The earliest photographic processes normally required exposures of many seconds, or even minutes, rendering the photography of movement impossible.

However, with the right combination of lighting, subject, lens and plate size, exposures of a fraction of a second, whilst still very difficult to achieve, were possible.

The taking of such photographs became known as ‘instantaneous photography’. Whilst the term was in common usage during the 19th century, there was surprisingly little discussion or agreement as to precisely what it meant.

In practice, it was applied to any photograph which contained an element of movement or which was taken with an exposure of less than one second.

Instantaneous Views, 1856 – 1865, Valentine Blanchard, The Royal Photographic Society, National Media Museum / SSPL

In Britain, one of the earliest and most celebrated exponents of instantaneous photography was Valentine Blanchard. His instantaneous views of London street scenes caused a sensation when they were first exhibited in the early 1860s.

Blanchard used the collodion process and ingeniously converted a horse-drawn carriage into a travelling darkroom.

Driving around the capital he would stop when he found an interesting view, climb onto the roof of the carriage with his camera and tripod to make the exposure, and then process the exposed plate inside its darkened interior. To keep his exposure times as short as possible Blanchard used a modified emulsion and developer and a small format stereo camera fitted with a pair of wide aperture, short focal length lenses.

Instantaneous Views, 1856 – 1865, Valentine Blanchard, The Royal Photographic Society, National Media Museum / SSPL

Subjects that seemed very mundane to modern eyes exerted a peculiar fascination, such was the novelty of their being captured by the camera. A review of Blanchard’s photograph of New Oxford Street which appeared in the British Journal of Photography in October 1862 described how:

“Omnibuses, carts, cabs, wagons, and foot-passengers in shoals in active movement, are all ‘arrested’…In the immediate foreground is a man, without his coat, wheeling a barrow, his left leg poised in mid-air, in the act of stepping…One individual in a black suit, with his hands in his pockets, and looking on excellent terms with himself, is sauntering towards the spectator. The whole scene is full of life, and the photography leaves nothing to be desired.”

The introduction of much more sensitive gelatine dry plates in the late 1870s greatly simplified the taking of instantaneous photographs and removed much of their mystique. Sequences of instantaneous photographs could now be taken to record and analyse the movement of people and animals.

Plate 755, Animal Locomotion, Pigeon flying, 1887, Eadweard Muybridge, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

The first photographer to experiment with the sequential photography of movement was Eadweard Muybridge. Although the best-known, he was just one of several important pioneers, including Etienne-Jules Marey and Ottomar Anschutz.

Hoof, c. 1890, Etienne-Jules Marey, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

This gallery shows a sequence of still photographs of a horse and rider taken by Ottomar Anschutz c. 1886 (click through at speed to see the movement in motion).

Even today, photography’s ability to capture ‘instantaneous’ images of fleeting moments, too rapid for the naked eye, remains central to its unique aesthetic.

Further reading and interesting links

• Our In the Blink of an Eye exhibition (2012) explored the relationship between media and movement.
• Valentine Blanchard, Eadweard Muybridge and Etienne-Jules Marey in the Science and Society Picture Library.
• Philip Prodger, Time Stands Still: Muybridge and the Instantaneous Photography Movement, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003
• John Herschel, ‘Instantaneous Photography’, The Photographic News, 11 May 1860
• Robert Howlett, ‘On Taking Instantaneous Pictures’, Photographic Notes, 1 January, 1858
• An online exhibition of instantaneous photographs
• An article on Instantaneous Photography written by Philip Prodger

Simone Mareuil in Un Chien Andalou (1929)

The experience of being there and watching that, knocked me completely sideways forevermore and made several questions whirl around in my head for weeks: “Who made that?!”, “What were they up to?!”, and “what was going on in the 1920s to have caused it?!”

Most of all I was impressed that the film was in a public space. I knew that it must be mean something. That’s when I first thought “I really love films”, a thought that stuck in my head and has still refused to budge.

In 2006 I ended up working here at the Museum because I wanted to make the best of cinema by offering it up in a free public space.

The first chance I got was by working on Bradford International Film Festival in 2007. 2007 is still my favourite of all the BIFFs I worked on, and still by the best film festival experience I’ve had.

The cast of This is England at BIFF 2007

That was the year we had Ken Loach, Benedict Cumberbatch, The cast of This is England, Michael Parkinson, Patrick Keiller, Godfrey Reggio, Alan Bennett, Denis Dercourt and Terence Davies. That’s seriously good line-up and I bet you won’t find a better line-up of British and international filmmakers at any festival that year.

Terence Davies at BIFF 2007

BIFF was all, apparently, run on the passion of the people here. I soaked up as many great films as I could: 12 Angry Men, Paris je t’aime, Ten Canoes, Dangerous Men (a film and a screening experience so giddily unlikely that it still seems like a dream), One Way Boogie Woogie…

Best of all, I got to programme something! The Louise Brooks film Pandora’s Box, with live piano – a sell out and a brilliant, luminous night.

Pandora’s Box (1929)

To mark our 30th birthday, we’re asking everyone here to share their fondest memories and favourite objects – and we want to hear yours too. Share your memories of the Museum by leaving a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.

I paid my second visit to the world’s most ballyhooed cine-jamboree partly in my spread-the-word, spread-the-love, hand-out-the-catalogues capacity as Co-Director of the Bradford International Film Festival – all the while keeping a weather-eye out for anything worthy of emulating La Playa DC (Cannes 2012… Bradford 2013).

I was also part of The Hollywood Reporter‘s six-strong reviewing team, supplying copy for the trade-publication’s daily magazine, while chapeau number three was less pecuniary than honorary: I was one of five jurors responsible for awarding the Nespresso Grand Prix, top prize in the Critics’ Week section.

