarian, Archibald's magazine 'had crusaded against monopolies in wealth, power and privilege, "stood against avaricious clergy who claim to monopolise salvation", and wrote passionately about "the dark despotism of grasping plutocrats"'.12 At times sadistically racist, often misogynist, The Bulletin at the same time nurtured a scintillating, creative Australian voice and a distinctive style of illustration and editorial cartooning known in the press as 'The Black and White School'. The magazine defined much of Australian cultural life by supporting local talent such as Henry Lawson and A. B. 'Banjo' Paterson (1864-1941), along with world-class illustrators. The Bulletin determined much of Australia's illustrative and literary aesthetic well into the twentieth century.13

Even with The Bulletin's energetic presence in the city, New South Wales's fiscal problems in 1888 caused centennial celebrations to be hampered by political wranglings and budget disputes. Further, any focus on such commemoration required Sydneysiders--more so than other Australians, who carried less or no convict taint--to acknowledge and examine their less than glorious origins as a penal colony, something that always required some discomforting truths to be confronted by those who had carefully accumulated all the privileges and moral attitudes of civilised Victorian society. The rest of the colonies were also unsure of just what the year was meant to celebrate. As Tony Hughes-d'Aeth writes, 'there was little in terms of symbolism around which popular sentiment could congeal'.14

Joe Byrne

Fig. 3.01 J. W. Lindt, Joe Byrne's body outside Benalla Police Station, 1880. Photograph. Courtesy of National Gallery of Australia, Canberra.

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The real problem was that in 1888 Australia as a united nation did not yet exist. Nationalist sentiments, aggressively supported by The Bulletin and especially among native-born citizens, were beginning to coalesce by this time, but most citizens' popular allegiances in terms of symbolic celebrations and festive emblems were still more regional than national. The official choices for marking the occasion made by the individual colonies epitomise these divides. New South Wales had week-long celebrations around 26 January; the day that colony alone had previously celebrated as Settlement Day would now be deemed a national holiday for the first time. During this week Sydney's Centennial Park was opened, many monuments to Queen Victoria and other dignitaries were unveiled and banquets with boring governmental speeches were undertaken, all events that were considered a drain on the colony's fragile finances. To add to the disgruntled atmosphere, these occasions, to quote a newspaper report of the time, were carried out 'in that melancholy and despondent fashion we all so well remember'.15

In contrast prosperous Victoria held a six-month-long international Centennial exhibition beginning in August 1888. The displays and main activities of the celebrations were held in Melbourne's Exhibition Buildings, already erected in the suburb of Carlton for the Melbourne international exhibition in 1880; here the Queen's Jubilee had been feted only the year before. With participants from Europe and America--America sent an Edison phonograph and chewing gum16 --and filled with displays of local products and the cream of Australian artisanal achievement, the exhibition was consciously meant to emphasise not only Victoria's 'place among nations',17 but also its cultural and financial superiority over its less affluent rival to the north.18 Throughout the year, other colonial cities such as Adelaide and Perth as well as many country towns celebrated to varying degrees, largely by holding picnics, fireworks displays and sporting events, just as they would for any other declared holiday.

The real and enduring cultural achievement of the year was an illustrated publication. The planning and initial work on this publication had begun a few years before in Sydney and, conveniently, gained financial and official backing because its appearance coincided with the marking of the centennial year. Upon completion of its many sections in the early 1890s, the Picturesque atlas of Australasia became the most elegantly illustrated publica tion produced in the Southern Hemisphere. The Atlas precipitated the arrival of an entire fleet of artists, engravers and printers, most of them from America (and, most notably, not from England). Of even greater significance for subsequent directions in Australian art and media production was the importation, again from America, of the most modern printing equipment to produce the images. The arrival of new printing technology along with American printers and craftsmen would greatly influence the stylistic direction that illustration took in Australia.

While not as laden with symbolic momentousness, California in 1888 was also experiencing the high end of one of the first of its dizzying land booms. This boom was stimulated by the completion of the transcontinental railroad into San Francisco in 1869 and, most specifically, by the arrival of the railroad in Southern California in 1876.19 By 1885, the Atchison, Topeka, & Santa Fe (popularly referred to as 'the Santa Fe') created a second direct line across the country and into Los Angeles, giving rise to intense fare wars aimed at encouraging travel and settlement. These offers targeted primarily Midwestern and eastern agricultural families and business concerns, and focused on the southern part of the state and the Central Valley regions. The impetus of the fare wars led to frenzied real estate speculation in Southern California, as farmers and merchants flocked to the region, accompanied by what Carey McWilliams labels 'the townsite sharks of the Middle West' who gleefully bilked the innocents out of their money through land deals.20

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Los Angeles's population in 1870 was little more than 5000. By 1880, it had grown only to 11,200, but by 1890, it had reached over 50,000. By the turn of the century, California's main southern city had a population of over 100,000, with all the accompanying accoutrements of a nineteenth-century American metropolis. As Glenn S. Dumke has written, the land boom of the 1880s, although its demise by the end of the decade was dramatic, forever changed the demographics and culture of the state:

'The gold rush made northern California a real part of the United States; the boom of the eighties did precisely that for the south ... The boom was the final step in the process of making California truly American.'21

California, then, just as Australia did, became by the 1880s intensely self-conscious of its 'image' in the world. The state's boosters had already learned the value of printed publicity to spread its fame, based largely on its climate, to an international audience.


Fig. 3.02 E. McD. Johnstone, The unique map of California. Lithograph. Dickman-Jones Co., c. 1885. Department of Special Collections, University of California at Los Angeles.

Two other events occurring in 1880s Southern California would affect the motifs exploited in 'selling' the state through visual imagery. The first was the rise of the citrus industry as the dominant agricultural activity in the southern counties. By the end of the decade, more than a million trees were growing in the region. Oranges alone occupied some 13,000 acres of land, most of the fruit destined for shipping east by train.22 As the importance of this industry to the state's economy grew, so too did the need to incorporate the image of a citrus-filled landscape into the picture of California itself, as part of the promoter's pitch to potential immigrants and visitors. The orange and its orchards now joined other incipient emblems of California in mass-produced imagery emanating out of San Francisco and Los Angeles.

A thoroughly romanticised iconography of Hispanic Southern California also gained real impetus in this decade, following the publication in 1884 of Helen Hunt Jackson's wildly popular bestseller Ramona. Jackson (1830-1885), who had begun her career championing the cause of dispossessed Native Americans, had written the book to highlight the inequities perpetrated against California Indians by settlers in the West. With Ramona, she hoped to do for the cause of Native Americans what Harriet Beecher Stowe had done for black slaves with Uncle Tom's cabin (1852). But her setting of the story in a picturesque 'Old California' of missions, colourfully costumed Spanish dons and señoritas, and adobe haciendas, allowed readers--and the region's eager boosters--to construct a 'Ramona' landscape that expressed their desired aesthetic for contemporary California. By 1888, tourist sites arose throughout Southern California claiming to have some link to places in the book, or as the home of the 'real' Ramona. The Ramona phenomenon coincided neatly with the height of the railroad's fare wars and the companies were quick to cash in on the book's immense popularity, offering Ramona tours and special rates for those going to visit these sites. Ramona and the romantic imagery it created put Southern California on the world's tourist map. Quantities of postcards, photographs, illustrated brochures and books appeared, dispersing an emblematic picture of Hispanic California that put in place a fanciful aesthetic vision that endured well into the twentieth century.23

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Although populations began to shift south in this decade, San Francisco remained the unrivalled cultural centre of the state. In many ways, the city's outlook in the 1880s mirrored the Victorian-era aspirations and ambitions of that other new English-speaking town of the Pacific Rim, Melbourne. Gone entirely, at least from official civic life, were the rough and ragged gold-rush days of brawling sin, unregulated building and vulgar hedonism. Now self-conscious efforts were made by 'the better classes' to create a genteel, elegant Victorian city of substantial mansions and ostentatious public institutions.

San Francisco more than any other city reaped the rewards of the unprecedented individual wealth accrued by the 'Big Four' of the railroads--Collis Huntington (1821-1900), Leland Stanford (1824-1893), Charles Crocker (1822-1888) and Mark Hopkins (1813-1878)--along with the many other 'bonanza kings' who had struck it rich in the Nevada mines.24 Along with their ostentatious mansions, these men, keen to gain through lavish displays of public spending and flamboyant building projects the veneer of cultural respectability, supported and in many cases singlehandedly endowed libraries, universities, theatres, opera houses, fine dining establishments, elegant hotels renowned throughout the world, men's clubs, parks and gardens, museums and ambitious publishing concerns. The characteristically American tradition of extravagant cultural philanthropy mixed with commercial enterprise and entirely separated from governmental expenditure was most vividly in evidence in San Francisco in the 1880s and 1890s.

Just as happened in Melbourne, this heady, free-spending cultural atmosphere also helped to encourage and enliven those drawn to a more 'bohemian' artistic life in the City by the Bay. Indeed, at the end of the nineteenth century the very term 'bohemian' had become associated with San Francisco, for in 1872, a group of young artists and writers founded The Bohemian Club. The club's founders created a convivial and aesthetic group which continued into the twentieth century as the most vibrant centre of regional cultural life. As Kevin Starr has written, The Bohemian Club's 'roster might function as a Who's Who of local creativity', including members as diverse as Mark Twain, the San Francisco printer Edward Bosqui (1832-1917), and the Berkeley geologist-philosopher Joseph Le Conte (1823-1901).25

The most remarkable aspect of this particular club--the event that made its way even into the pages of international journals such as Archibald's Bulletin in Sydney--was its annual summer retreat into the redwood forests north of the city, in a celebrated grove where they combined communion with nature, boisterous shenanigans and elegant entertainment.26 This very Californian predilection linking outdoor life and cultural pursuits perhaps explains why John Muir (1838-1914), the most revered of the Californian naturalists but no aesthete, was also a member of The Bohemian Club. Other artists' colonies, literary as well as painterly, thrived in the city and surrounding region, dedicated by the 1880s to fostering a distinctly Californian style of art and craft. Most significantly, San Francisco began to support a substantial art press and fine printing industry, one that participated fully in, and eventually defined, a distinctly Pacific Slope approach to typography, graphic art and design.

In the exciting cultural atmosphere that San Francisco provided by the end of the century, and given the woozy boosterism about California brought on by the booming economy in its southern portion, it is not surprising to find that in the same year as the Australian centenary and the publication of the Picturesque atlas of Australasia, one ambitious publishing house in the Bay City came out with the first segments of its own grandly illustrated publication. It, too, included in its title the term 'picturesque', and also strove to convey a particular ideological message about the region through text and images. Further, Picturesque California, published as serial segments by J. Dewing, Publishers, Importers and Booksellers, included work by some of the same American artists and engravers who worked for the Picturesque atlas of Australasia.

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Such fortuitously shared activity and aesthetic exchange is not simply serendipitous. It indicates a common desire by the artisans and publishers in these two new societies bordering the Pacific Ocean to participate in one of the most popular artistic enterprises of the nineteenth century--the production of volumes illustrating a modern transformation of the idea of the picturesque, intent on selling a vision of the landscape to tourists and 'armchair travellers' alike. These substantial volumes provide not only an opportunity to trace the trajectory of this picturesque aesthetic into the newest Western societies; they also offer an opportunity to examine the development on the Pacific Rim of a modern printing industry and the importance of this industry in the production of a self-consciously regional aesthetic employing modern graphic forms.

The so-called Picturesque industry of which these Australian and Californian writers and artists wanted to be a part began in the 1870s, when a whole series of books 'demonstrating good taste and interest in picturesque scenery and art' began to appear on the market in North America.27 These publications emerged because of the technological advances in printing that facilitated an increase in high-quality, artistically illustrated magazines and journals. Usually sold by subscription and often as segments of serial publications that already had substantial circulation, these productions in the 1870s and 1880s made enormous profits for their publishers. The most significant fact was that these books emanated from American publishers and printers. The main artist and leading instigator for the first volumes was a transplanted Englishman, painter and print-maker Harry Fenn (1837-1911), and the initial impetus was in emulation of European illustrated publications, but the entire enterprise was a product of the United States.

Motivated by a desire to demonstrate to skeptical Europeans that America did indeed have picturesque scenery, Fenn proposed this venture to the firm of George S. Appleton (1821-1878), publishers of Appleton's Journal and other art books. Filled with entrepreneurial spirit tied to a zeal for popular education and a desire to express unifying national cultural ideals after the schisms of the Civil War, the company also wanted to demonstrate its technical expertise in printing. The publishers spared no expense in presenting huge tomes comprised of effusive text and full-page illustrations of beautiful views in nature. Depictions of cosmopolitan urban scenes also appeared, but in romantic modes that attempted to fit into the then-popular conception of the term 'picturesque'.

Picturesque CA title page

Fig. 3.03 Frontispiece, Picturesque America, 1872. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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Picturesque America, completed in 1872, was the pivotal production in the series. This enormous undertaking, guided by its enthusiastic editor Oliver Bell Bunce (1828-1890), tapped into the progressive mood in America following the Civil War. As people became more prosperous, better educated, desirous of cultural improvement and able to travel throughout the entire country, they became more interested in owning illustrated books that depicted the country's natural landscape, especially of newly accessible sections of the American continent. The transcontinental railroad, seen by the public as the supreme example of American achievement, opened up the possibility of visiting these new places, especially in the Western frontier, already widely mythologised in the dime novels and other popular press.

As America had so enthusiastically demonstrated at its own Centennial exhibition in Philadelphia in 1876, technological superiority through better machinery was the aspect by which the country staked its proudest claim to progress and the advancement of Western culture. The very notion of modernity was rep-resented for many Americans by the printing machines that made it possible to reproduce artistic imagery. As Sue Rainey contends in her book on the making of Picturesque America, this merging of new technology and national cultural aspirations led to the volumes' tremendous success in post-Civil War America: '[T]he extraordinary outlay yielded huge profits from subscription sales that may have reached one million copies.'28 The books also mark the implementation of a truly visual culture, an image-based world, dependent on pictures to provide education about new places and new inventions, and to impart a sense of shared cultural and national identity. Further, the volumes' monumental size, and their attention to artistic printing techniques, gave them the weight of valuable commodity. In many ways, Picturesque America and the subsequent editions that appeared under the Picturesque rubric were the first examples of luxurious coffee-table books, purchased by middle-class families to be displayed in a prominent place in the parlour as evidence of cultural taste and respectability. In its format, the publication also offers the first glimmerings of mass-market 'picturesque tourism'--using printed images to encourage people to travel to see natural wonders and historic sites.


Fig. 3.04 Eroded sandstones, Monument Park, in Picturesque America, vol. 2, pt. 2, p. 493. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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The editors of Picturesque America brought together the best American artists (along with Harry Fenn) to travel and sketch on-site what were considered the most pleasing views of the country's scenery, most prominently of its natural beauty-spots. In the 1870s, these pictures, produced in the most polished forms of wood- and steel-engraving using the most skilled engravers available, concentrated on romantic notions of 'wild' scenery: waterfalls, craggy rocks and treacherous coastlines. City scenes were also included but usually rendered from the most pleasing angles, seen from above or across a sweeping plain, or as depictions of quaintly intimate, well-ordered streets and avenues with stately, substantial buildings. Alternately, more modest neighbourhoods and dwellings were rendered as romantically crumbling or asymmetrical structures, making Dubuque slums (in Iowa), for example, appear as poetic as traditional Italian villages. While some views of industry and commerce did make it into the pages as illustrations, the emphasis in these views was on the monumentality of machines and processes of fabrication rather than gritty depictions of labour.

Emphasis in illustrations in Picturesque America revealed the framework in which Americans in the 1870s had redefined and expanded earlier conceptions of the picturesque aesthetic. English philosophers and artists since the 1780s had discussed the idea of the picturesque as finding the most pleasant scenery to be seen by those on tour on the European continent or in the Middle East. They emphasised what Tony Hughes-d'Aeth has called 'a pre-modern land of aesthetic purity'.29 American writers and artists by the 1870s, and certainly the publishers of Picturesque America, had diluted the term to refer to a more eclectic, less philosophically determined, vision of 'pretty', albeit dramatic, views of nature and culture that were meant, as Rainey states, to encourage 'a positive self-image of the United States, and thus nationalism and tourism'.30 The illustration style was conventional, revealing well-established academic tropes of Romantic landscape, either bucolic or monumental, and emphasis on realistic delineation of details of the views rather than 'painterly' or atmospheric effects.

By the end of the 1870s, the commercially successful franchise that the Picturesque series had become engendered numerous imitators and further transmutation of the word to refer in the public's mind to this kind of publication itself: profusely illustrated books displaying images meant to impart detailed information about the appearance of towns, cities and natural scenery of a region or nation, and to provide the owner of the books with beautifully executed artworks that displayed the highest skill of the engravers and the artist-illustrators. The Appleton company also published Picturesque Europe (1875) and Picturesque Palestine, Sinai and Egypt (1881). Other publishers also jumped on the picturesque bandwagon, with varying degrees of success based on the quality of the prints provided.


Fig. 3.05 A. R. Waud, A cross-street in Dubuque, in Picturesque America, vol. 2, pt. 2, p. 332. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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For the future Australian publication, the most significant one of these earlier publications was Picturesque Canada, produced by Belden Brothers in Toronto in 1882 to 1884. Along with Canadian writers and artists, the enterprise saw the participation of several of the leading American illustrators from New York, including those who would subsequently travel to Australia to work on its Picturesque atlas. The aesthetic formula in each of these publications was set: wood- and steel-engravings to accompany descriptive text written by locally well-known literary figures about each region or city, either produced as full-page images, sometimes with ornamental framing devices, or--as evidence of innovative printing techniques--as visual motifs integrated into the page of text itself. This artistically enhanced, often clever, merging of text and image was the real sign of modern style in these publications as far as the publishers and artists were concerned, for these processes were hailed as the epitome of the printer's art.

By 1888, when the Picturesque atlas of Australasia and Picturesque California appeared, the use of the term 'picturesque' in their titles clearly meant to play to the public's knowledge of these earlier illustrated publications, or at least to impart the same connotations of generously illustrated pages exhibiting high artistic quality and the most modern reproduction techniques. But the date also proved to be a particularly pivotal year for printing technologies, as the industry began the inevitable shift to photographic reproduction in halftone that would become by the 1890s the dominant mechanical method for most illustrative needs. This process of transformation from the labour-intensive and therefore costly art forms that had made the American illustrated press a superior branch of the graphic art industry to a thoroughly mechanical mode of photographic illustration gives added significance to the Australian and Californian forays into the world of picturesque illustration. This transitional moment also explains the fascinating mixture of printing techniques that these late entries into the picturesque industry exhibit.

Ideologically, a comparison of ambitious illustrated books aimed at representing these new English-speaking societies on the Pacific Rim--two settler-cultures on the periphery of Euro-American civilisation--reveals, of course, many points of difference in terms of cultural aims. But both appear at a time when these developing societies needed to express similar aspirations about the cultivation of Anglo-centric values of gentility and progress. That these undertakings share some of the same artist-illustrators operating in related artistic spheres and expressing similar graphic iconographies makes such a comparison a particularly revelatory exercise.

Queen's Park

Fig. 3.06 W. T. Smedley, Queen's Park, in Picturesque Canada, 1884, vol. 1, p. 427. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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Plans for the production of the Picturesque atlas began in the early 1880s, stemming directly from the efforts behind the publication of Picturesque Canada.31 The publishers of that enterprise had sent out to Australia an American 'book canvasser' named Silas Lyon Moffett (1841-1923), a Civil War veteran whose purpose was to drum up interest for a proposed book on Australian 'men of mark' that would be sold by subscription to the leaders of the country's governing society.32 While nothing came of his initial concept, Moffett's enthusiastic pitch to Sydney journalists and artists for a grand illustrated undertaking to highlight Australia's century of progress as a Western nation was apparently infectious: The Picturesque Atlas Publishing Company was registered in Sydney in February 1886 with four American directors. The involvement in the project of two important Australian figures, the artist and Bulletin journalist William Macleod (1850-1929) and the artist-illustrator Julian Ashton, dates from about 1883.33 Soon other Australian illustrators and writers were hired; by 1885, artworks destined for eventual publication in the Atlas were put on display in Melbourne and the newspapers began to include regular reports about this audacious project intended to be ready to mark the centenary in 1888.34

Moffett's connection with the men behind the Picturesque Canada project provides one explanation for the Americans who had been involved in that undertaking coming to Australia to work on the Picturesque atlas. The directors appointed the artists William T. Smedley (1858-1920) as 'Pictorial Commisioner',35 Frederic B. Schell (1838-1902) as Head of the Art Department; and William C. Fitler (1857-1911) as travelling artist.36 All three had worked on the Canadian volumes, and all of them, along with an entire crew of American engravers and printing people, made the most substantial contributions to the aesthetic and technological sophistication of the Australian volumes.

These names also point to an even more important source of connection to American publishing, for these artist-illustrators all worked primarily (but not exclusively) for the New York-based publishing house, Harper's, which by the 1880s had been the leading publisher of American illustrated journals and books for decades. Harper's Weekly and Harper's Monthly, founded in 1850, set the aesthetic tone and perfected the most popular iconography and sophisticated graphic forms for all other illustrated journals from the 1860s. Leading American artists such as Winslow Homer and Frederic Remington (1861-1909) began their careers as illustrators at Harper's, and they continued to contribute to its pages throughout their careers. The House of Harper was largely responsible for the high regard that American illustrated publications enjoyed from artists and writers around the world.

By the 1870s other firms such as the house producing Scribner's (which became Century in 1881) joined the fray of illustrated journalism, fostering competition based on the quality of wood- and steel-engravings that led to greater technical advances and printing innovations on the part of American companies. By 1880, even the London papers had to confess, '[t]he impartial critic who is asked where the best wood cuts are produced has, we fear, but one answer possible: Neither England, Germany nor France, but America'.37 As late as 1899, in a biography of W. T. Smedley, the author confidently stated:

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In pictures, make-up, and general typographical appearance, our publications, and in particular our magazines, are the admiration of Europe; we have raised the standard of such work to a very high degree. It is no exaggeration to say that our three leading magazines are not equalled to-day, and a goodly share of that which has contributed to their success must be accredited to the men who have drawn the pictures.38

The American publishing houses spent enormously to hire the most skilled engravers and craftsmen. J. Henry Harper himself, in his memoir of the company The house of Harper, wrote that by 1888, 'the demand for first-class engravers was very great and the market value of their work [as high as $500 for engraving one page] became a serious consideration for the publishers'.39 The superiority of Harper's works depended even more directly, in terms of its claims of 'modernity' and beauty of reproduction, on technological expertise. The publisher demanded the most advanced printing presses and indeed provided the incentive for such technical progress to be made. Harper attributed the publications' success to the machines:
[T]he stop cylinder presses invented by Col. Richard M. Hoe, and purchased for our work about 1875, proved a great advance on any presses available up to that time, and the exquisite illustrative work produced in HARPER'S MAGAZINE, WEEKLY and BAZAR [sic] was largely due to the ability of these presses to turn out work rapidly and satisfactorily ... From this time on the execution of engraved cuts for the MAGAZINE made steady improvement, until about 1885, when wood-engraving for periodical use reached its greatest perfection.40
The improvements made by American publishing firms, pictorial as well as technological, were already well-known--and envied--in Australian cultural circles by the time the Atlas project became a reality. Harper's publications, as has already been mentioned in previous chapters, were readily available throughout the continent from the first issues, viewed in Mechanics' Institutes and libraries on the goldfields and in the cities, along with British illustrated journals, Melbourne Punch and The Illustrated Australian News. As one of the first newspaper reports about the Atlas project demonstrated, Australian readers readily subscribed to the American publictions: 'In America the art [of engraving] has almost reached perfection, as subscribers to such magazines as the Century and Harper's are very well aware.'41

Australian illustrated publications, led by The Bulletin, were actively seeking to emulate the work of the American firms and their illustrators years before the influx of American equipment and artists imported for the Atlas project. In their quest to find a first-rate cartoonist for their fledgling publication, The Bulletin's Archibald, along with his editors William Traill (1843-1902) and William Macleod, had already travelled to the United States in hopes of securing one for the magazine. In 1883 in San Francisco, they had first tried to recruit 'the reputedly brilliant Keller of the Wasp'--G. Frederick Keller (1846-1883?), the cartoonist for the city's leading satirical magazine--but that deal fell through.42 Traill, writing years later in an article on 'The genesis of the Bulletin', described how and why they finally found Livingston Hopkins (1846-1927), the Midwestern American who would become a household name in Australia as The Bulletin's cartoonist 'Hop':

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I decided to visit America, via San Francisco, and there to endeavor to secure several means for advancing The Bulletin ahead of anything previously attempted in Australia. A prime necessity was a humorous artist of the first rank. The sketches in the American comic papers made me and Archibald yearn. I determined to make a desperate effort to engage and bring to Australia some one of the many clever comic draughtsmen whose work embellished various Yankee papers which we received regularly.43

Hopkins already had an established career in America as a comic illustrator. His abilities as a political caricaturist were already evident in his work for Robert J. Burdette's Hawk-eyes (1879), an exercise that emboldened him to publish his own A comic history of the United States (1880), filled with droll comments about American historical figures and contemporary American politics.44 He joined the Sydney paper in 1883, arriving in Australia with his family, initially for a three-year contract. They stayed for life.

In Sydney 'Hop' joined the British cartoonist and bon vivant participant in Sydney's bohemian life, Phil May (1864-1903), whom Traill had lured to The Bulletin in 1885, to initiate 'the golden age of Australian caricature', as architect and aspiring cartoonist George Taylor later called it.45 Along with other Bulletin artists, they formed The Black and White School of political cartooning and editorial illustration in the 1890s. The products of their pen made The Bulletin the leading illustrated publication on the continent. It is no exaggeration to say that their artwork contributed most effectively to making The Bulletin a national rather than local publication, and in so doing, caused a shift in perception about Sydney as a cultural and artistic centre in Australia.46


Fig. 3.07 Livingston Hopkins ('Hop'), A young gentleman of culture on his way to California, in A comic history of the United States, American Book Exchange, New York, 1880, p. 172. Author's collection.

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The American Hopkins created some of the most memorable satirical expressions of Australian political life. His Little boy from Manly, first depicted in the magazine in 1885, served as a humorous and ultimately iconic representation of the Australian nation as The Bulletin envisioned it.47 Although Phil May was the better artist of the two, editor and art critic of Art in Australia Bertram Stevens later maintained that Hopkins's impact on Australian art was more enduring, for, among other things, he had introduced etching as a serious art form to the country.48 The sober, quietly authoritarian Hopkins--often described as a 'puritan'49 --was particularly close to the magazine's artist and business director William Macleod and worked alongside its editor William Traill throughout their Bulletin years.50These two were the real creative powers at the magazine.51 Given Macleod's and Traill's significant involvement with the Picturesque atlas project, it is not surprising that Hopkins, along with nearly every other artistic figure in Australia, would contribute work for its pages.52

The Bulletin editors looked with envy at the finesse of American artist-illustrators and cartoonists in productions as grand as Picturesque America and as mundane as those in the myriad number of illustrated magazines that poured into Australia from the United States. They were even more envious of the obvious aesthetic advantage these publishing firms gained by virtue of their graphic printing capabilities. The machines that Harper so proudly touted in his biography of the company were the key, as Macleod and other Australian publishers recognised, to the production of such skilled integration of text and illustration, and to the refined wood-engraving style associated with the American magazines. Those working for The Bulletin were also aware of these advantages: Phil May had asserted that his linear, less sketchy technique came about because he had to adjust to the inadequacies of The Bulletin's presses,53 and stories of the blunders by the magazine's management in purchasing printing equipment are a leitmotif in many discussions of this publishing enterprise.54 Prints curator Roger Butler states that 'Hopkins' early work for Traill was hampered by the primitive technique--a form of relief etching which required him to draw onto a zinc plate--being used to reproduce his sketches'.55 These problems had already led Traill to hire an American technician, Charles Shugg (c.1862-1933), to improve these methods in the mid-1880s. The best printers, artists and pressmen in Australia, then, were aware of the full range of American illustrated publications and wanted to emulate these works, both artistically and technically, in their own industry.

Hop kid

Fig. 3.08 Livingston Hopkins ('Hop'), A jubilee (little boy from Manly and Australian debt). Pen and ink drawing for Bulletin cartoon, 1905. National Library of Australia, Canberra .

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When The Picturesque Atlas Publishing Company was formed in 1886, with such ambitious intentions and thorough involvement of American artists and printers, the men in charge of the project determined to import the very best equipment, paper and ink from the United States, with the aim of creating the finest engravings that the colonies had ever seen. The newspapers in Sydney proudly announced that the company had 'imported the most modern and perfect machinery known ... including three of R. Hoe and Co's double stop cylinder fine art printing presses'.56 'These presses are made especially for fine-art printing', another article explained, 'and run at the slow speed of 350 revolutions per hour each press. They run with extreme smoothness, and almost without noise'.57 R. Hoe & Co. was, to quote the company founder's son-in-law Henry Harper, 'the manufacturer since the 1840s of the machines that revolutionised the illustrated press'.58

The printing equipment sent from R. Hoe & Co. arrived in Sydney in the middle of 1886. One reason that the Atlas Company set up shop in Sydney was that Victorian trade levies made the cost of importing the equipment to Melbourne prohibitively expensive--another sign of how divided were the still-separate Australian colonies in 1888.59 Most of the American artists were also in the country by June of that year; works by Schell were included in the display put together in August at the company's headquarters when Governor of New South Wales Lord Carrington visited.60 By autumn of that year, the entire crew of American, Australian and various European artists, printers, technicians and writers were in the country and beginning to sketch, write and collect photographs of scenery for further artistic production.