The Critics’ Week Jury (l-r): Dennis Lim, Alex Vicente, Charles Tesson (Critics’ Week Artistic Director), Alin Tasciyan, me, Miguel Gomes

As first-timers quickly learn, by the way, ‘Cannes Film Festival’ is a misnomer.

This isn’t the place for me to start ranting about the festival projecting almost entirely from digital rather than celluloid these days (quelle honte!) Rather it’s the term ‘festival’, singular, which doesn’t really coupez the moutarde.

The inner workings of the Cannes Film Festival(s)

There’s the headline-grabbing, paparazzi-stoking ‘Official Selection’, which includes the main Competition: 20 or so movies vying for the Palme d’Or, Grand Prix, Best Actor, Best Actress, and so on.

This year the jury, headed by Steven Spielberg – and including within its ranks such eminences as Nicole Kidman, Ang Lee, Christoph Waltz and Britain’s own Lynne Ramsay – delivered a home win by honouring Tunisian-French director Abdellatif Kechiche’s three-hour Blue is the Warmest Colour (which I didn’t manage to catch myself).

But the Official Selection also incorporates various sub-sections, most prominently Un Certain Regard: another 20 or so movies, but a slightlier edgier, more eclectic selection (plenty of documentaries, lots of debuts, a decent representation of female directors). This year Alain Guiraudie’s gay-flavoured noir thriller, Stranger By the Lake was the buzz movie of UCR – and, yes, I contrived to miss that one too.

I’d have loved to have caught both “the Kechiche” and “the Guiraudie” (on and around Cannes’ seafront boulevard, La Croisette, it’s de rigueur to refer to movies by director’s name rather than by title). But my Hollywood Reporter and Critics’ Week jury duties kept me far away from the Palais du Cinema, the sprawling 1980s complex where Competition and UCR movies are screened and which operates as a casino for the rest of the year.

Instead, I was generally to be found lurking around the smaller screening-rooms at the other end of the Croisette, dedicated to the two main ‘parallel’ sections, as they’re known. While not ‘officially’ part of the festival proper, Directors’ Fortnight (Quinzaine des Realisateurs) and Critics’ Week (Semaine de la Critique) are rather more fringe (Edinburgh-style) than marginal.

The atmosphere at the far end of the Croisette is rather gentler than the agoraphobia-inducing chaos around the Palais, and it’s also much better for star-spotting: I clocked Eric Cantona, Beatrice Dalle, Agnes Varda and Peter Greenaway in or around the Miramar building where the Critics’ Week screenings are held. The best I could manage on the Croisette proper was a fast-walking, ridiculously tall, stern-looking David Hasselhoff.

The Critics’ Week winners

The Semaine has been going since the early 1960s, and always has just seven films in competition, each of them first or second outings for their directors. Not, it must be said, the most taxing of workloads for my four fellow jurors, including our genially collegiate president Miguel Gomes (the Portuguese critic-turned-auteur whose Tabu was perhaps the best-reviewed arthouse movie of 2012).

Our Grand Prix went to Salvo, an ambitious, Palermo-set story of a Mafia hitman and the blind sister of his latest target, from newcomers Fabio Grassadonia et Antonio Piazza. And we gave a Special Mention to another writing-directing debutant duo, Argentina’s Agustín Toscano and Ezequiel Radusky for sharp-eyed social comedy-of-unease The Owners (Los dueños).

I’m hopefully not breaking jury-room omertà, however, if I reveal my personal vote went to the corrosively cynical Russian thriller The Major, a second outing for the scarily versatile Yuri Bykov – who as well as co-starring as the main heavy (scary), wrote, directed, edited and composed the music (versatile). Did he keep the samovar boiling too?

A prize for The Major would certainly have been poignantly topical, as it was on the middle Sunday of Cannes that sad news emerged from Russia: the country’s maverick maestro of film, Alexei Balabanov, had died from a seizure at just 54. I’ve been an ardent admirer of Balabanov for several years and was delighted to mount a three-film showcase of his recent provocations (Cargo 200, The Stoker and Me Too) at BIFF in April. ‘Спи спокойно, дорогой товарищ’, as they say in St Petersburg.

On a happier note regarding BIFF 2013 and Cannes, it was nice to bump into festival alumni Ico Costa and Olmo Omerzu in between screenings. A compatriot of Mr. Gomes, Ico won our Shine Shorts competition for Four Hours Barefoot; Olmo, a Czech-based Slovenian, received a Special Mention from the European Feature Competition jury for A Night Too Young.

Ico’s film was screening as part of a shorts programme during Critics’ Week, while Olmo was in town with his collaborator Jakub Felcman to raise awareness of and funds for their next project (this is a festival that’s as much about dealmaking as it is actual viewing), and both Ico and Olmo enthused fondly about their April sojourns in Bradford.

From West Yorkshire to Cannes

If they’d wanted to re-immerse themselves in our distinctive West Yorkshire vibe, however, all they had to do was head to the Directors’ Fortnight cinema, located down in the basement of the five-star Marriott Hotel (built on the site site occupied by the festival’s Palais from 1949 to 1979.)

This glitzy venue was the somewhat incongruous venue for screenings of Clio Barnard’s The Selfish Giant, a hardscrabble tale of poverty set in and around Bradford’s Buttershaw estate. The “Quinzaine” has long been a welcoming haven for British cinema – the second renewal, in 1970, included the spiritual godfather of Barnard’s movie, Kes by future Palme d’Or laureate Ken Loach.