 The aforementioned Harper's employee Frederic B. Schell was superintendent of the Art Department.61 His colleagues from Picturesque Canada, Smedley and Fitler, joined him at some time during the summer. Horace Baker (1833-1918), another American who had worked for Harper's and had been chief of wood-engraving for Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, served as head of the Atlas's Engraving Department.62 The department consisted of Baker's own team, all of whom had previously worked in New York, at least eight Americans, one Italian and three Germans. Two Australians, the Collingridge brothers, also joined the wood-engravers. Overseeing the printing was M. E. Emrich, another American who had worked on Picturesque Canada and came originally from Scribner's. The Sydney Morning Herald praised Emrich as having 'achieved a reputation in America as a printer of artists' proofs ... In his own department Mr. Emrich is decidedly an artist'.63

Conspicuously absent from this enormous undertaking was any active English contribution. As Hughes-d'Aeth puts it, 'while the American contribution was decisive--all the material, machinery and much of the expertise--the specific contribution "from England" was virtually nil'.64 Even the mapmakers--unlike others in the Picturesque series, a distinctive part of the Australian volumes involved cartography--included draughtsmen from the United States.65 The Australian planners of the Atlas were consciously aligning themselves with American approaches to publishing, commercial enterprise and modes of illustration, and meant to signify to potential purchasers of the volumes that the undertaking was striving for the most up-to-date methods of reproduction and the highest quality production values. Reviewers  recognised the project's 'conceptual audacity' in this respect and commented upon it in the Australian press even before the first fascicles in the series began to be produced.66


In contrast, for the written sections on Australian life, history and geography, the Atlas directors selected Australian journalists and writers. Only those who had experienced Australian culture directly were deemed capable of expressing the desired ideological stance for the text. Chief editor was Andrew Garran (1825-1901), a respected journalist and politician, who had an essentially titular role, just as the American poet William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) had had with Picturesque America.67

While the written sections of the Atlas played a significant role in setting the ideological agenda to which the book aspired, its real raison d'être, the true focus of its intentions, resided in the illustrations and an explicit emphasis on the elaborate reproductive processes involved in producing the volumes. This makes an analysis of the images of Australia produced by the Americans all the more intriguing. Why and how were American artists, most of whom had only been in the country for a short while, entrusted with presenting a valid picture of Australia's natural wonders and urban landscapes to a largely homegrown audience?

Many Australian illustrators did make substantial contributions in specific depictions for the Atlas. Frank Mahony (1862-1916), considered a master illustrator of horses, was assigned to make 'action scenes' and re-enactments of historical events,68 well-established artist Julian Ashton sketched in 'all the larger townships of Victoria, South Australia and Western Australia', particularly capturing 'picturesque' spots;69 and a very young A. H. Fullwood (1863-1930) travelled throughout the country, and even to New Guinea and New Zealand, making landscape sketches and collecting photographs that would become engravings for the Atlas.70 (In an example of the competitive spirit with which the Atlas was imbued, Fullwood, who came to Australia from England at 18, wrote in his sketchbooks while on the road that he wanted 'to get through as soon as possible to show the Americans attached to the business I am engaged in that an Englishman can also get over ground'.71) One woman, the already renowned floral painter Ellis Rowan (1848-1922), was appointed in the initial hirings of Australian artists for the project and completed several images and ornamental frames of Australian flora. She later used her involvement with the Atlas and its company to promote further commissions, including ones in the United States.72

While many Australian artists did work on the project, the American trio of Schell, Smedley and Fitler nonetheless completed the most substantial number of the more elaborate depictions in the Atlas's three volumes, including views of Australian cities and many images of its natural scenery. Frederic Schell created the majority of the full-page engraved plates of landscapes and urban scenes, including majestic depictions of such iconic Australian locations as the Jenolan Caves in New South Wales, A sassafras gully on the Black Spur, and Queensland's Darling Downs (see Fig. 3.17 on page 134). A collection of photographs acquired by Schell while in Australia proves that, in some cases, their works were produced from photographs that the artists embellished and then had made into engravings.73

One of the distinct achievements of the Atlas was the introduction to Australia of high-quality photo-engravings from photographs, made possible by the new printing equipment. While the American artists worked from photographs for some of their views, they also travelled through the other states to sketch on site. Schell, at least, also went to New Zealand at some point. Smaller illustrations created by the Americans' hands, along with views based on photographs and reproductions of Australian artworks (Smedley copied a drawing by S. T. Gill and a scene of the Eureka Stockade), are integrated directly onto the pages of text throughout the volumes. This integration of text and illustration was the most vaunted achievement of the Atlas's new printing presses.


The ease with which American artist-illustrators adapted to creating views of Australia for the Atlas speaks to the fact that the entire picturesque enterprise was not striving to display its accomplishment through artistic innovation or aesthetic modernism in its imagery. The Picturesque Atlas Co. intended rather to express Australia's progressive cultural status as a Western nation by showcasing the most technologically advanced processes of mechanical reproduction that the Picturesque series and the illustrated magazines in North America signified. What the Australian directors wanted from American artists was an application of their well-honed iconography of urbane sophistication and charming views to an Australian context. The case of William T. Smedley, the most famous and prolific of the American illustrators to contribute to the Atlas's pages, is particularly revealing. By the time he came to Sydney in the summer of 1886, Smedley was already a leading illustrator in New York City. In October 1886, a Sydney merchant and shareholder in the Atlas enterprise named H. S. Chipman sent a letter on behalf of The Picturesque Atlas Co. introducing Smedley to Joseph Syme, an editor at The Age in Melbourne.74 Here he stated that 'Mr. Smedley is an artist of high reputation in America, many of his sketches having adorned the pages of Scribners and Harper's Magazine and other works of art'.75 Smedley was an inveterate clubman, an active participant in the genteel world of New York high society that he illustrated. As one critic has written, 'Smedley's work pictures an elite, upper class society. Smedley's people are often dressed in the latest fashions, participating in activities appropriate to their privileged class ... Smedley's people embody a social ideal: respectability'.76 His views in the Atlas depict for the most part pleasantly composed scenes of the leisurely world of Victorian city life, rendered in an identifiable style that had already marked him as an exemplary 'narrative' illustrator. His rendition of Saturday night in George Street in the Atlas's Sydney section demonstrates his best technique and his favoured motifs: elegantly dressed people stroll along illuminated arcades while horses and carriages provide 'bustle' and action in the middle ground. In the foreground are two of Smedley's slender-waisted women, seen in full-frontal silhouette walking toward the viewer. This 'bustle' of modernity, as Hughes-d'Aeth calls it, had become by the time of the Atlas an important iconographic trope signifying urban picturesqueness.77 Smedley and other illustrators sought to convey in their pictures the kind of transformation of the picturesque conception that was also occurring in literature of the time:

In the emergent magazine culture of the late nineteenth century, the picturesque sought to make modernity less terrifying by making it familiar through a gradualist approach that linked old concepts with new phenomena. Its hackneyed language promised to turn the urban realities of class disparity and ethnic hereogeneity into potentially pleasant aspects of the modern experience.78

Fern gully

Fig. 3.09 Gippsland fern gully, in Schell album, c. 1880. Photograph. Courtesy of Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, Connecticut.

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In his Pleasure grounds, Sydney, Smedley, working with his friend and colleague W. C. Fitler, combined this iconography of bustle and the 'pleasant aspects' of city life with the graphic devices so beloved in the more artistically sophisticated publications of the period. Here several views are placed in one frame, distinguished as separate scenes by differing formats: the central roundel of the entrance to the botanic gardens by Fitler is superimposed on two scenes by Smedley of people at their leisure in the gardens and at Hyde Park. At the bottom of the picture is a small sketch of Frazer Drinking Fountain in Hyde Park, probably also by Fitler, which appears as if it were composed on a separate piece of paper pinned onto the other sheet, complete with the illusion of shadow beneath the curled edge of the paper. The artists' carefully constructed scenes with trompe l'oeil devices had to be transferred onto a block by the engraver, who then produced the final image for reproduction.

These 'visual tricks', with their intricately composed details and overlapping imagery, represented the height of the illustrators' and engravers' art in these last great volumes of the engraving era before photographic halftone processes came to dominate the print world.79 The Atlas is rife with these kinds of illustrations, from 'illustrated flow diagrams'80 depicting in several frames Australian industrial and agricultural processes, to photographic-like scenes in roundels surrounded by still-life ornamentation in another artistic style, and cleverly inserted vignettes amidst the text. These virtuosic exercises in graphic experimentation conveyed to the viewer that Australia now possessed the most advanced printing capacities, able to produce artistic reproductions on a par with anything coming out of London or New York.


Fig. 3.10 Smedley and Fitler, Pleasure grounds, Sydney, in Picturesque atlas, vol. 1, opp. p. 317. Author's collection.

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Smedley's images for the Melbourne section of the Atlas particularly reveal the shared aesthetic conventions that the global franchise of the Picturesque industry dispersed. That Smedley actually came to Melbourne and sketched directly on site is apparent in some of these images. His friend Fitler, described in newspaper accounts as a specialist in architectural views,81 seems to have travelled through Victoria as well, although his illustrations are stiffer and less polished than Smedley's, giving the impression that some may have been produced entirely from photographs. While Smedley's rendering of the women working at the Melbourne Telephone Exchange is derived from a photograph he overpainted, his sketch of the Public Library and the Horse bazaar appear to have been sketched on the spot, and were reproduced by a different photo-mechanical method.82

His larger depiction of Collins Street on Sunday morning is as artistically formulaic as any of his illustrations for stories in Harper's magazine, focusing on fashionably dressed couples, the women carrying parasols against the brilliant sun, streaming out of the Collins Street churches seen on the right hand side of the picture. All is gentility, prosperity and respectability on parade. These motifs, of elegant people walking along a street or garden path, mirror the kind of iconography of cosmopolitanism that Australian artists in Melbourne such as Tom Roberts (1856-1931) and the visiting English painter Charles Conder (1868-1909) were applying in their 'impressionistic' paintings and drawings at this time. In the years from 1886 to the early 1890s, Roberts, Conder, Frederick McCubbin (1855-1917), Arthur Streeton (1867-1943) and others now labelled as the 'Heidelberg School'83 created quick sketches and painted impressions that often contain the motif, or a variation of the type, of upper-class people promenading along the same kind of streets that Smedley rendered for the Atlas.


Fig. 3.11 A. Henry Fullwood, Old Government House, Parramatta/Old Barracks, in Picturesque atlas, vol. 1, p. 28. Author's collection.


Along with this repeated form, Smedley's Spring Street in the Melbourne section included another favoured element, and one that is particularly cogent in relation to the Melbourne artists' iconographic predilections.84 Here Smedley again depicted stylish figures walking and standing on a city street with substantial buildings placed diagonally along one side of the picture. But now he focused on the added visual illusion of rain shimmering on the ground, the figures' forms reflected in the pavement. Smedley had created this graphic impression of wet city surfaces in many earlier illustrations for New York magazine articles. As a sketch in his own notebooks demonstrate, dated from about 1884, the rendering of such atmospheric effects was a fascination for him at this time, no doubt a response to his own absorption of European impressionists' images then just being discussed and reproduced in art journals, and his own desire to be taken seriously as a painter rather than just as an illustrator.

What is particularly striking about Smedley's sketches is how closely his motifs coincide with those favoured at this time by the Heidelberg group of artists. This is especially true of the paintings done in the 1880s by Charles Conder. Conder, who was in Sydney at the time The Picturesque Atlas Publishing Company began its project, was part of the crowd of young artists there and studied with Julian Ashton and others working on the Atlas. Like them he frequently contributed while in Australia to what journalists referred to as the 'black and whites' such as the Illustrated Sydney News.85 Conder met Tom Roberts--newly returned from his studies in Europe--through other members of Ashton's Art Society of New South Wales. Inspired by Roberts's ideas, Conder moved to Melbourne in 1888. There, in the few years until he left for England in 1890, he participated in the exciting aesthetic experimentation and lived 'the artist's life' that Roberts's circle considered so integral to their stylistic formulations.

Spring Street

Fig. 3.12 W. T. Smedley, Spring Street, in Picturesque atlas, vol. 1, p. 235. Author's collection.

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Two of Conder's most successful works focus on the effects of rain and atmospheric light. His painting, The departure of the S.S. Orient--Circular Quay (1888), shows figures on the quay carrying umbrellas in the rain, their forms reflected in the wet surface. Conder's method of painting is usually ascribed to the direct influence of the visiting Italian painter Girolamo Nerli (1863-1926), who also painted rainy scenes.86 But Conder's figures could equally have been influenced by knowledge of Smedley's motifs and images he saw reproduced in Harper's. The Englishman's small study on a cigar-box top--part of the seminal 1889 9 x 5 exhibition of the Melbourne group--is even more closely aligned to the content of Smedley's Spring Street and the American's earlier sketchbook drawing. Entitled Going home (the gray and gold) (1889), this scene portrays a fashionably dressed couple, he with walking stick, strolling along a rain-dappled street, a strong diagonal of the street receding into the distance, where clouds coloured by the rain create atmospheric hues.

This similarity in aesthetic motifs does not imply that the American illustrator Smedley directly or single-handedly influenced the Melbourne artists, nor that Conder and Roberts were not inspired by the Italian Nerli's paintings. It does point to the fact that all of these ambitious young artists were expressing similar aesthetic values through their choice of subject matter and technique. They were inspired by the same artistic influences, whether experienced first-hand by study abroad or, more frequently, absorbed second-hand through reproduced illustrations in European and American magazines. It also indicates that artists of the time in Australia as well as in America relied on reproduced imagery for their understanding of what was considered modern in terms of fashionable subjects and up-to-date methods. They made less aesthetic distinction between the so-called 'low art' of mechanically reproduced illustration and the 'high art' of painting than European artists did, since they were so dependent on reproduction to learn of contemporary aesthetic ideas. Even Roberts, the de facto spokesman of the Heidelberg School group, had supported himself in England by producing illustrations for the press; to quote one of his biographers, he 'would have been acutely aware of the inroads being made on the traditional domain of the painter/illustrator'.87 While in Australia, Smedley came into contact with the whole range of Australian artists and participated in many artistic events. Letters in his papers indicate that he was an active member of the Art Society of New South Wales. At Smedley's departure from the country (he left in February 1887), the secretary of the society wrote to express the group's regret that 'a member of the Society' was leaving and requesting his support in their endeavours for greater recognition of the arts in the colony.88

Going home

Fig. 3.13 Charles Conder, Going home (the gray and gold), 1889. oil on wood panel, 40.7 x 28.7 cm. National Gallery of Australia, Canberra.

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The Australian artists' aims, along with their American counterparts, were to construct in their images and through their lifestyle an attitude of urbane sophistication. Their city scenes frequently depicted Victorians carrying out leisurely activity, the subject that was such an important visual trope in the late picturesque publications. The Atlas, through the subject matter of its reproduced illustrations, whether by Americans or others, sought to link Australia with the most sophisticated, albeit socially acceptable and decidedly not bohemian, iconographic forms favoured by the Euro-American culture of which the Australian colonies were an integral, if geographically separated, part. The Americans Smedley, Fitler and Schell, along with the engravers such as Horace Baker, were emissaries of that world.

The major achievement of the Picturesque atlas of Australasia lies in its monumental existence. The organisers spared no cost (more than 60,000 pounds) to produce an enormous work of 'fine art printing' that could serve not only as an 'educational' work of art, but also as a promotional tool--a 'textbook'--for the idea of a unified Australia. Despite early pronouncements of an international campaign to advertise the books, in the end the subscription audience appeared to be largely homegrown, and the international press paid little heed. A few comments about the books appeared in London papers, but the New York press carried no reviews. Even Harper's Weekly, which later used Smedley's drawings to illustrate articles about Australia, made no mention of his work for the Atlas.89 While more committed to a presentation of historic aspects than other of the Picturesque volumes--evident in its frequent inclusion of fanciful portraits of historical figures and reconstructed images of historical events, most of them done by William Macleod90 --the majority of its illustrations fell within the prescribed iconography of picturesqueness as it was understood in the last decades of the nineteenth century.

title page

Fig. 3.14 Title page, Picturesque California, 1888. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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On the other side of the Pacific, Picturesque California, the first segments of which appeared in 1888, is in some ways a more complicated production to decipher, graphically and ideologically. Part of the reason for this complexity arises from the fact that so little is known of its provenance. While the Picturesque atlas of Australasia was conceived, at least in theory, as an aesthetic tool educating its readers about Australian history and as a beautiful weapon in a grand national cause, its counterpart in California appears to have grown initially out of more commercial aims. Despite its announced aversion to 'booster' language, its promotional aspirations were nonetheless just as ideologically driven as the Atlas project. The enterprise was the brainchild of a San Francisco shopkeeper named James Dewing (c. 1846-1902) who decided to cash in on the popularity of the picturesque publications by highlighting the scenic glories of California and the other states west of the Rockies; the volumes even included sections on western Canada and Alaska. The initial intentions, then, originated in the same sense of regional pride and the desire to satisfy a public--prospective immigrants as well as armchair travellers and tourists--hungry for images of the American West. The many versions of Picturesque California produced between 1888 and 1894 exemplify the graphic confusion of work during this period of transformation in printing technologies. They also speak to the public's growing desire--or at least the publisher's perception of the public's desire--for profusion as well as novelty in their illustrated books at the end of the century.91

According to a promotional article for The J. Dewing Company that appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle in December 1889, 'The Dewing brothers commenced a small subscription book business in 1860 and now do what is perhaps the largest business in that line on the Pacific coast.'92 The article, which included a picture of the Dewing establishment 'in the Flood building', went on to explain that the company had expanded to include a piano factory and 'art rooms' along with its book-selling enterprises. A colour lithographed trade card from about this time, produced by San Francisco printers, portrays a woman in 'Japonesque' costume on the front, and on the back touts the company's 'Rare Art works and Etchings', as well as juvenile books, greeting cards, albums and pianos. Clearly The J. Dewing Company was seeking to compete with San Francisco's unique and much beloved emporium S. & G. Gump Co., always known as Gump's, which by the time of Dewing's project had become a leading importer of Asian art and artifacts and supplied most of the West Coast wealthy classes with artworks and other finery.93

Dewing's had incorporated in 1887 for the purpose of producing art books, their crowning achievement being Picturesque California (in 1888, it also published a Society Directory for San Francisco).94 In effusive prose, the newspaper article mentioned above described:

[T]he company's widely known and beautiful publication, Picturesque California, which, though absolutely free from even the suspicion of advertising, is credited with having done more to make California widely and favorably known than all the direct advertising matter yet issued. The work is already about two-thirds issued. Two years ago an art printing establishment was opened by the company in New York city for the issuance of this work, and through it has become known even beyond the sea as well as in every State and Territory of the Union.95

The Dewing brothers, then, wanted to stress that the book was more than just cheaply produced tourist promotion, and that, by virtue of its being printed in New York, it would exemplify the highest standards of art printing that could be attained at that time. Australian publishers in 1888 had sought respectability and evidence of technological superiority by importing American artists and printers for the Atlas. At the same time, a Californian publisher with high aesthetic aspirations still felt that he needed the imprimatur of a New York address and the capacities of East Coast printing equipment to assure potential readers that the publication would achieve a high level of artistic polish. While San Francisco did have by the 1880s the beginnings of a fine-art printing industry, the scale of the Picturesque California project was probably still beyond the scope of local establishments, although later editions relied in part on printers in the city.

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Dewing's initial intentions were lofty ones: to use the cachet that the New York engravers and illustrators had acquired in the decades after the Civil War to sell their own illustrated books. As the Picturesque California project progressed, these aspirations would be affected not only by the transformation of the printing industry and Dewing's own bungling of finances, but also by marketing forces tied to the burgeoning tourist trade in California.

How John Muir, already a leading advocate for the preservation of Yosemite and California's other natural wonders, was persuaded to become the chief editor for Picturesque California remains a mystery. In 1887, when the project began, Muir had been in California for nearly 20 years and was already known for his passionate writing in praise of the sublime beauty of the Western wilderness; but he was not yet the venerated figure that he would become in later years. William L. Oge, a leading San Francisco attorney and secretary of The J. Dewing Company, may have known Muir through Bohemian Club circles and recommended him to James Dewing (Oge wrote the section on 'Monterey to Ventura' for Picturesque California).96 In a letter from the company to Muir dated 5 September 1887, urgently asking for more copy 'for Passes' (referring to the Sierra's famous mountain passes, which constituted a separate section in the book), the Dewing employee requests that he 'write again that little discription [sic] of yourself--the other has been mislaid', indicating that he was not yet a well-known entity for the firm.97

According to a 1974 reprint of Picturesque California, Muir was the instigator of the project:

Evidently, Muir hit upon the idea of putting together a series of articles for a national magazine, written by knowledgeable observers, in which the features and life forms of each of the regions west of the Rockies would be described. He convinced an editor to undertake the project, of which Muir became the enthusiastic overseer.98

This assertion contradicts Muir's own remarks in letters he later wrote to the volume's contributors; but unlike the titular editors for previous Picturesque volumes, Muir was an active participant in the production of Picturesque California. He recruited his old friend Jeanne C. Carr (1826-1903) to write the section on Southern California and he personally travelled to the Pacific North-West, Canada and Alaska to gather information for the text on those parts of the region. In the end, he wrote six chapters for the book, including a magisterial entry based on earlier writings about his beloved Yosemite Valley. He was also instrumental in securing for the publication the services of his friend, the 'Dean of California painters' William Keith (1838-1911), and corresponded with other artists who contributed to the book, including another well-known California artist Thomas Hill (1829-1908).99 In the summer of 1888, he travelled with Keith throughout the north-west in conjunction with the writing of the book.100 Muir's close connections with California's leading literary and artistic figures enabled The J. Dewing Company, a relatively new entity in the Californian publishing world, to attract many prominent Westerners, both writers and artists, to work on the project. As Sue Rainey has written, 'it was the first major illustrated work on the West produced primarily by westerners'.101 Other prominent figures to contribute to the publication were the flamboyant San Francisco poet-writer Joaquin Miller; renowned landscape painter and illustrator of the West, Thomas Moran (1837-1926); the pre-eminent painter of cowboys, Indians and Western scenes, Frederic Remington (1861-1909); Californian Charles Howard Shinn (1852-1924), who had written extensively about mining in the state; San Francisco literary critic George Hamlin Fitch (1852-1915); Southern Californian booster T.S. Van Dyke (1840-1923); and widely published naturalist of the Rocky Mountains, Ernest Ingersoll (1852-1946).

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The inclusion in Picturesque California of the work of F. O. C. Darley (1822-1888)--he provided, along with large plates, the icon of the grizzly bear on the book's title page--signals the publishers' artistic intentions most clearly. English-born Darley was in the 1840s and 1850s 'the most popular, most productive, and best illustrator of his generation ... For the first twenty-five years of his career, the phrase "illustrated by Darley" on the title page virtually assured the success of a book'.102 Darley died while Picturesque California was in production; but his popular iconography of frontier life, replete with mountain men, Indians and wild animals, embellished many of the book's pages, representing a significant strand in the visual construction of the West.103

Darley's conception of the West, however, was already dated by the time Picturesque California appeared; other artistic and literary directions, more in keeping with the representation of agrarian settlement then taking place in the state, were more prevalent modes in the book. In October 1887, Muir wrote to Jeanne C. Carr, wife of Muir's teacher in Wisconsin, Dr Ezra Carr, and herself a devoted naturalist settled then in Pasadena at her showplace property Carmelita.104 He enjoined her to write about the Southern California that she knew so well. His description to her of the project provides the most detailed information about the aims of the publication as Muir understood them:

Picturesque America is about the style and kind of stuff required. Nothing that savors in the least of advertising booming, etc. can be allowed, but latitude wide as you please in picturesque description and choice of objects. Should have abundance of flowery brush, birds, bears, priests of the olden time, adobes gray, old oaks. Old Spanish life but still more fully should the life, Yankee life of to-day in its picturesque aspects be portrayed. Olive orchards, orange, nut trees, vineyards, groups of gatherers of the sunny harvests, views of the main towns, etc., etc. I guess you know what I mean. No scent, flavor, savor of commercial advertisement or any sort of favoritism as to places written or pictured. What a bright appreciative traveler would like to see and hear is what is wanted as near as I can make out.105

Here Muir already defines the emerging iconography of Southern California, prescribing a template for the visual and literary motifs that would determine the popular aesthetic idea of California into the twentieth century.

In this letter and later ones, Muir also requested photographs from Carr, to be used by the artists and engravers for illustrations. Mrs Carr must have followed through on this request, for in November 1887, M. S. Dewing--James's brother--wrote thanking her for the photographs she had provided. 'The Photos you sent are very pretty', Dewing wrote:

We shall always require newness and originality. While we must have the best pictures or photos of the principal subjects, we shall require to make all such things have a degree of rich freshness which shall do credit to our undertaking.106

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From the beginning of their Picturesque California project in 1887, the main object of the Dewing firm was to render artistic style and modernity by an emphasis on printing processes. They pulled out all the stops in producing the book, employing every modern printing technique then possible and that included the latest photo-mechanical methods. Their purpose was to 'sell' the region through an integration of knowledgeable text and profuse illustrations in a variety of mediums that they hoped would appeal to the public's increasing demand for innovative graphic effects.

The variety of illustrative methods evident in the Dewing production--used, as Rainey writes, to 'aestheticize' the West107 --is what makes a comparison with its exact contemporary, the Picturesque atlas, such a revelation. While the Australian publishers could not have known it at the time, their Atlas, employing the most skilled craftsmen and the highest quality of reproducible methods available to them, stands as the last great Picturesque publication in the great era of engraving. The artists of the Australian project at times used photographs along with drawings as sources for the engraved illustrations and sometimes varied technique within this medium; but as a whole, the Atlas presented a cohesive aesthetic experience dependent entirely on black-and-white engravings, either as single elegant pages surrounded by pastel-coloured ornamental frames, or as smaller illustrations integrated artistically into the text.


Fig. 3.15 Interior of the old El Carmel Mission./'Cassiano', the Mission Indian, supposed to be 136 years old, in Picturesque California, vol. 1, p. 36. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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In contrast, as the segments of Picturesque California appeared over several years, this same sense of artistic harmony disappeared into a visual hodgepodge of graphic styles and effects. As a means of showing off their slick modishness, the book's designers attempted to reproduce the images using modern photo-mechanical processes, producing what author Estelle Jussim labels a 'kind of menagerie of the media'. 108 The majority of small images inserted within the text were wood-engravings or photo-engravings--many exhibiting the same kind of framing devices and trompe l'oeil effects used in the Atlas. But most of the showcased plates reproducing the artists' paintings and drawings were photogravures, a photographic process that allowed monochrome prints to be made of paintings or photographs themselves.

Photogravure, although a short-lived process, was initially seen as a major reproductive breakthrough, because artists were no longer dependent on the engravers' interpretative skills.109 To modern eyes, these plates often appear muddy, undifferentiated and dull; but artists as good as Remington considered the process a great improvement over wood-engravings, because there was no intrusion by 'clumsy' woodcarvers.110 Artist-illustrators such as Remington and Smedley were great champions of the new photographic processes at the end of the nineteenth century, believing that their work as artists could be more faithfully reproduced with these photo-mechanical methods. Such sentiments, along with economic decisions that favoured photographic reproduction, were the death knell for wood-engravers who had been so instrumental in putting American illustrated publications at the forefront of international graphic art.

Other methods represented in Picturesque California included 15 original etchings as full-blown plates; and, most significantly, true photographic halftones, both of artworks and of photographs themselves (although no photographer is ever identified by name). Some illustrations awkwardly combined all of these techniques into one mishmashed plate or as overlapping images inserted onto a page of text; these composites were often 'visually ambiguous' and aesthetically incompatible.111 Added to this mixing of techniques was the application of coloured inks for some of the plates and smaller illustrations. Many photogravure plates were tinted blue or sepia, and smaller illustrations appeared in red, blue and orange-brown ink. The tissued letterpress pages in front of the earliest photogravures in the first volume included a small motif of the painting and an excerpt from the relevant text as caption, all printed in red. This device disappeared as printing progressed--no captions or coloured motifs appeared on the later tissue papers with titles of the photogravures in most of the later editions. These omissions are perhaps evidence that The J. Dewing Company was beginning to have difficulties keeping up an artistic level of production. The implementation of colour tones nonetheless continued throughout the earlier editions of the volumes: a halftone reproduction of Among the orange groves--the golden harvest by W. C. Fitler (the same Fitler who had travelled to Australia to work on the Atlas) appeared in one of the better edition printings in an orange-brown tone; and a reproduction of a painting by the California artist Julian Rix was printed in the deluxe versions in purple.


Fig. 3.16 Plate of hydraulic mining, Bear Valley, in Picturesque California, 1888, pt. 5, p. 235. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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While these mixed graphic effects and coloured additions were at times misguided, aesthetically jarring and visually incongruous, they represented the best efforts of the publisher to take advantage of the changing methods of reproduction that would, in only a few more years, entirely eliminate the need for the labour-intensive efforts of skilled engravers. Innovative originality in printing was the one aspect of the publication highly commended by reviewers. The first review in Overland Monthly, appearing in 1888 when only a few of the sections had been completed, took the opportunity to discuss the relative merits of these new techniques in reproducing paintings:

The atmospheric effects, the appearance of work by masses of color laid on with a brush, instead of by line, could not be achieved by a cutting tool in hard material. Nothing can ever supersede engraving for clear and strong rendering of subjects where detail is wanted--for realistic work; and all paintings would not be adapted to this photogravure: but for reproducing painting broadly and simply done, with a good deal of 'motif' and atmosphere, the result is really remarkable ... In the India proofs, and still more in some satin prints that accompany the most expensive editions, it has also a peculiar silky delicacy of surface that is very pretty, and oddly enough, seems to interfere very little with the strong paint-like look of the lights and shades. They are printed not only in black, but in various shades of brown, and some in other colors--reds and greens, but all well-chosen, rich shades, so that the fancy is quite pretty and decorative.112

The efforts made to integrate visual and textual elements on a single page reveal as well the first signs of development of a new field of arts production--coordinated graphic design, in which the illustrations, type fonts and page layout were an integral part of the entire production process.

Finally, the numerous designs for covers and frontispieces of the various bound versions of Picturesque California give sometimes amusing evidence of the publisher's attempts to create an appropriately Californian aesthetic that would sell the book.113 A 'Connoisseur Edition', a numbered set replete with duplicated separate plates in mounts, had the photogravures printed on silk and even pasted in some of the smaller plates produced in various colours. Its first frontispiece, also tipped in, consisted of a full-scale version of F. O. C. Darley's grizzly bear straddling a log--the same motif of California that would appear as a small icon on the title page of all of Picturesque California's many editions. Another deluxe edition portrayed on its frontispiece, again printed on silk, a diaphonously clad semi-nude sprite--a personification of California--standing on a rock by rushing water holding gold that beams down on three miners; in the background, emblematic elements of high mountains and pine forests. Other covers contained versions of a Julian Rix landscape incorporating the mountains, lake and pine trees of the Sierras with palm trees and Spanish churches of the South, over which was superimposed a diamond-framed rendering of a mission in ruins. Publishers and artists alike had not yet settled on the image of California or the graphic style that they wished to project as emblematic of the region, and so experimented with a variety of visual interpretations and typography.