Last year Ben Wheatley’s terrific Sightseers was a rousing success in the section, but wasn’t eligible for official prizes and so had to be content with the much-coveted ‘Palme Dog’, bestowed upon the best canine performance. Twelve months on and The Selfish Giant, Otley-born Barnard’s eagerly-awaited followup to a previous Buttershaw chronicle – the BAFTA-nominated docu-fiction hybrid The Arbor (2010), based on the life and work of Bradford playwright Andrea Dunbar – was very much in contention for gongs.

And this believably hard-knock story of two pals drifting into the orbit of a venal scrap-merchant proved one of the word-of-mouth successes of the whole festival – at the screening I attended I overheard a veteran festival-director, a chap seldom given to public shows of emotion, confessing that even he welled up in the final stages.

So it came as little surprise to hear that The Selfish Giant, loosely (and I mean loosely) based on the Oscar Wilde fable of same name, had landed this year’s ‘Label’ prize from the Europa Cinemas network. This award, for the best European production in the Quinzaine, opens the door to the network’s 1,036 moviehouses across the continent and includes support for promotion and distribution – so isn’t just another trinket for Ms. Barnard’s groaning trophy-shelf.

The jury were unanimous in their choice, hailing,

“A supremely well judged film – delicate, powerfully emotional, and brilliantly acted with remarkable editing and photography. It is a tough subject but there is hope in this moving story of the friendship between two boys.”

The lads in question are superbly played by newcomers Conner Chapman and Shaun Thomas – a 13-year-old from Buttershaw and a 15-year-old from Holme Wood respectively. Both were present in Cannes to bask in the extended ovations that greeted each screening and schmooze with the stars. Quizzed by The Guardian for his impression of the town, Conner pulled no punches: “expensive. A bottle of Coke cost €16.”

In the words of the paper’s reviewer,

“The film contains a passionate political subtext. The setting… is a post-industrial landscape of looming pylons, barely functioning estates and gloomy semi-rural wastelands where the spectre of unemployment and poverty glowers over the children.”

Maybe not music to the local tourist board’s ears, but that didn’t stop the city’s Telegraph & Argus crowing “Film about copper thieves is toast of Cannes” while The Times announced “Cannes has a reality check from Bradford.” The highbrow Paris paper Libération’s Bruno Icher praised ‘Le Géant égoïste’ as a “Dickensian tale” about a kid “not afraid of anything or anyone,” and who “flaunts a perfect mastery of foul vocabulary – two essential qualities to survive in this environment.”

International interest in The Selfish Giant has been unsurprisingly brisk, with US rights snapped up during Cannes by an offshoot of Robert Redford’s Sundance Film Festival. The UK release via Artificial Eye has been announced for November 15th – check the Museum’s cinema listings for details nearer the time.

Barnard’s rapid emergence as an internationally-recognised new voice in cinema isn’t just good news for Bradford. The lack of women directors in competition at the major festivals – just the one at Cannes this year, Valeria Bruni-Tedeschi with A Castle In Italy – is a sore point with many.

And, while “our” Critics’ Week septet did feature a UK production (Aberdeenshire-set For Those In Peril, part-funded by Screen Yorkshire), there wasn’t a single British director in the Palme running – it’s seven long years since Loach took the laurels with The Wind that Shakes the Barley. Barnard’s ascent to the “front ranks”, joining Ramsay, Andrea Arnold and Joanna Hogg, is therefore a real cause for celebration – from Cannes to Buttershaw, and beyond. Raise your glasses… and your hats.

Beach photographer, c.1890, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

During the 1920s the nature of commercial beach photography changed dramatically.

Beach photography becomes big business

Whilst traditional operators could still be found plying their trade, a new and very different type of beach photographer began to appear. As the British Journal of Photography reported in 1923:

“Your picture while you wait will soon be a lost phrase at the seaside, where the antiquated ‘studios on wheels’ are quickly vanishing from sight. Most up-to-date resorts are this year leasing exclusive beach photography rights to the modern ‘reflex’ man, who has no use for mobile dark-rooms and unnatural backgrounds. The ‘reflex’ man … has other methods. He doesn’t pose his customers, but wades into the water, snapshotting the bathers in perfectly natural attitudes. Then he exhibits prints at his stall on the beach – and waits for the orders to roll in.”

By the mid-1920s reflex camera operators could be found in most resorts. Beach photography became big business. In the 1930s, Sunbeam Photos of Margate, for example, employed nearly 50 photographers. On August Bank Holiday in 1939 they took 35,000 photographs.

Who were the beach photographers?

Reflex operators were a stark contrast to the shabbily-dressed and beery-breathed photographers typical of the Victorian and Edwardian periods. Many were students, attracted by the prospect of seasonal work at the seaside. They were employed for their ability to learn quickly but also for their smart appearance and pleasant manners.

Indeed, if it were not for the large cameras that they carried, they could easily be mistaken for holiday-makers themselves.

Reflex Operator, Margate, c. 1930

Theirs was not a life of leisure, however. The season was short but hours were long. They normally started work at 8.30am and were on the beach or promenade by 10am, where they stayed until most holidaymakers had returned to their guesthouses at about 6pm. Their work was still far from finished. The day’s negatives had to be developed and printed ready for display and, hopefully, sale, the next day. Most days they might not finish work until after midnight.

With the appearance of professional, salaried reflex operators, not only did the nature of the photographers change, the photographs they took were also very different to the stiff, formal portraits of earlier years.

Most of the photographs taken by reflex operators were so-called ‘walking’ photographs taken as holiday-makers strolled along the promenade.

Walking photographs were the bread and butter staple of beach photography and all operators had to master the basic technique required to get them exactly right.

Typical walkie photograph, 1938

The trick was to focus slightly in front of people walking towards you to allow for the slight delay in taking the photograph after releasing the shutter. Once walking photographs had been mastered, the aspiring reflex operator could then progress to more demanding subjects, moving on to the beach itself to photograph holidaymakers at play.

Beach photographers become part of seaside history

With the outbreak of war in 1939, commercial beach photography in Britain effectively stopped. With the coming of peace, firms attempted to pick up again from where business had stopped so abruptly six years earlier.

During the 1950s, whilst not reaching the peak of the inter-war years, business was good. By the 1960s, however, commercial beach photography was struggling to compete with the combined threats of almost universal camera ownership, 24-hour developing and printing services and cheap package tour holidays which lured many holidaymakers away from traditional British resorts to the Spanish Costas. For beach photographers the writing was on the wall.

Roy Kirby photographing Miss Carmel Martin, Ramsgate, 24 September 1949, Daily Herald Archive, National Media Museum Collection

Beach photographers, once such a familiar sight, began to disappear – to become a part of seaside history, viewed through the rose-tinted lens of nostalgia.

Further reading and interesting links

For more images and information about commercial beach photography, try these links:

Our Sunny Snaps exhibition website (2008)
A look at the world of the commercial portrait photographer at the seaside.

South East Archive of Seaside Photography
A project which aims to digitise and catalogue the photographic archive of Sunbeam Photos of Margate.

Go home on a postcard blog
A website all about walking pictures.

With a collection that’s 3.5 million objects strong, and 30 years worth of famous guests, fabulous exhibitions, and first-class film festivals, it’s not surprising that we’ve still got so much to share with you.

On the second day of our big birthday bash (here’s what’s on), Mandy Tennant, our Audience Development and Volunteer Coordinator who started working for the Museum in July 1993, picks some of her favourite moments from the past 11 years…

I find it difficult to pick one defining moment as there’s been so many exciting events and guests, so I’ve chosen a couple of things that stick in my memory.

Howard Carter’s Camera, 1920 – 1922, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

In July 1993, during my first week and first walk around the galleries, I spotted Howard Carter’s camera on display; I was so excited that I called my husband. I remember thinking how lucky I was to work here, and how amazing that this camera was the real thing, not a replica!

Bite the Mango 1999 – one of my favourite memories and a story I tell often – was when the biggest legend and nicest Bollywood star you could meet, Amitabh Bachchan, was the special guest star at the closing night gala.

During the day he wanted to have a walk around and meet people. It was fairly quiet as people were expected to arrive for the evening event to meet their idol. A young couple were walking towards the Museum and saw him just outside the entrance – they could not believe it was him.

I think he enjoyed that chance meeting as much as they did. I loved seeing their reaction, and the whole evening was a night to remember. Pictureville Cinema was a sell out. I vividly remember all the beautiful colours, and the excitement and buzz in the air.

In 2000, the West Wing at the Science Museum was opened by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, and I was one of the lucky few chosen to represent this Museum. I remember thinking how elegant she was when she walked in the room; she had a very calming effect on everyone in the room.

In 2009, Virginia McKenna was the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award at the 15th Bradford International Film Festival. After her on stage interview, I had a chance to meet and have coffee with her.

I sat and listened to her talk about her film career and how her passion has turned to animal welfare and the incredible work she does. During her interview, Virginia quoted the Leo Marks poem The Life That I Have, which was a poem code during World War II, and made famous in the film Carve Her Name with Pride (1958). She spoke the poem so beautifully that I almost cried. I’ll never forget that moment.

Thanks, Mandy.

We’re asking you to share your own memories of the Museum, from our magic carpet ride, to watching Avatar in IMAX. Just leave a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.

Our 30th birthday weekend has arrived and we’re very excited to be celebrating this momentous occasion.

Our big birthday bash in Bradford

Over the next couple of days, we’re putting on a big birthday celebration, with something for every one of our visitors to get involved in – from showcasing the stars of the Collection, to a 30 objects in 30 minutes beat-the-clock behind the scenes tour.

We’ll have live performances from Punk Science, and our Learning team have put together a brand new show, Reel to Real.

Amongst the great selection of new films showing this weekend, you might have heard that we’ll be screening To Fly!, the very first IMAX film that was shown here, in the very first IMAX theatre in Europe.

As well as all this, there’ll be crafts, a photography studio, and talks about the Cottingley Fairies, the hoax photography phenomenon that is known worldwide and originated just four miles from the Museum.

And let’s not forget free birthday cupcakes. After all, what birthday would be complete without cake?

30 years of preserving the history and development of the still and moving image

This weekend’s events serve as a wonderful reminder that over the last 30 years we’ve been in the privileged position of both displaying and preserving a treasure trove of historically significant items.

Our collections document the still and moving image, from the earliest experiments in photography, through to the inventions of cinematography and television and beyond, showcasing the technology used to create them and the impact they have made.

Since opening in 1983, this Museum has looked back at the history of a unique blend of science, innovation, creativity and art as well as looking forward in a world where the image has countless applications and is ever-present in our lives.

This special weekend provides plenty of opportunity for our visitors to get involved, and we’re thrilled to be able to share our stories with you all on this, our 30th birthday.

Share your memories of the Museum by leaving a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.

Baird Model B Televisor, 1928, John Logie Baird, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL
The Model B Televisor in the National Television Collection was donated to us in 1994 by the Royal Television Society.

The Model B Televisor was produced in late 1928 by my grandfather’s company, the Baird Television Development Company Ltd. You can see it on public display here in our television gallery, Experience TV.