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These variations in editions also related to the grade of paper used in the book's many versions, a factor tied to the volume's price. As the publisher's costs mounted and the need for sales increased, the volumes became less luxurious until the last edition, in 1894, added many more halftone reproductions and used the cheapest paper. The product was still copiously illustrated and used most of the original plates; it even added photographic reproductions of popular tourist sites. But this once grand artistic venture had now joined the ranks of mass-market magazines or tourist brochures.

Despite the difference in artistic quality between the Picturesque atlas and Picturesque California, a comparison of their iconographic modes--the visual manifestations of their ideological message--still reveals intriguing intersections in the cultural attitudes that both linked and separated these two regions on the Pacific Rim. Stylistically, both productions demonstrate an adherence to the most acceptable categories of the picturesque in High Victorian illustrated art. Landscapes in the Atlas emphasised Australia's wild nature with waterfalls, tall trees and rocky scenes, but just as often recorded these as views that could comfortably be visited by tourists seeking a pleasant vista or hiking destination on a day's excursion. Recognisably indigenous flora and fauna were sometimes included in these views but usually displayed as part of ornamental arrangements framing some scene of work or activity by the white settlers of the continent--so as a controlled aspect of a productive Western-oriented society.

Towering eucalypt specimens did occasionally appear as evidence of Australia's most famous tree but these were usually delineated within the context of standard picturesque compositions of 'the bush', with little precise distinction made of species type. The American Schell, perhaps cognisant of the well-documented competitive claims between redwoods and eucalypts as the world's tallest trees, often seemed intent on emphasising their size in his landscapes.114 Urban scenes of promenades and public gardens downplayed the specific nature of the vegetation, highlighting instead natural settings of the cities that had been thoroughly domesticated with 'English' plants and European approaches to garden design. In most cases, the purpose of the pictures of the landscape was to demonstrate how securely Westernised Australian culture had become by virtue of the settlers' cultivation of the land (see fig 3.10 on page 123).


Fig. 3.17 Frederic Schell, Sassafras Gully, in Picturesque atlas, vol. 1, opp. p. 121. Author's collection.

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In Picturesque California, big trees, mountains and rushing water were also given prominent iconographic status in the views of the state's most well-known tourist sites such as Yosemite and Mount Shasta, and many plates concentrated on majestic visions of wilderness already popularised through the romantic paintings of Albert Bierstadt and Thomas Moran. The sublimity of California's mountains was, of course, the main theme of Muir's text, and many of the images mirrored his grandiose expressions. The use of photographs as artistically valid representations of this landscape seemed to concern the editors of the book as it had the editors of the Picturesque atlas: despite the fact that the awe-inspiring photographs of Yosemite by Eadweard Muybridge and Carleton Watkins would have already been known to many readers in the late 1880s, Picturesque California contains only one photographic reproduction of the valley's famous sites and the photographer is not identified.115 Paintings, no matter how unsatisfactory the methods for reproducing them, were still considered the only medium acceptable to denote a publication as artistic.

This emphasis on the region's natural beauty was only one of the concepts about the West that the editors wanted to nurture. As Rainey states, '[t]he primary theme of Picturesque California is a dual one: that these western regions contain both countless natural wonders--surpassing those of the East--and impressive works of civilization'.116 Scenes in the cities and towns focused on California's salubrious climate and geography through the inclusion of palm trees, cactus, yucca plants and other emblems of a semi-tropical landscape. But these views most often depicted typically Victorian couples placed in the landscape, complete with parasols and elegantly dressed, walking on well-tended garden paths. The important message conveyed was that California's land, no matter how tropical, majestic or lush, had been contained and controlled by white settlers.


Fig. 3.18 Julian Rix, Yosemite, in Picturesque California, vol. 2, opp. p. 76. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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One of the most telling of these urban views is a full-page photogravure titled Eucalyptus Avenue, captioned on its letterpress page as 'From a PAINTING by W. C. Fitler.' The caption describes this 'Avenue', meant to be in the new Los Angeles suburb of Inglewood, as 'wisely chosen where grand avenues of eucalyptus and pepper trees are already grown, and citrus orchards are in full bearing'.117 The eucalypts as Fitler depicted them here lose clarity in the reproduction but are detailed enough to emphasise a gum tree's characteristic bark and spindly leaves (they are probably meant to be blue gums, Eucalyptus globulus, the most widely cultivated of the trees in California). What is most striking about the scene is that these Australian natives, planted in California less than 30 years before, serve the same function in this scene of 1880s Los Angeles as the generically 'European' trees in the Atlas's views of Melbourne or Sydney gardens do: they provide a shaded allee for a genteel promenade of carriages and strollers and indicate that cultivation of the land has brought civilisation to once wild places. This new city of the Pacific West, then, is portrayed as having artificially constructed nature spots equalling anything in London, Vienna or Paris.

The landscape motifs throughout Picturesque California include all of the markers of gentility and references to familiar Victorian leisure activity, thus assuring viewers that California was a place where respectable people could live.118 That the gum trees, identified by name, are more readily incorporated into a Californian version of the urban picturesque than they are in scenes in their native home is an ironic indication of the importance of this introduced species in the constructed image of an increasingly Anglo culture on America's Pacific coast. That Australians were less likely at this time to highlight their dominant native tree verifies Tim Bonyhady's assertions in his book The colonial earth that in 1888 most citizens of the antipodean colonies still considered the gum tree 'unpicturesque', if not downright 'ugly'.119

Further comparisons of the depictions of specific places in the Atlas and in Picturesque California reveal how formulaic, indeed how hackneyed, the picturesque devices had become by the late 1880s. An engraving of Parramatta by A. H. Fullwood and a large-plate photogravure of Los Angeles from a painting by Thomas Hill, for example, convey specific details about each location--intended to be recognisably of the place. (The caption on the letterpress of Hill's painting quotes the text, 'Los Angeles, new and old, dense and straggling, growing out over a hundred hills, presents a shifting and bewildering panorama'.) The church spires and buildings with billowing chimneys, the identifiable physical features of the setting and the delineation of singular vegetation (a Parramatta garden has a banana tree and ferns, in Los Angeles the hillside has palms, cacti and yucca)--these are visual details meant to impart specific geographical information. Yet the compositional conventions in both pictures are nearly identical: both are depicted as if from above looking down onto a height and into the distance, trees and shrubs are bunched together in the foreground at the sides and strolling figures are shown walking on pathways rendered perspectivally. The women strollers in both scenes carry parasols, that picturesque trope of pleasurable walking in the Victorian era.

Eucalyptus Avenue

Fig. 3.19 W. C. Fitler, Eucalyptus Avenue, in Picturesque California, vol. 1, opp. p. 132. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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Fig. 3.20 A. H. Fullwood, Parramatta, in Picturesque atlas, vol. 1, p. 117. Author's collection.

Los Angeles

Fig. 3.21 Thomas Hill, Los Angeles, photogravure, in Picturesque California, opp. p. 128. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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These picturesque formulas were not difficult to apply to the depictions of the more 'European' aspects in both of these new societies, to pleasing scenery and the development of cities and industry. But the volumes' representations of their regions' original inhabitants provide intriguing, if to modern eyes sometimes distressing, points of comparison and difference. In the Atlas, Aboriginal people are most often presented as anthropological specimens, in which case the images used derive most clearly and identifiably from photographs. That the photographers of these photographs are named as the creators of the images is unusual in the Atlas's pages. The only other photographer to be named made a telescopic photograph of the moon--another scientific specimen. As Hughes-d'Aeth writes, 'A desire for scientific exactitude' determined this decision: 'The mimetic aura of the scientific photograph ... may well have been drawn upon by the editors of the Atlas in order to constitute Aboriginality as an 'object-sphere' of the science of anthropology.'120

The only other renderings of Aboriginal people included in the volumes are without exception ideologically loaded ones, in which the natives are presented carrying out the actions of 'savages', either attacking famous white men or, in one famous example, being attacked by one of their own.121 Frank Mahony, the Atlas's specialist in the illustration of animals, created this unfortunate narrative view to accompany William Traill's bluntly racist text on the colony of Queensland. Mahony portrays a native tracker gleefully shooting at a fleeing 'tribal' Aboriginal man. Mahony conveniently turned this action scene--stylistically aligned with his drawing in the same section of a jackeroo rounding up a steer--into one of 'black on black' violence.122 Indigenous people, then, were presented either as wild animals on a par with cattle, or as examples of a dying race whose members had to be recorded for science before they disappeared.

An Aboriginal woman

Fig. 3.22 An Aboriginal woman. From a photograph by J. W. Lindt, photo-engraving by W. Hirschmann, in Picturesque atlas, vol. 1, p. 347. Author's collection.

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The editors of Picturesque California chose a more subtle, yet similarly self-conscious, strategy in their visual characterisation of Native Americans. Aware of the need to demonstrate that California was no longer the wild frontier of dime-novel myth, they nonetheless vacillated between the already popular iconography of cowboys and Indians that F. O. C. Darley and Frederic Remington represented, and a more comforting vision of Indians as they lived then in a settled, contemporary Western United States. The predominant image of Indians that Picturesque California projected was one of an emasculated domesticity. The only cowboys shown in action are either branding cattle, trading or chasing rabbits in the San Joaquin Valley (see Fig. 3.24 on page 140). For Native American people the editors overwhelmingly selected images that portrayed women and children, usually sitting quietly or collecting food. Seldom are men portrayed, and if they are, they are usually seen as very old men or involved in benign activities such as fishing. The visual message was a reassuring one for travellers and prospective settlers: Indians posed no threat to the white community in the West. The text for these sections also portrayed the Indians as entirely subdued, sometimes degraded and, at best, part of the region's romantic past.

Editorial decisions in both publications about the depiction of other ethnicities reveal their concerted effort to construct a visual and textual narrative that the editors hoped would appeal to the books' intended audiences. Australia presented itself in the Atlas as an entirely 'English' society, despite the fact that Chinese and other ethnic groups had been part of its population since the beginning of European settlement; as the previous chapter demonstrates, a Chinatown in Melbourne was by the 1880s as 'authentic' and colourful as similar enclaves in San Francisco and New York.123

Indian Squaws gathering berries

Fig. 3.23 a. I. Keller, Indian Squaws gathering berries, in Picturesque California, vol. 1, p. 24. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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California at the time was already well-known for its 'exotic' populations, widely publicised and illustrated back East and around the world in magazines and books. Mrs Frank Leslie (1828-1914), for one, wife of the founder of Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, described San Francisco's Chinatown with fascinated approbation in the 'profusely illustrated' 1877 account of her trip out West, California: A pleasure trip from Gotham to the Golden Gate.124 Since the railroad publications and tourist enterprises promoting travel to the West had already focused romanticised attention on these 'other' Californians, Picturesque California naturally had to include some visual representations of these groups. Chinese children and merchants appeared in the illustrations for Joaquin Miller's section on the city, portrayed as suitably exotic in native clothing and with characteristic pigtail, surrounded in shops and temples by oriental objects. Some smaller illustrations in other sections also emphasised their participation in fishing and agricultural activities in the state, thus placing them as picturesque elements within the landscape. The passages of text discussing the Chinese were more ambivalent in their characterisations. While the decade had seen virulent anti-Chinese sentiment resulting in the enactment of the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882, their presence in the state still called for visual portrayals that added narrative colour to the story of California being presented to a local and out-of-state audience.

Picturesque California had another, even richer, source for images of ethnic diversity. California's Spanish-Mexican past had already become pivotal to the picturesque formulation of the state's aesthetic iconography. The popularisation of this past was for the Anglo editors of the volumes 'a past cloaked in nostalgia', a chance to formulate 'the Spanish Fantasy Past', as William Deverell describes it.125 The image-making opportunities presented by this aspect of the state's history had been brought into focus most spectacularly by Helen Hunt Jackson's book Ramona. The tourist craze with accompanying images sparked by the novel's publication was already under way by the time Muir's volumes appeared. The smaller illustrations in Picturesque California emphasised charming ruins of original Mexican-era adobes as evidence that such remnants of old architecture could be seen by anyone coming to visit the region. Depictions of the Franciscan missions were either rendered as quaint scenes incorporating Mexican paisanos and women in native costume, or conspicuously displayed well-dressed tourists visiting sites such as Mission San Juan Capistrano (see Fig. 3.15 on page 131). As Sue Rainey says, these locations were presented as an 'alternative to foreign travel'.126


Fig. 3.24 Frederic Remington, Branding cattle (an incident of ranch life), in Picturesque California, opp. p. 184. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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The portrayal of 'Spanish Californians' presented a more difficult problem, for the editors needed to downplay the actualities of present-day Mexicans in the region, while still nurturing an inviting idea of accessible and 'authentic' picturesqueness. As Los Angeles's great chronicler Carey McWilliams put it in 1946, '[b]y 1885, the Mexicans had become a picturesque element, rather than a functional part, of the social life and economy of the region'--but they were still there.127 Identifiably Hispanic figures appeared in Carr's section of the book as part of a romanticised narrative: dancing, playing instruments, making food and dressed in exotic costumes--the preferred Anglo impression of 'Old California' that McWilliams so memorably described as 'one big happy guitar-twanging family'.128

Picturesque California contains its requisite share of depictions of dancing and music-making Mexicans. One extraordinary vignette integrated into the text about Los Angeles pictures Spanish women alluringly sequestered, as if encaged like birds behind the elegant iron grillwork of a Spanish adobe's window. One photogravure titled Under the fan palms (types of early days in Los Angeles) by a mediocre genre artist named Albert E. Sterner (1863-1946) demonstrates how clearly the stereotypical tourist image of Spanish California was already beginning to fall into place. The standardised motifs of dark-haired girls with shawls and full skirts standing in bright sunlight next to a quaint little burro with palm trees or other tropical vegetation prominently displayed in the landscape seem to have been taken directly from the well-established imagery of 'Mediterranean' types that had already proliferated in European genre paintings of Italians for the tourist trade. The specific iconography of Spanish California was not yet entirely distinct from a more generalised conception of 'the Mediterranean'--Charles Dudley Warner's book on Southern California entitled Our Italy appeared in 1891--but the process of creating the visual template of Spanish-Americanness as a positive part of the image of California, with stereotypical motifs promoting 'the aesthetics of living', was well under way by this time.129


Fig. 3.25 A. I. Hencke, A vision through the trellised vine, in Picturesque California, vol. 1, p. 129. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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As the editors of these two monumental productions had envisioned their projects, the story being told in text and in pictures was meant to appeal to middle-class, upwardly mobile consumers, themselves participants in the cultural transformations of these societies developing on the edge of their home cultures. The earliest promotional materials for the Atlas and I may have had aspirations of an international audience but in the end both seemed to have had little promotional impact outside of their local regions. Responses to Dewing's Californian volumes were even more locally confined than were the notices of the Atlas. The San Francisco Chronicle and Overland Monthly carried reviews as the various fascicles appeared and the Los Angeles Times provided lengthy excerpts from the Southern Californian sections, praising 'this excelsior work, preëminent for its typographical excellence and the number and beauty of its illustrations'.130 Virtually nothing discussing the work appears in the Eastern press.131 Dewing's efforts at advertising the volumes seems to have been curiously limited, despite some initial attempts at promotion. The firm never seemed to have advertised in the standard journals of the day and depended largely on displays of published segments at bookshops and other shops throughout the state.132

The story being told through florid descriptions and pretty illustrations, then, while ostensibly to promote immigration and tourism, ended up being an exercise in self-aggrandisement aimed at convincing the homegrown audiences of the ideological picture being espoused. That picture meant to demonstrate, through word and image, that despite differences in landscape and demographic make-up, the values of progressive nineteenth-century Anglo society were developing in these Pacific locations so far removed from their 'home' cultures.