Making the model B

The Baird Model B Televisor was officially known as a ‘Dual Exhibition Receiver’ due to its ability to reproduce both vision and sound. It was also nicknamed the ‘Noah’s Ark’ Televisor because of its shape and wooden construction. The latter name seems to have stuck.

The first commercial Televisors in the making at the Baird factory in Covent Garden, London, 1928 (Television magazine, September 1928)

From 1928 – 1932 the Baird Company rented premises at 133 Long Acre (Covent Garden) in London. In 1928, all of the Baird Company’s television set manufacturing took place there.

Selling the Model B

My best estimate is that only about a dozen Noah’s Ark Televisors were built, although some historians think that up to 20 were made. The Model B cost £40 which was an awful lot of money in 1928. Add in a couple of deluxe radio receivers, and the whole kit and caboodle would have cost a staggering £150.

The Baird Television Development Company’s stand at the Olympia exhibition, London, September 1928 (Television magazine, November 1928)

Noah’s Ark Televisors played a part in some of Baird’s most important experiments and demonstrations; including the first demonstration of stereoscopic (3D) television on 10th August 1928.

Struggling to get on the air

John Logie Baird and his company were eager to initiate regular broadcasts to stimulate the sales of the Model B and their other new Televisors.

After much argument between the Baird Television Development Company, the BBC, and the Government it was finally decided that regular television broadcasts would begin over the BBC London station, 2LO, in late September, 1929. However, the Baird Company would have to make the programmes on its own premises.

The first broadcast

The very first broadcast opened on the morning of 30 September 1929. From the outset, these broadcasts were semi-experimental, featuring a regular schedule of entertaining programmes, often attracting professional artistes from theatre, music, film and radio eager to try out the new medium.

Miss Lulu Stanley seated before the television transmitter in the Baird studio on the occasion of the inaugural broadcast through 2LO on 30 September 1929 (Television magazine, October 1929)

There is little doubt in my mind that our model B would have been one of those tuned in to the first British television broadcast, because it would have been among less than 30 Televisors across Britain available to tune in on 30 September 1929.

Sydney Moseley and two employees of the Baird Television Development Co. watch the inaugural television broadcast on a Noah’s Ark Televisor, 30 September 1929, Daily Herald Archive, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

The low-definition television broadcasts would continue for the next six years, with viewership building up to a few thousand ‘lookers-in’ as awareness spread amongst the pre-existing radio audience that there was something to watch as well as hear over the airwaves.

Come and see the Model B Televisor this weekend

The Baird Model B Televisor is one of the iconic objects we’ve highlighted as part of our 30th birthday celebrations (this weekend!).

We’re dusting off some of the most famous objects from the history of photography, film and television and getting ready to party. Visit our website to see what’s happening this weekend.

Help us count down to our 30th birthday by sharing your memories of the Museum. Leave a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.

Building the IMAX auditorium in 1983

In February 1983, I was the first member of staff to be based at a brand new Museum in Bradford, on a six month temporary transfer from the Science Museum in London, and 30 years later I’m still here!

My main job was to organise the fitting out and installation of our IMAX cinema.

The first permanent IMAX installation in Europe

Although the first IMAX projection system had been built in 1970, ours – system 34 – was first of its kind in the UK, and the first permanent installation in Europe.

With a giant (19.7m x 15.9m) screen, which was the biggest in Britain and filled the entire front wall of the cinema, and the steep inclined seating, the National Museum of Photography, Film & Television’s IMAX cinematic experience was (is) a truly immersive one.

The first film we screened in IMAX was To Fly!, a documentary made in 1976 about the history of flight, from early balloons through to space missions.

The first time I saw To Fly! was in a lecture theatre in the basement of the Science Museum. My first impression of the film projected on to a 1.5 metre wide screen by a 16mm projector wasn’t that great.

The experience did nothing to prepare me for the first time we projected it as a 70mm IMAX film to an audience in our newly completed cinema in April 1983.

Watching the audience’s reaction as the image filled our giant screen and they were carried over the edge of Niagara Falls is something I will never forget. You could see them leaning back in their seats and grabbing the arm rests.

To Fly! was the only IMAX film we showed for the first 15 months and I remember well the feedback we got from visitors who really felt like they were flying. I can’t wait to see what our current visitors think of it all these years later.

@Simbo_ via Twitter “@mediamuseum Wow! 30 years old… I went when it first opened & saw ‘To Fly’. Been many times since. How time flies!

Fascinated by IMAX technology

I’m still fascinated by the IMAX technology. The projector uses a ‘rolling loop’ film transport mechanism to gently advance 70mm film horizontally in waves, moving like caterpillars. Each frame of film is 15 perforations wide, and the largest in cinema history. Each frame is ten times that of a standard 35mm film frame.

These days, there are two IMAX projectors – one for the left eye image and one for the right eye, for 3D viewing – and further updates have made it possible to screen full length 3D Hollywood features re-mastered for the IMAX format.

Since we opened, sound has been an integral part of the IMAX experience.

Originally the 6 tracks were on a 35mm magnetic film interlocked to the projector. In 1999 when we upgraded to 3D this was replaced by a computer based system with sound loaded from DVD and reproduced through 11,600 watts of amplification.

More and more films, such as The Dark Knight Rises and Star Trek Into Darkness, are being made with specially filmed IMAX footage, and long may this continue!

Films are easily available online now, but the IMAX experience is unique.

To Fly! is back in Bradford!

A print of To Fly! was restored for the film’s 30th birthday, and this weekend, we’re bringing it back to Yorkshire’s biggest IMAX screen as part of our own 30th birthday celebrations.