Not unexpectedly given the enormous financial expenditure by the publishers and scale of these undertakings, both publications shared an unfortunately litigious fate. In 1892 to 1893, The Picturesque Atlas Co. became the focus of an inquiry before the Legislative Assembly of New South Wales. Lawsuits were based on the company's failure to provide their subscribers with timely delivery of each segment as had been laid out in the contracts subscribers had signed years before. In many cases, subscribers did not receive all of the segments until four or five years after the initial publication and then they arrived as incomplete sets. The complaints focused squarely on the tactics of the 'Yankee' canvassers, most especially Silas Moffett, who had apparently coerced people into signing contracts that the company did not then fulfil.133

The company never recovered its expenses for the Atlas's production. While volumes adorned the tables and bookcases of every Australian institution and many Australian homes, its status as the premier illustrated publication in the antipodes was muted by the legal wranglings that followed. As for its aesthetic reception, the Atlas, while always recognised as a monumental achievement of nineteenth-century graphic art, suffered the fate of other publications at the end of the wood-engraving era, as more modern forms of reproduction relegated these tomes to the category of old-fashioned visual style and antiquated information.

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The J. Dewing Company's fall was even more immediate. As early as 1891, the company was in debt to the tune of 200,000 dollars and requested a compromise from its debtors.134 In 1893, the New York printers of Picturesque California sued the J. Dewing Publishing Company for non-payment; the claim was upheld in court.135 The firm's efforts to produce less expensive editions of the volumes to recoup losses continued until 1894, but by the end of the century, the company had ceased to exist. (The last edition in 1894 contained promotional flyers in the back of the book that gave Dewing's address as Philadelphia and San Francisco, with no mention of a New York publisher.) Dewing's well-meaning efforts to present a grandly illustrated volume on the American West in the tradition of other Picturesque publications failed to generate much market, despite the involvement of some of the region's leading artists and writers. Even more so than the Atlas, whose quality of illustration was superior to what Picturesque California's artists achieved, the book ultimately fell victim to financial overreaching and more readily available volumes on the region's attractions.

Even more significantly, Dewing's volumes, while intent on incorporating all of the era's new printing technologies, failed to create a coherent aesthetic message that could withstand the pressures for graphic innovation that audiences began to expect from the illustrated book industry. Picturesque California disappeared almost entirely from the literature and visual record of publications about the West, superseded by photographic reproductions and locally created fine-art printing of a more coherent and refined style. The term 'picturesque' now deteriorated into ever more vaguely defined generalities, applied increasingly to advertising slogans in popular tourist brochures and promotional materials.

Despite the failings of The J. Dewing Company and the stylistic inadequacies of its grandest illustrated production, the impetus behind the appearance of Picturesque California speaks to cultural ambitions in San Francisco that would have lasting aesthetic implications for the entire Pacific Rim at the opening of the twentieth century. The same year that I began saw ambitious examples of artistic printing in that other modern printing technology, colour lithography.

This lithographic industry offered the one aspect in graphic art that the products of the Picturesque industry had lacked: colour. This element was the necessary ingredient to kick-start the West Coast's development of their own modern graphic style, one that, not surprisingly, most brilliantly coalesced in the more ephemeral forms of commercial art. The euphoria and excitement of the land-boom 1880s in the state precipitated a flowering of elaborately illustrated promotional materials and posters, extolling California's semi-tropical climate and fertile agricultural opportunities.136 Increasingly, these profusely illustrated items were produced in the state, where lithographic companies had begun to set up businesses from the earliest gold-rush days. By the last decades of the nineteenth century, these firms, led by San Francisco's Schmidt Lithographic Company founded in 1873, were as modern in their printing abilities as any firms back east.137 These companies were from the beginning commercial enterprises, in business to produce labels, advertising, and whatever other printing jobs their clients required. Despite these business demands, the San Francisco printing industry attained a distinctive and high level of artistic quality. As Kevin Starr asserts, 'the graphic elegance evident in even the most routine job-printing done by these firms declared that the machine could be made to serve beauty.' 138 While Picturesque California insisted on looking east to print their black-and-white illustrations in emulation of Harper's, San Francisco printers were beginning to formulate their own regional style of graphic art and typography.

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California Illustrated

Fig. 3.26 ‘California Illustrated No. 1, Semi-Tropical Northern California Pictures’, Overland Monthly, vol. 6, 1889, n. p. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

The opening pages of the 1889 volume of Overland Monthly included among its advertisements a full-page, multi-coloured lithograph for a publication entitled 'California Illustrated no. 1, Semi-Tropical Northern California Pictures, highlighting "Solano Country Fruit Growing"'. According to the copyright line at the bottom of the page, it was 'photographed and lithographed by The California View Publishing Company, 12 Montgomery St. San Francisco'. Just as in the Picturesque books and illustrated periodicals of the decade, the page contains several overlapping images, some as roundels, some with curled edges and illusionistic shadows, all depicting a scene of the fruitful products of the county, including olive, orange and fig trees. Most were photographs that had been artistically altered and colour-printed. Captions in a bold type font proudly announced 'Grapes June to Jan' and 'Twelve-Acre Apricot Orchard--1200 Perfect Trees'. As the reverse of the page announces, one California newspaper raved that 'California Illustrated no. 1' had the 'handsomest fruit pictures ever seen in book form'.

The middle rectangular image in the advertisement, framed with chiaroscuroed clusters of apricots and lemons and two bluebirds in foreshortened flight, depicts, in full colour, what would soon become the iconic vision of California agricultural prosperity: vast orchards of neatly rowed trees extending back to the hills, viewed from a height to dramatise the expanse. Dotted throughout the orchards, as evidence of settlement, are farmhouses, crowned by their red roofs. While the details of the views are blurred and figures have been retouched, all the pictorial conventions used in the more ambitiously artistic volumes of the era have been employed.

The most advantageous element, however, in terms of its aims of selling a place, is that the advertisement used brilliant colour. The publisher, The California View Publishing Co., incorporated just as The J. Dewing Company had been in 1887, advertised themselves as 'publishers of Elegantly Illustrated California Books for Popular Sale'. These images were always geared, then, at tasteful advertising to illustrate the merits of the state. As the editors wrote in the preface to California Illustrated No. I in 'The Vacaville early fruit district of California', 'a very different grade of work is necessary to meet the taste of the class of people coming to the Pacific Coast at this time, from that which may have served its purpose when only horny-handed pioneers were coming and settling upon the Government lands'.139 In justifying their use of colour lithography for their illustrations, the editors explained:

We have adopted color in spite of the heavy expense, simply for the business object of gaining profitable circulation for the work, believing that if our artists have done their part as well as they claim, the 'California colors' will make the book interesting to many people who would never look at it if in plain black and white. CALIFORNIA IS A LAND OF COLOR, And perhaps in no other part of the world is there such a variety of subjects requiring the use of color to properly illustrate them,--bright color, the magnet which attracts all eyes, interests all to read, and opens all pockets to buy for children and friends.140

All iconographic elements devised in earlier illustrations to visualise California are brought to bear here, but these devices are now quite freely used as part of boosterist advertising. In the most modern application of the picturesque idea, artistic renderings based on standardised motifs of landscape and pleasant scenery are consciously meant to sell land as product rather than simply viewed as a work of graphic art in books that fulfilled the book-owner's desire to represent himself as a person of cultural status or aesthetic taste. The era of 'commercial art' had begun and the graphic artists of the Pacific coast would make a distinctive, indeed iconic, contribution in this new field merging art and advertising.

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An enduring, distinct and modern iconography popularising the visual idea of California--an image that would be transmitted around the world--grew out of this colour lithographic industry rather than through the poorly formulated aesthetic that Picturesque California projected. As early as 1885, Max Schmidt's firm in San Francisco, along with other lithographic concerns throughout the state, began to apply the aesthetic style already beginning to be formulated for tin can labels and seed packets to the state's burgeoning new industry, citrus marketing and packing. As Nancy Moure writes, '[t]his industry arose after railroads facilitated rapid shipment of oranges to Midwest and East coast markets. Growers quickly decided upon a paper label, about 11 by 10 inches, that would capture the eye of the wholesaler'.141 Thus began the most prolific, the most mass-marketed method for dispersing an aesthetic idea that consciously highlighted California's climate and agricultural bounty.

During an 80-year period, California label artists, most of them highly skilled graphic artists, produced some 8000 distinct designs for crate labels, the majority featuring some aspect of Southern Californian scenery or some uniquely Californian icon.142 These labels, affixed to wooden crates shipped all over the world, appeared on over two billion boxes of oranges alone.143 More than any other visual artifact, these images dispersed the emblematic representation of the American West that remains to this day.


Fig. 3.27 Playmates Brand, Redlands Fruit Association, Sunkist orange label, c.  1907. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

At first the labels, produced until the beginning of the twentieth century by stone lithography, mimicked the styles and techniques of popular printing firms in the East and Midwest . A 1907 label for Playmates Brand, for example, used the most popular lithographic 'crayon drawing' styles to delineate popular sentiments about sunny California. Produced in the year in which the railroads, in conjunction with the California fruit growers' organisations, most specifically targeted Iowa in its campaign to entice winter-weary Midwesterners to buy the oranges they sent them by refrigerated train cars, the image shows Little Miss Sunshine California standing in an orchard in the glowing warmth of her state, handing an enticing basket of oranges to freezing Boy Iowa depicted in the gloom and snow.144 The Sunkist logo appears as if pasted on rather than as a graphically coherent part of the background scene.

By the 1910s, distinct motifs and a unique approach to typographic lettering had consolidated among the artists of the label-making companies to create what can now be called a 'Pacific Rim' style (see Glendora Brand citrus label on back cover). The subject matter sometimes depicted missions, Spanish-Mexican figures, emblematic birds and animals representing the brand name or historic monuments. But the most pervasive symbolic element included in millions of labels was the template of the California landscape: those same neat rows of trees shown in the earliest lithographs of California fruit companies of the 1880s, depicted from a height looking across the expansive orchards to the hills and mountains beyond. The scene almost always included some kind of red-roofed house and superimposed oranges or other fruit outside the framed picture in one corner of the scene. The label lettering devised also took on a distinctively modern simplicity, usually of opaque bright colour and often delineated with black outline so that it was easy to read from a distance.

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The artists in these lithographic firms now began to apply this same style to other printing projects, such as tourist brochures and travel posters for the railroad and steamship companies. These, too, were dispersed internationally, conveying an aesthetic that increasingly became identified as western American and modern. Finally, foreign companies in Asia, Australia and New Zealand, having seen these labels on the quantity of boxes of California citrus that arrived in their ports, hired these same companies to design labels for their own goods and export items. One of the largest companies was the San Francisco-based Australian New Zealand American Trading Company, for whom San Francisco's Olsen Lithographic Company produced a crate label featuring identifiably Australian animals (see Fig. 3.28 on page 214). While the designer may have been a bit uncertain of the kangaroo's anatomy, the label's typography included the fonts already standardised by West Coast companies as the label typography of the Pacific. It is no coincidence that Australian fruit labels made in Australia began to emulate these same graphic forms in their own lithographic label industry.145


Fig. 3.28 Anaco Brand, Valencias orange label, c. 1910. Courtesy of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.


Fig. 3.29 Sunrise orchards Brand label, Lyetta, Tasmania, c. 1930. Courtesy of Apples of oz, Inc., Tasmania.

On the most popular level of commercial imagery, then, far more widespread in its aesthetic impact than the Picturesque atlas or Picturesque California could hope to achieve, Australia and California exchanged visual expressions of a constructed idea of Pacific modernity and lifestyle in the sun. These pervasive printed images nurtured particular attitudes about cultural identity that were beginning to show signs of divergence from the aesthetic of the home cultures, as well as reflecting shared values having to do with climate, geography and a sense of newness. They inform the region's new aesthetics of place, and this place increasingly came to be identified as the Pacific Rim.


1. Bernard Smith, Place, taste and tradition, Ure Smith, Sydney, 1945, p. 71.
2. Adam Gopnik, 'Homer's wars', The New Yorker, 31 October 2005, pp. 69-70.
3. The term 'Marvellous Melbourne' was coined by English journalist George Augustus Sala (1828-1895) when he visited the colony in 1885. See Geoffrey Serle, The rush to be rich: A history of Victoria 1883-1889, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1971, p. 275. On Melbourne's cultural life in this period, see also Serle's From deserts the prophets come, pp. 60-88; and Graeme Davison, The rise and fall of marvellous Melbourne, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, Victoria, 1978.
4. Serle, The rush to be rich, p. 274.
5. 'The Chinese in Australia (Melbourne Cor. New York Age)', Los Angeles Times, 21 April 1888, p.
6. T. K. Dow, 'A tour in America', The Australasian, Melbourne, 1884, p. 28.
7. Richard White, Inventing Australia: Images and identity 1688-1980, Allen & Unwin, Sydney and London, 1981, p. 62.
8. The literature on the development and significance of the Melbourne artists' movements in the 1880s is substantial, including major monographs on each of the artists in the various groups. Serle gives a good synopsis of the artistic scene in The rush to be rich, pp. 287-291. See also Serle's The creative spirit in Australia: A cultural history, Heinemann, Richmond, Victoria, 1987, pp. 60-87; Smith, Australian painting, pp. 71-106 and Place, taste, and tradition: A study of Australian art since 1788, Oxford University Press (OUP), South Melbourne, 1979, pp. 120-135; and Helen Topliss, The artists' camps, Hedley, Melbourne, 1992.
9. Anthony Trollope, Australia and New Zealand, Chapman and Hall, London, 1873, vol. i, p. 484; quoted in White, p. 62.
10. See Nigel Lendon, 'Ashton, Roberts and Bayliss: Relationships between illustration, painting and photography in the late nineteenth century', in T. Smith and A. Bradley (eds), Australian art and architecture: Essays presented to Bernard Smith, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1980, pp. 71-82.