Tickets cost £4 – £5, and there’ll be 5 showings each day, starting at 11.15am. You can book tickets for To Fly! online, or call our box office on 0844 856 3797.

If you’re in the area, come and say “Happy Birthday” to us – Bradford Festival is on this weekend too, so there’ll be lots of activity in Bradford City Park.

Help us countdown to our 30th birthday by sharing your memories of the Museum. Leave a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.

Jabez Hogg and Mr. Johnson, 1843, Richard Beard, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

The daguerreotype shows Jabez Hogg, in the act of taking a photograph. Jabez Hogg (1817 – 1899) was a man of many talents – surgeon, microscopist, journalist and photographer.

In 1840 he entered the medical profession as an apprentice to another photographic pioneer, Dr. Hugh Welch Diamond. He was an active collaborator in Diamond’s photographic experiments and in 1843 wrote one of the first photographic instruction books, A Practical Manual of Photography, in which a woodcut reproduction of this daguerreotype was used as an illustration.

Also in 1843, Hogg joined the staff of the Illustrated London News and the same woodcut subsequently appeared in this magazine, accompanying a poem entitled Lines Written on Seeing a Daguerreotype Portrait of a Lady.

The caption tells us that the daguerreotype was taken at ‘Mr. Beard’s establishment, Parliament Street, Westminster’.

Richard Beard, a former coal merchant, had opened Britain’s first photographic portrait studio in London’s Regent Street in March 1841. The following year he opened two further London studios, one at 85 King William Street and the other at 34 Parliament Street.

According to a manuscript note on the back of the daguerreotype, the sitter is a ‘Mr. Johnson’. He is probably an American, William S. Johnson, the father of John Johnson who came to Britain in 1840 to assist Beard with some of the technical aspects of setting up his studio.

In the daguerreotype, Jabez Hogg can be seen timing the exposure with his pocket watch, having removed the lens cap which he holds in his other hand. Johnson Senior poses stiffly in an armchair, his hands tightly clenched as he tries not to move during the exposure which could last up to one minute.

In 1977 this daguerreotype was sold at auction to a German private collector for what was then a world record price for a single photograph of £5,800.

In 1983 it was bought by the recently opened National Museum of Photography, Film & Television (that’s us!) where it is now on permanent display – come and see it in our Kodak Gallery.

This month we’ve been showing you some of the most significant objects in our Collection as we count down to our 30th birthday this Saturday.

Help us countdown to our 30th birthday by sharing your memories of the Museum. Leave a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.

Further reading and interesting links

• A short biography of Jabez Hogg with references for some obituaries
• Another brief biography of Jabez Hogg
• The complete text of Elizabeth Sheridan Carey’s poem Lines Written on Seeing a Daguerreotype Portrait of a Lady
• Jabez Hogg, A Practical Manual of Photography, London: E. Mackenzie, Cleave, Clark, 1845
• Stuart Bennett, ‘Jabez Hogg Daguerreotype’, History of Pho­tography Vol 1, No 4 (October 1977) p.318
• ‘Jabez Hogg and Mr. Johnson’, The Photographic Collector Vol 4, No 1 (Spring 1983), pp.8-9

© Rob Bremner

Thank you to those of you who submitted your work for our Inspired by Tom Wood call out.

It was lovely to see such a range of images – from black and white band photography, to intense portraits, and even some photographs from Merseyside, a place that Tom Wood himself has photographed repeatedly.

Here are a few of our favourites – are any of them yours? What do you think of the selection?

© Rob Bremner

© Rob Bremner

© Mark Vine

© Mark Vine

© Mark Walch

© Mark Walch

© Mark Walch

Wrong type of hat © Chris Hopkins

Hot air machine © Chris Hopkins

Living Statues © Chris Hopkins

© Chris Ingall

© Chris Ingall

© Rob Bremner

If these photographs make you feel inspired, now is your last chance to come and see Tom Wood: Photographs 1973 – 2013 because the exhibition ends this Sunday.

The winner of the prize draw will be contacted privately as soon as copies of Tom Wood’s new book Men and Women arrive in our shop, so please keep an eye out if you submitted your work.

Post written by Emily Philippou, Press Officer

“At the seaside when the sun shines one person in ten carries a Kodak or some other form of hand camera…every errand boy and nursemaid carries one at the seaside.” The Amateur Photographer, 1903

Seaside snaps postcard, National Media Museum Collection

The seaside is probably the most popular location for snapshot photography. The introduction of cheap, easy-to-use snapshot cameras before the First World War, such as the Brownie, coincided with a growth in leisure time for ordinary working people.

People flocked to the seaside on trains and in charabancs and many of them took along their cameras to record their sunny memories – building sandcastles, paddling in the sea or just dozing in a deckchair. As the adverts proclaimed: ‘A holiday without a Kodak is a holiday wasted’.

There are many examples of seaside snapshots in the National Photography Collection – here’s a small selection.