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11. Sylvia Lawson, The Archibald paradox, Penguin, Ringwood, Victoria, 1983, p. ix.
12. Margo Mahood, The loaded line: Australian political caricature 1788-1901, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, Victoria, 1973, p. 178.
13. A book that Jack London had in his library and apparently read before travelling to Australia, C. Buley described The Bulletin's importance: 'The most talented artists and the brightest writers of all Australia are in its service, and nowhere in the world is a political situation better expressed in a clever cartoon, or a newly proposed legislative measure more ably reduced, in a small space, to perfect lucidity and simplicity.' Australian life in town and country, The Knickerbocker Press, New York and London, 1905, pp. 225-26. On Archibald and the significance of The Bulletin in Australia's cultural life, see Lawson, The Archibald paradox.
14. Tony Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation: The story of the Picturesque atlas of Australasia 1886-1888, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 2001, p. 15.
15. The Sydney Morning Herald, 2 August 1888, p. 6. Quoted in Maya V. Tucker, 'Centennial celebrations 1888: Australasia: Her trials and triumphs in the past: Her union and progress in the future', in Graeme Davison et al., Australia 1888, Fairfax, Syme & Weldon, Sydney, 1987, vol. 7, p. 20.
16. ' ... for sheer ingenuity the Americans beat all comers. They gave Australians the first glimpse of the Edison phonograph, the petrol engine and a curious substance known as chewing gum'. Davison, Australians 1888, vol. 7, p. 24. William Macleod's notebook of the exposition includes a two-page scene of the exhibition hall that includes a sign reading 'NEW American Sewing Machines'. See Macleod Papers, Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales (manuscript A2147, item no. 3, p. 99).
17. Serle, The rush to be rich, p. 286.
18. See Tucker, 'Centennial celebrations', vol. 7, pp. 11-25.
19. On the coming of the railroads to California, see especially William Deverell, Railroad crossing: Californians and the railroad, 1850-1910, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1994; and Remi A. Nadeau, City makers: The men who transformed Los Angeles from village to metropolis during the first great boom, 1868-76, Doubleday, New York, 1948.
20. Carey McWilliams, Southern California: An island on the land, Peregrine Smith, Salt Lake City, rev. edn, 1973, p. 118.
21. Glenn S. Dumke, The boom of the eighties in Southern California, Huntington Library, San Marino, California, 1944, p. 276.
22. ibid., pp. 13-15.
23. See Dydia DeLyser, Ramona memories: Tourism and the shaping of Southern California, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 2005.
24. On the Big Four and building of the railroads, see Oscar Lewis, The Big Four: The story of Huntington, Stanford, Hopkins, and Crocker, and of the building of the Central Pacific, A. A. Knopf, New York and London, 1938; and Stephen E. Ambrose, Nothing like it in the world: The men who built the transcontinental railroad, 1863-1869, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2000. On the 'bonanza kings' see Richard H. Peterson, The bonanza kings: The social origins and business behavior of western mining entrepreneurs, 1870-1900, University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, 1977.
25. Kevin Starr, Americans and the California dream, p. 246.
26. David M. Dow, 'The spirit of San Francisco', The Lone Hand, 1 December 1908, pp. 172-75.
27. Sue Rainey, Creating Picturesque America: Monument to the natural and cultural landscape, Vanderbilt University Press, Nashville, 1994, p. 3.
28. ibid., p. 3.
29. Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, p. 41.
30. Rainey, Creating Picturesque America, p. 276.
31. Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, pp. 24-25.
32. According to the records of Rookwood Cemetery, Sydney, Moffett was a Civil War veteran, born in New York, who was buried in the cemetery in 1923.
33. Ashton states in his own biography that the Atlas began in 1883 and several other writers, including Katherine Harper for his official entry in the ADB, maintains that Ashton left Melbourne for Sydney to work on the Atlas in that year. See also Ashton, Now came still the evening on, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1941, pp. 39-45, 62; and Harper, 'Ashton, Julian Rossi (1851-1942)', ADB, vol. 7, pp. 114-15.
34. 'Picturesque atlas of Australasia--the genesis of colonial art', Sydney Daily Telegraph, 14 August 1886, p. 9 and 21 August 1886; 'Picturesque Atlas Co.', Town and Country Journal, 19 June 1886,
p. 1256, col. 4.

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35. William T. Smedley Papers, Archives of American Art (reel 1207). See also The illustrations of W. T. Smedley (1858-1920), Brandywine River Museum of the Brandywine Conservancy, Inc., Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, 1981, p. 14; and the entry for Smedley in Dictionary of American Biography (DAB), vol. 17, Scribner, New York, 1935 pp. 227-28.
36. On Fitler, see Thieme-Becker, vol. 12, p. 58; Quarterly Illustrator, vol. 2, April-June 1894, p. 191; and American Art News, vol. 8, no. 5, 1915, p. 3, col. 3. Fitler was the husband of still-life painter Claude R. Hirst (1855-1942); see Martha M. Evans, Claude Raguet Hirst: Transforming the American still life, Hudson Hills Press, New York, 2005.
37. Saturday Review, London, 1880; quoted in Albert F. Moritz, America the picturesque in nineteenth century engraving, New Trend, New York, 1983, p. 45.
38. Life and character: Drawings by W. T. Smedley, A.N.A., with accompanying text by A. V. S. Anthony, Harper & Bros., New York and London, 1899, p. 9. The three magazines alluded to were probably Harper's, Century and (perhaps) Leslie's Weekly.
39. J. Henry Harper, The house of Harper: A century of publishing in Franklin Square, Harper & Bros., Publishers, New York and London, 1912, p. 202. See also G. Ehrlich, 'Technology and the Artist: A Study of the Interaction of Technological Growth and Nineteenth Century American Pictorial Art', PhD thesis, University of Illinois, Urbana, 1960, p. 162.
40. Harper, p. 202.
41. 'An Australian art industry', The Australian, 2 October 1886, p. 4.
42. See Lawson, The Archibald paradox, pp. 102-03. On Keller, see Grey Brechin, 'The Wasp: Stinging editorials and political cartoons', Bancroftiana, vol. 121, Fall 2002, viewed April 2013; and Richard Samuel West, The San Francisco 'Wasp': An illustrated history, Periodyssey Press, Easthampton, Massachusetts, 2004. West recounts that in 1883 Keller's 'health was broken' and that at age 37 he left San Francisco and was never heard from again. One of Keller's cartoons from 1882 depicts the railroad monopoly as a many tentacled octopus--a motif that reappeared in Phil May's Bulletin cartoon about the dangers of the 'Yellow Peril': 'The Mongolian Octopus--his grip on Australia', The Bulletin, 21 August 1886.
43. William Traill, 'The genesis of The Bulletin', The Lone Hand, 1 November 1907, p. 68.
44. For Hopkins's American illustrations, see for example his illustrated version of Don Quixote, The adventures of the ingenious gentleman, Don Quixote de la Mancha. By Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Hurst & Publishers, New York, [1879?]; and silhouettes for a French story, The story of a cat, Houghton, Osgood and Company, Boston, 1879. See also Robert J. Burdette, Hawk-eyes, G. W. Carleton, New York, 1879; and Hopkins' own A comic history of the United States, American Book Exchange, New York, 1880.
45. George Taylor, 'Section xxi--Modern caricature: Australian', Building, 12 July 1913, p. 89. Taylor, describing Hopkins as 'a Yankee born', went on to say that the 'spirit of Hopkin's [sic] caricature, essentially American, found in our independent conditions a welcome field', pp. 91-92.
4646. 'In Sydney also the last two decades of the century saw an outburst of artistic endeavour, largely inspired by the compilation of the Picturesque atlas of Australasia and the rise of the Sydney Bulletin.' Australian encyclopaedia, vol. 1, p. 249.
47. On Hopkins, see B. G. Andrews, 'Hopkins, Livingston York (Yourtee) (1846-1927)', ADB, vol. 4, pp. 421-22; Dorothy June Hopkins, Hop of the 'Bulletin', Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1929; and Hopkins' own book, On the Hop!, The Bulletin Newspaper Company, Sydney, 1904. On The Black and White School, see Joan Kerr, Artists and cartoonists in black and white: The most public art, S. H. Ervin Gallery, Sydney, 1999; Vane Lindesay, The inked-in image: A social and historical survey of Australian comic art, Hutchinson, Richmond, Victoria, 1979; Vane Lindesay, Drawing from life: A history of the Australian Black and White Artists' Club, State Library of New South Wales Press, Sydney, 1994; and Mahood, The loaded line.
48. Bertram Stevens, 'Etching in Australia', Art in Australia, no. 9, Sydney 1921, n.p. Roger Butler also discusses Hopkins' importance to new print processes: 'Hopkins not only stimulated the development of the "process block", as photo-engraving came to be known, but also acted as a catalyst for the Australian painter-etcher's movement. Artists met at his studio for informal talks and etching demonstrations.' In 'Printmaking and photography in Australia: A shared history', Imprint: The Journal on Australian Printmaking, vol. 24, no. 4, December 1989, p. 3.

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49. In her biography of husband William Macleod, Conor Macleod wrote about Hop: 'At heart he was a Puritan; my husband told me that anything resembling a risky joke, or even an allusion, caused his natural gloom to deepen to a terrifying degree.' Macleod of 'The Bulletin': The life & work of William Macleod, Snelling Printing Works, Sydney, 1931, p. 25.
50. On Macleod, see Conor Macleod, Macleod of 'The Bulletin'; Lawson, The Archibald paradox; and B. G. Andrews, 'Macleod, William (1850-1929)', ADB, vol. 10, pp 335-36.
51. Hopkins's relationship with Traill was always fraught: 'Hopkins more than once threatened resignation when Traill tried to "improve" the new processes of reproducing illustrations that he had brought back from America.' B. G. Andrews, 'Traill, William Henry (1843-1902)', ADB, vol. 6, pp. 298-99.
52. One of the only identifiable illustrations by Hopkins, A night attack by Blacks, accompanies Traill's text on Queensland--a segment that Hughes-d'Aeth discusses at length in Paper nation, pp. 91-97. See Picturesque atlas, vol. i, p. 329.
53. 'In a number of interviews he ascribed the development of his style to the inadequacies of the Bulletin's printing machines.' H. P. Heseltine, 'May, Philip William (Phil) (1864-1903)', ADB, vol. 5, pp. 232-33.
54. See, for example, Lawson, The Archibald paradox, pp. 99 -103.
55. Butler, 'Printmaking and photography', p. 3.
56. Town and Country Journal, 19 June 1886, p. 1256, col. 4. Quoted in Roger Butler, 'Printmaking and Australia: Means of production', typescript, Canberra, Australia, p. 35.
57. The Sydney Morning Herald, 14 June 1886, p. 4, col. 1. Butler clarifies, 'an ordinary newspaper press in 1886 would print at 5000 revolutions per hour'. Printmaking and Australia, p. 84.
58. Harper's father-in-law was Richard March Hoe, 'head of the firm of R. Hoe & Co., manufacturers of printing-presses'. See Harper, p. 557. On the history of R. Hoe & Co., see Stephen D. Tucker, 'History of the R. Hoe & Company, 1834-1885', Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society, vol. 82, pt. 2, 1973, pp. 351-453; and A short history of the printing press and of the improvements in printing machinery from the time of Gutenberg up to the present day, printed and published for Robert Hoe, New York, 1902.
59. 'The Atlas was brought to Sydney and not Melbourne because Sydney was not subject to the protectionist duties that were levied by the Victorian Govt. This was a significant factor for an operation which relied on foreign equipment.' Email correspondence to the author from Tony Hughes-d'Aeth, 26 November 2007.
60. See 'The Picturesque Atlas Publishing Company', The Sydney Morning Herald, 24 August 1886, p. 5; and Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, p. 19.
61. Schell, who contributed so much to the aesthetic quality of the Atlas and Picturesque Canada, was Head of the Art Department at Harper's and later at Frank Leslie's. Some letters exist from artists to him while he was at Harper's, but very little else has been uncovered to illuminate what was a lengthy career as a print artist. While in Australia, he wrote an articulate essay on the production of illustrated books; see 'How books are illustrated', Centennial Magazine, vol. i, no. 2, September 1888, pp. 118-21. A letter from Horace Baker to Australian artist A. H. Fullwood, with whom he had worked on the Atlas, clarifies some of the confusion about when Schell died (some sources list his death as 1905): 'Your mention of Mrs. Roth and her Husband suing for a divorce brings us back to Fred Schell, poor Fred after gradually failing, was buried in the early summer. I attended his funeral, and had been up to see him only about a week before. His end was tragic (that was a hard word). He fell out the third story window and was found dead in the alley by a passer-by. Nobody knows how it happened.' Baker, letter to Fullwood, 16 August 1902, A. H. Fullwood Papers, Manuscripts Collection, National Library of Australia, Canberra, (MS8022). Schell's obituary appeared in The New York Times, 27 May 1902.
62. On Baker, see Glenn B. Opitz (ed.), Mantle Fielding's dictionary of American painters, sculptors and engravers, Apollo, New York, 1983, p. 40; and Thieme-Becker, vol. 2, p. 378. A caricature of Baker as Superintendent of Leslie's Weekly Engraving Department appears as one of many in a lithograph by Edward Jump, Saturday afternoon at Frank Leslie's, 1868-69 (537 Pearl St. N.Y. City), from the Print Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations. Reproduced in Joshua Brown, Beyond the lines: Pictorial reporting, everyday life, and the crisis of Gilded Age America, University of California Press, Berkeley, 2002, pp. 64-66.
63. The Sydney Morning Herald, 14 June 1886, p. 6.
64. Tony Hughes-d'Aeth, 'An Atlas of a Difficult World: The Picturesque Atlas of Australasia (1886-1888)', PhD thesis, University of Western Australia, Perth,

1998, p. 51, note 90.

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65. 'Bristling with superlatives and persistent technological pride, the maps in the Atlas are put forward as one of its real achievements. The striking colours used in their printing stand out against the monochrome of the other pages.' Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, p. 101. See also 'Picturesque atlas of Australasia', Daily Telegraph, 21 August 1886, p. 9.
66. Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, p. 27.
67. On Andrew Garran and the Atlas, see Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, pp. 26-27. On Bryant's role in Picturesque America, see Rainey, Creating Picturesque America, pp. 83-87.
68. 'For twenty years he was the only one in Australia that could paint a horse as it should be painted.' George A.Taylor, Those were the days: Being reminiscences of Australian artists & writers, Tyrell's, Sydney, 1918, p. 26. 'From the centenary until Federation Mahony was one of the best-known Australian artists and illustrators, specialising in horses, which he studied assiduously, and in action scenes which stimulated--and reflected--national sentiment.' B. G. Andrews, 'Mahony, Francis (Frank) (1862-1916)', ADB, vol. 10, p. 381.
69. Ashton, p. 44.
70. Albert Henry Fullwood left a delightful album of sketches from his time working for Picturesque atlas, as well as correspondence with several of the Atlas artists, including the Americans, long after the project was finished. See A. H. Fullwood Papers, National Library of Australia, Canberra (MS8022). See also Bertram Stevens, 'A. H. Fullwood', Art in Australia, no. 8, 1921, n.p.; and Martin Terry, 'Fullwood, Albert Henry (1863-1930)', ADB, vol. 8, pp 598-99.
71. Fullwood Papers (MS8022) , in sketchbook through rural New South Wales, 1887.
72. Marian Ellis Rowan, constantly seeking patronage for the publication of her images of flowers from all over the world, took advantage of her connection with the Atlas to promote her own work. A typewritten transcription of a letter-prospectus, written by the great botanist Ferdinand von Mueller and found in Rowan's manuscripts, indicates that Rowan hoped the Picturesque Atlas Co. would produce a book for her; it closes with the statement, 'our friends who have already subscribed to the Picturesque Atlas of Australasia know something of our quality and they may rely upon there being no falling away in the future, either in matter or in execution'. Ellis Rowan Papers, Manuscripts Collection, National Library of Australia, Canberra (MS422). This same collection includes another promotional letter (MS2206) from c. 1896, stating that she was at that time having an exhibition at the Art Gallery of Stanford University in California. On Rowan's peripatetic life see H. Hewson and M. Hazzard, Flower paintings of Ellis Rowan, National Library of Australia, Canberra, 1982; Patricia Fullerton, The flower hunter: Ellis Rowan, National Library of Australia, Canberra, 2002; and Margaret Hazzard, 'Rowan, Marian Ellis (1848-1922)', ADB, vol. 11, pp. 465-66.
73. Schell collected more than 1500 photographs on a round-the-world tour, taken at the time he came to Australia. These are now housed at the Yale University Art Gallery's Print Room, donated by Schell's grandson, who was a graduate of Yale. They include at least 237 photographs from Victoria and about 300 from New South Wales, as well as many photographs, both commercial and personal shots, of New Zealand. I am grateful to Gael Newton, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, for alerting me to this collection; and to Elise Kenney, archivist of the Yale University Art Gallery, for information about its contents.
74. Joseph Cowen Syme was the nephew of The Age's legendary owner and editor David Syme (1827-1908) with whom he had a rocky partnership in the newspaper from 1879 to 1891. See C. E. Sayers, 'Syme, David (1827-1908)', ADB, vol. 6, pp. 232-36. Canadian-born Holmes S. Chipman (b. 1850) is named as one of the original shareholders of the company in the proceedings of The Select Committee of the New South Wales Legislative Assembly that looked into the question of distribution irregularities of the Atlas after its publication. See 'Minutes of Evidence taken before The Select Committee on the Picturesque Atlas Company', Legislative Assembly, New South Wales, 1892-93, section 59, p. 3, Parliamentary Archives, Parliament of New South Wales, Sydney, New South Wales.
75. H. S. Chipman, letter to Joseph Syme, Melbourne, 21 October 1886, William Smedley Papers, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution (reel 1207).
76. Alan M. Pensler, introductory essay, in The illustrations of W. T. Smedley.
77. Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, p. 111.
78. Carrie Tirado Bramen, 'The urban picturesque and the spectacle of Americanization', American Quarterly, vol. 52, no. 3, September 2000, p. 444.
79. Moritz writes about these 'trompe l'oeil devices', pp. 43-44.

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80. Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, p. 120.
81. The Australian, 2 October 1886, p. 4.
82. 'W. T. Smedley used a photograph for his illustration of "The Melbourne Telephone Exchange". Leaving the background untouched, Smedley overpainted the foreground, including the nearest group of operators. Their original photographic bodies no doubt lie beneath Smedley's brushstrokes, but the camera had not caught them in the fashion that art demanded.' Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, p. 172.
83. In 1891, a visiting American art critic Sidney Dickinson (or Dickenson) (1851-1919) first used the term 'Heidelberg School' to describe the group of artists who had worked out in the countryside near Melbourne around the suburb of Heidelberg. As Bernard Smith writes of him: 'Sidney Dickinson has more than a fair claim to be regarded as the first serious art critic to support an indigenous school of Australian painting.' Documents on art and taste in Australia, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1975, pp. 245-51; and Smith, 'Dickinson, Sidney (1851-1919)', ADB, vol. 8, pp. 302-03.
84. Roger Butler reproduces Smedley's work in his Printed images in colonial Australia 1801-1901, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, 2007, pp. 249-50.
85. See Ann Galbally, Charles Conder: The last bohemian, Melbourne University Press, Carlton South, Victoria, 2002, pp. 13-28.
86. See Smith, Australian painting, pp. 74-76; and Galbally, pp. 26-28 .
87. Lendon, p. 81.
88. Art Society of NSW, letter, 11 February 1887, Smedley Papers, Archives of American Art (reel 1207). The letter reads: 'It having been made known to the Council of this Society that you were about to take your departure from Sydney at an early date, I have been commissioned to convey to you our expressions of sincere regret for the loss of a member and fellow artist whose presence amongst us has been much prized, and whose departure will create a gap in the two small bands of art lovers in Sydney, not easily filled up ... Following this aim, the Art Society would take it as a favor if you would furnish them before you leave with a report criticising from the standpoint of an independent artistic mind, the present national collection of pictures here and the manner in which they are housed.'
89. See Gilbert Parker, 'Glimpses of Australian life', Harper's Weekly, vol. xxxv, no. 1791, 18 April 1891, pp. 232-36.
90. See Conor Macleod's section on 'Picturesque atlas' days' in Macleod of 'The Bulletin', pp. 8-12.
1. Estelle Jussim, Visual communication and the graphic arts, Bowker, New York, 1983, p. 285.
92. 'The J. Dewing Company. A glimpse at a large and artistic business', San Francisco Chronicle, 6 December 1889, p. 5, cols 5 and 6.
93. On Gump's, see Carol Green Wilson, Gump's treasure trade: A Story of San Francisco, Crowell, New York, 1949; 1965.
94. Our society directory for San Francisco, Oakland and Alameda. Containing the residence address of over eight thousand society people and a complete visiting, club, theatre and shopping guide, The J. Dewing Co., Publishers, San Francisco, 1888.
95. San Francisco Chronicle, 6 December 1889.
96. Oge's name appears on the letterhead of The J. Dewing Company as secretary and treasurer of the firm. See The J. Dewing Company, San Francisco, letter to Mr J. Muir, Martinez, California, 5 September 1887, John Muir Papers, Holt-Atherton Special Collections, University of the Pacific, Stockton, California.
97. ibid.
98. Richard E. Nicholls, in John Muir, West of the Rocky Mountains, J. Dewing, New York, 1888, and Running Press, Philadelphia, 1974.
99. On Keith, see Alfred C. Harrison, Jr, and Ann Harlow (eds), William Keith: The Saint Mary's College collection, Hearst Art Gallery, Saint Mary's College of California, Moraga, California, 1988. On Thomas Hill, see Janice T. Driesbach and William H. Gerdts, Direct from nature: The oil sketches of Thomas Hill, Yosemite Association and Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento, 1997. Nancy Dustin Wall Moure also discusses Keith and Hill in her California art: 450 years of paintings and other media, Dustin Publications, Los Angeles, 1998.
100. A letter to Muir's wife dated 11 July 1887 is addressed from 'Keiths [sic] Studio' in Sacramento. It goes on to describe the journey that the two will take via Shasta to the 'Klamath country' and into Washington State. John Muir Papers, Holt-Atherton Special Collections, University of the Pacific, Stockton, California.
101. Sue Rainey, 'Picturesque California: How Westerners Portrayed the West in the Age of John Muir', viewed April 2013
102. Mildred K. Abraham and Sue Rainey (eds), Embellished with numerous engravings: The works of American illustrators and wood engravers, 1670-1880,
exhibition catalogue, Rare Book Department, University of Virginia Library, Charlottesville, 1987, n.p.

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103. On Darley's significance in the popularising of the image of Indians, see John C. Ewers, 'Not quite Redmen: The Plains Indian illustrations of Felix O. C. Darley', American Art Journal, vol. 3, no. 2, Autumn 1971, pp. 88-98.
104. On the relationship between Jeanne Carr and John Muir, see Bonnie Johanna Gisel, Kindred and related spirits: The letters of John Muir and Jeanne C. Carr, University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City, 2001; and Elizabeth Pomeroy, John Muir: A naturalist in Southern California, Many Moons Press, Pasadena, California, 2001. Helen Hunt Jackson, author of Ramona, wrote an affectionate memoir of her friend Carr that survives as a handwritten manuscript, 'One woman and sunshine' (1907), in which she described Carr as 'prophetess and priestess combined of nature's worship and work', Helen Hunt Jackson Collection, Manuscripts Collection, The Huntington Library (HM 11908).
105. John Muir Martinez, California, letter to Jeanne Carr, Pasadena, California, 22 October 1887, John Muir Papers, Holt-Atherton Special Collections, University of the Pacific, Stockton, California.
106. J. Dewing, Publishers, Importers and Booksellers, San Francisco, letter to Jeanne Carr, Pasadena, California, 5 November 1887, Jeanne C. Carr Papers, Manuscripts Collection, The Huntington Library (MS CA78).
Rainey, 'Picturesque California'
108. Jussim, p. 285.
109. 'It used photography to make intaglio printing plates' is how Rainey describes the photogravure process,
'Picturesque California'
110. 'Remington called them "those clumsy blacksmiths turned woodchoppers, who invariably made my drawings say things I did not intend them to say."' Quoted in JoAnn Early Levin, 'The Golden Age of Illustration: Popular Art in American Magazines', PhD thesis, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 1980, p. 70.
111. Jussim, p. 286.
112. Overland Monthly, vol. xii, second series, no. 72, December 1888, pp. 659-60.
113. A list of these editions and versions appears in William F. Kimes and Maymie B. Kimes (eds), John Muir: A reading bibliography, Panorama West Books, Fresno, California, 1986, pp. 44-48.
114. On the competition for world's tallest trees, see Tim Bonyhady, The colonial earth, Miegunyah Press, Carlton South, Victoria, 2000, pp. 250-79.
115. On the 'embarrassment' of photography, see Hughes-d'Aeth, 'Photographic friction', in his Paper nation, pp. 168-95.
Rainey, 'Picturesque California'
117. From Jeanne C. Carr's text on Southern California in Picturesque California, 1888, p. 133.
118. When and how Fitler was commissioned to work for the Californian publication is unclear; but it seems that these works were completed after his time in Australia. He went on to produce several illustrations for the work's sections on Oregon and Washington, perhaps made on a trip through California and into the Pacific north-west at the behest of the Dewing Brothers after his return from the antipodes. Given that the works he produced for the publication are not as polished as any that he produced for either Picturesque Canada or the Atlas, Fitler may also have drawn them entirely from photographs viewed back in New York.
119. 'As colonists prepared to celebrate the centenary of European settlement in Australia in 1888, the publisher William Frederick Morrison blamed artists for the gum trees' bad reputation. Referring most likely to Sydney's landscape painters, Morrison maintained: "Artists have with ridiculous unanimity pronounced it unpicturesque, and have decried its glory. They assume to say it is positively ugly.'" Bonyhady, The colonial earth, p. 182.
120. Hughes-d'Aeth, Paper nation, pp. 185-86.
121. For a reproduction of this image, see ibid., p. 92.
122. ibid., p. 93.
123. The Atlas's competitor, Cassell's picturesque Australasia (1887-89), did include a section on Melbourne's Chinatown, written by Hume Nisbet, but as a 'world apart'; see Ben Mountford, 'Hume Nisbet's Little Bourke Street: "Slumming" it in 1880s Melbourne', first place winner, essay competition, Melbourne Arts Student Society, 2007. On Melbourne's Chinatown, see also Bon-Wau Chou, 'The Chinese in Victoria: A Longterm Survey', PhD thesis, University of Melbourne, Melbourne, 1993; Alison Blake, 'Melbourne's Chinatown: The Evolution of an Inner Ethnic Quarter', BA (Hons) thesis, Department of Geography, University of Melbourne, Melbourne, 1975; and Chinese-Australian Historical Images in Australia, viewed April 2013.

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124. Mrs Frank Leslie, California: A pleasure trip from Gotham to the Golden Gate (April, May, June, 1877), G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers, New York and S. Low, Son & Co., London, 1877.
125. William Deverell, Whitewashed adobe: The rise of Los Angeles and the remaking of its Mexican past, University of California Press, Berkeley, 2004, pp. 59-60.
126. R
ainey, 'Picturesque California'.
127. McWilliams, Southern California, rev. edn, 1973, p. 67.
128. McWilliams, Southern California, rev. edn, 1973, p. 22; quoted in Deverell, Whitewashed adobe, p. 60.
129. On Warner, see Starr, Americans and the California dream, p. 378. Warner's book, published by Harper's, contained many illustrations, most of them engravings, similar to those found in the Atlas and in Picturesque California. See Charles Dudley Warner, Our Italy, Harper's, New York, 1891.
130. 'Fresh literature', Los Angeles Times, 16 December 1889, p. 2; and 'Picturesque Southern California', Los Angeles Times, 1 January 1890, p. A1.
131. Sue Rainey comments about this: 'Something that puzzled me was the scant attention to Picturesque California in reviews and in Publishers' Weekly, the New York publication serving the publishing trade. Most other illustrated books were given attention in it. Maybe Dewing wasn't on hand to push for coverage (or not able to buy ads).' Email correspondence, 27 November 2007.
132. A note in the Los Angeles Times in 1891 invited readers to 'examine this most elaborate and magnificent souvenir of the Pacific Slope ... for a few days only at 423 South Spring Street'. Los Angeles Times, 25 October 1891, p. 8.
133. One complainant, Mr James Henry Rainford, in his sworn testimony before the Select Committee, described events after finally receiving his set two years after the Atlas's completion: 'I was called upon by an American gentleman--no mistake, he was a thorough American. He was very nice. He asked me for the amount of money at the rate of 5s. per copy for the rest, which I refused to pay. He was one of those peculiar people with whom you could not get annoyed ... He was so nice that I gave him a cheque without ever looking at the books. After I had given him a cheque I found out to my disgust ... that my copies were thoroughly incomplete.' 'Minutes of Evidence taken before The Select Committee on the Picturesque Atlas Company', Legislative Assembly, New South Wales, Thursday 16 February 1893, section 99, p. 111.
134. 'A book firm in trouble', Los Angeles Times, 18 June 1891, p. 1.
135. 'Say it is a broken contract; Walbridge & Co. sue the J. Dewing Publishing Company', Brooklyn Eagle, 26 January 1893, p. 1.
136. See 'Railroad advertising of the Far West: A portfolio', California History, vol. 69, Spring 1991, pp. 65-75.
137. On Max Schmidt and the history of his company, see Max Schmidt, Jr, et al. and Ruth Teiser (interviewer), The Schmidt Lithographic Company, vols. i and ii, Berkeley, California: Regional Oral History Office, The University of California, 1968; Charles Murdock, 'History of printing in San Francisco, part xii', The Kemble Occasional, no. 35, Winter 1985, p. 2; Bruce L. Johnson, 'Labels, lithography, and Max Schmidt', The Kemble Occasional, no. 22, Autumn 1979; and Eddy Elford, The log of a cabin boy, San Francisco, December 1922.
138. Starr, Americans and the California dream, p. 257.
139. Edward J. Wickson, 'The Vacaville early fruit district of California', California Illustrated, No. I, California View Publishing Co., San Francisco, 1888. 140. ibid., p. ii.
141. Moure, Loners, mavericks and dreamers, p. 91.
142. Gordon T. McClelland and Jay T. Last, California orange box labels, Hillcrest Press, Beverly Hills, 1985, pp. 6-7.
143. ibid.
144. See Judith Elias, Los Angeles: Dream to reality, 1885-1915, California State University, Northridge, 1983, p. 39.
145. 'Australia's first apple case label was printed in 1913 in the United States for Geo. Heatherbell & Sons (the early labels were heavily influenced by the designs on California's orange crates).' National treasures exhibition, National Library of Australia, viewed 24 February 2008,link needed . See also Christopher Cowles and David Walker, The art of apple branding: Australian apple case labels and the industry since 1788, Apples from Oz, Hobart, 2005.