Taking a group photograph on the beach, c. 1910, National Media Museum Collection

Group on beach listening to gramophone, c.1935, National Media Museum Collection

Man and small child paddling in the sea, c.1910, National Media Museum Collection

Three beauty contestants, c.1930, National Media Museum Collection

Bathing machines at edge of sea, c.1900, National Media Museum Collection

Sea bathing, c.1913, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Four children on a beach, c. 1935, National Media Museum Collection

Lighting a cigarette, c. 1930, National Media Museum Collection

Seaside piggyback, 1935, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Two children in a sand boat, c.1930, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Women running on a beach, c.1925, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Two women and a dog on the beach, c.1940, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Young boy on a beach after a swim, c.1935, National Media Museum / SSPL

Girl with a Brownie camera, c.1900, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Three children paddling on a beach, c.1905, Frank Meadow Sutcliffe, National Media Museum Collection

‘Christina on the beach’, 1913, Lieutenant Colonel Mervyn O’Gorman, The Royal Photographic Society Collection, National Media Museum / SSPL

Girl looking in a rock pool, c.1890, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Woman leaps over rope on beach, c.1935, National Media Museum Collection

Children paddling in the sea, c.1890, National Media Museum Collection / SSPL

Woman taking a photograph, c.1935, National Media Museum Collection

Kodak poster, c.1925, C.E. Turner, National Media Museum Collection

Mustafa Irola, 1904, Tyne and Wear Archives

Colin chose Mustafa. He says:

“Mugshots never fail to intrigue me – institutional attempts at reducing individuals to stereotypical images constantly being thwarted by the personalities of the sitters. What was Mustapha Irola’s background and what had brought him to North Shields?”

Next up, Greg’s selection:

37th And Prairie Streets, 1973, John H. White, US National Archives

“This photograph bristles with tension and unexplained drama. Photographed in 1973 it brings to mind the brilliant Sidney Lumet film Serpico, which was released in the same year.”

(I wholeheartedly recommend a look at the full Documerica set photographed by John H. White on the US Archives photostream.)

And finally, Rebecca, with another couple of gems:

VP102 Second Tour, San Diego Air and Space Museum Archive

VP102 Second Tour, San Diego Air and Space Museum Archive

“Taken from an album entitled ‘Second Tour’, these photographs are found amongst more traditional images of US servicemen either during, or just after the Second World War. To me, the compositions feel unsettled and disrupted – more like stills from a film than photographs.

“The first image of a man holding a can (containing what?) zooms in on the can, gradually cutting out the soldier. The second image feels in flux, like it has been cut from a film panning shot. The trees are agitated, and the women still and stoic. Both images make me want to find out more.”

More from our Curators next month.

At the beginning of the year, we celebrated The Commons’ 5th birthday, and now, in the year of our 30th Birthday, we’re counting The Commons as one of the best things we’ve ever done.

If you’ve already read my post in which I waxed lyrical about how great The Commons is, then please indulge us, and read these words from Emily Philippou who’s going to tell you again…

Back in 2008, we were the first UK institution to join the Flickr Commons project.

Now in its fifth year, this online project began as a partnership between Flickr and Washington DC’s Library of Congress. It enables institutions from across the world to showcase their visual collections, which often includes some truly wonderful hidden treasures that aren’t always on display, as well as providing the opportunity for the public to contribute knowledge and information by tagging and commenting on the images.

The Commons has more than 60 world renowned institutions taking part, from the National Library of Australia, to the Bibliothèque de Toulouse in France to the Smithsonian Museum in the US. Even NASA is involved!

With a collection encompassing some of the most significant items in the history of photography, including work by Julia Margaret Cameron, Martin Parr, Eve Arnold and William Henry Fox Talbot, it makes a lot of sense for us to showcase our work as widely as possible.

The Commons was and still is the perfect opportunity for us to do this, and we love that Flickr can help us reach a bigger audience than those who are able to walk through our doors in Bradford. The reaction has been fantastic and it is a delight to read your comments on the images we share.

Since joining, we’ve uploaded almost 500 photos (with a lot more to come) and have had millions of views. But, more importantly, our involvement with The Commons has meant that we’ve been able to chat directly with photography fans from all over the globe. Users from as far apart as Argentina and Australia have had access to our Collection, which would not have been possible without this innovative, yet beautifully simple idea from Flickr.

Thanks Emily – and thank you Flickr, and all our Commons friends.

For over two hundred years, The Derby, Britain’s most prestigious horse race, has been a magnet for people in search of a good time.

Huge crowds flock to Epsom, attracted not only by the racing but by all of the other entertainments on offer. In the past, even Parliament was adjourned so that MPs could attend.

The Epsom Derby is also a magnet for photographers, drawn by the colour, spectacle and broad social mix of the crowd.

Photo journalists, street photographers, commercial portrait photographers and humble snapshooters have all found the Derby to be a rich source of work and inspiration.

In the National Photography Collection we have many images taken at the Derby. Here are just a few:

Derby Grandstand, c.1909, Horace W. Nicholls, The Royal Photographic Society Collection, National Media Museum

Racegoers at the Derby, 5 June 1935, Edward George Malindine, Daily Herald Archive, National Media Museum

Prince Monolulu and policemen, 1 June 1938, Edward George Malindine, Daily Herald Archive, National Media Museum

A young boy poses for his photograph at Epsom Derby, 1947, William Jones, National Media Museum Collection – you may have spotted this photograph in my post about ferrotypes

Derby Day, Epsom, 1967, Tony Ray-Jones, National Media Museum Collection

You can see more Epsom Derby photographs from our archives on the Science and Society Picture Library website.

The BBC prepares…

In the days leading up to the Coronation, cameras were set up all over London. It promised to be the BBC’s biggest-ever outside broadcast at the time. Our collection highlights some of the technical achievements and breakthroughs made for the day.

A good example of such an object is the Watson zoom lens. Three cameras with zoom lenses like this one were used on the Thames Embankment to capture the outgoing procession as well as the fireworks display.

Pye Mk III Camera with Watson zoom lens, 1955, National Media Museum Collection. This Watson zoom lens (on a standard Pye Television camera) has a sticker inside which indicates it was actually used to televise the 1953 Coronation.

The national television network expands

An urgent post-war task was to spread coverage of television throughout the country. Four new high-power transmitters at Sutton Coldfield (Midlands), Holme Moss (Northern England), Kirk O’Shotts (South Scotland) and Wenvoe (South Wales) were completed by 1952, bringing 81% of the population within range.

With signals now available, people went out in their thousands to buy their first television sets in time to see the Coronation.

Pye Television Receiver type V4, 1953, Pye Limited, National Media Museum Collection. This television receiver is typical of the type of set which people purchased to watch the Coronation.

Watching the Coronation

Introduced by Sylvia Peters, the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II would represent for many British people the first time they watched television. It was also the first time television had brought the nation together in such as shared experience.

The ceremony was viewed by an estimate 20 million people huddled around small television sets in their homes. It was calculated each set in Britain was watched by an average of 9 people.

Cover of Radio Times, Coronation edition, May 31 – June 6 1953, National Media Museum Collection

Recognising the Coronation today

The collecting of items relating to the Queen’s Coronation in 1953 continues today. For example, recently we acquired a set of ten Tele-Snaps, photographs taken from television screens using a special technique by the photographer John Cura.

Unlike films of the Coronation, this series of Cura’s Tele-Snaps provide us with a crucial record of the Coronation as it actually appeared to the television audience in 1953. These likely resemble the selection of Cura’s Coronation Tele-Snaps which were mounted in a commemorative album and later presented to Her Majesty by the BBC.

Queen Elizabeth II during the Coronation ceremony at Westminster Abbey. Tele-Snaps like this one were photographed directly from a television screen by John Cura using a special technique.

It’s certainly looking like a month for memories. Help us countdown to our 30th birthday by sharing your memories of the Museum. Leave a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.

I started work at what was then the National Museum of Photography, Film & Television 17 years ago. I was given a two year contract to answer all the enquiries on any topic related to our Collections.

The people I shared a house with at the time used to chuckle at some of the stories I brought home. They turned into a strand called, ‘Best enquiry of the day!’ Remember, this is all before the days of Google. The Internet was just a bairn.

I was amazed that the same enquiry would come up more than once. Every day at 2pm I had to make sure I was at my desk. From there I would sit and peer along the corridor, into the office at the other end of the floor we were on. There, sat at their desk, would be either Jean, or Nasreen. We would nod, and at the stroke of 2pm, for an hour, they would put any telephone enquiries through to me.

I could tell if there was a quiz in a magazine somewhere with a tricky question relating to photography, film or television, because I’d get numerous people calling me up to find out the answer to the same question the on the same day. And there’s no doubt that job was a great way to learn about the Collection and all things to related to it; it was just one such question that taught me who the patron saint of television is. I can tell you it is Saint Clare. But I won’t tell you why. You can Google it for yourself and find out. But that tool wasn’t available to me at the time.

Anyway, I digress. The reason I was in post was because the Museum had successfully bid for funds, and was due to close for a major refurbishment. That meant the entire building had to be cleared of its contents, including the Collections, so that the builders could do their work.

Before I came along the curators had answered all the enquiries between them. Now they were working on the new galleries for the new build and wouldn’t have time to deal with the enquiries, which is where I came in. I would do them instead.

One of my colleagues, Paul Goodman, had scoured the region to find a place suitable to store our Collections during the refurbishment. The decision was made to go to Black Dyke Mill in Queensbury. So, one of the world’s most important collections of photographic, cinematographic and televisual items was gathered up and relocated up the hill, half way to Halifax.

Black Dyke Mill, 2007, © Tim Green (atoach on Flickr)

Black Dyke Mill is an enormous structure. One of the buildings upon which Bradford’s wealth and worldwide renown as a textile manufacturer was built in the 19th century.

No longer were the long, long mill floors filled with the sound of looms and weavers. In their place we had placed stacks and stacks of the most important collection of photographs, cameras, cine cameras, cine projectors, television cameras and television sets in the world. All of that, plus the curators.

Our Collection at Black Dyke Mill

Yes, that’s right. The team of people whose job it was to care for those precious objects went to Black Dyke Mill as well. And they took me with them. While the Museum’s exhibition programme continued in another mill in Little Germany, the Collection and those who worked directly with it, quietly worked away in one of the highest (and coldest) places in England.

The entire relocation of both staff and objects was a major undertaking. For two years my colleagues and I made the daily journey to and from Queensbury. To help us cope the Museum kindly supplied us all with steel toecap shoes and thermal underwear.

It was quite a sight, to see the entire Collection laid out in long straight lines receding for an entire floor of Black Dyke Mill instead of being split up in the many cabinets, shelves and rooms it had occupied down the road in Bradford. And of course, once the refurbishment was completed everything had to be taken back down the hill and given a home behind the gleaming curved glass façade the Museum had acquired in our absence.

Imagine having to move several rooms’ worth of precious artefacts like these

Since then the National Collections have continued to grow, in size, as well as status. And for some reason, I’m still here. That was certainly never my plan. Paul is still here, too. And so is Nasreen. But she hasn’t had to peer at me along the corridor for a long time now. Not since the Internet came along and helped people find out for themselves whom the patron saint of television is.

Oh, we still get questioned and do our best to answer. But the questions aren’t quite a zany as they once were. The questions now tend to be about items in the Collection. Many aspects of photography, film and television can’t be found in a book, or a web site. Some questions can only be answered by going back to the actual object or original photograph, which is why the Collections are so important and can never be replaced.

Help us countdown to our 30th birthday by sharing your memories of the Museum. Leave a comment on this blog, on our Facebook page, or on Twitter, using the hashtag #NMeM30.