Looking Deeper: Stereoscopic Photography at the Turn of the 20th Century
- ccconservacao
- Jun 21
- 6 min read
Updated: Jul 6
Some images move us with the sharpness with which they capture the world. Others – perhaps rarer – impress us for what they add to reality: a kind of presence that is felt more than seen. That was the sensation – half enchantment, half vertigo – I experienced when I first looked at the image I call “the world of Jane Austen” inside my Glyphoscope camera/viewer. In front of me, a small glass slide with two almost identical images suddenly gained volume, depth, and distance. It was like peering into a past scene – not as someone observing from afar, but as someone who inhabits it.
I enjoy showing my cameras and stereoscopic viewers to beginners. I try to explain what they need to do to see in 3D, but it's not uncommon for them to nod and say they understand, when they clearly don’t.– Can you see the 3D?– Yes. I see it.– I don't think you’re really seeing it – you're not reacting the way people usually do. (I think to myself: I usually hear a little “ah”) – Yes, the image is sharp.– You need to find the sweet spot. Try moving it closer or farther away.
– Ah!
(That makes me smile. Now you see it.)
I love waiting for that "ah!" And seeing the reaction of someone experiencing it for the first time.– Now try holding it against the light!
These moments, both technical and sensory, are the starting point of this text: a short journey into the world of stereoscopic photography at the turn of the twentieth century, woven with stories, objects, and images that are close to me – and which I now share with you.
The stereoscopic illusion: seeing with two eyes
Stereoscopy is based on a simple principle: our eyes, slightly apart from each other, perceive the world from two different angles. The brain, when processing these images, builds a three-dimensional representation of reality. This phenomenon is called binocular vision.
In the 19th century, this principle was transformed into an image-making technology. After several years of exploration by scientists, in 1838, Charles Wheatstone publicly presented the first stereoscope – a device that used mirrors to deliver slightly offset images to each eye. A few years later, David Brewster developed a more compact and portable version that would become widespread throughout Europe and the Americas. This was the birth of modern stereoscopy: a way of seeing the world with greater depth – in both literal and metaphorical senses.
19th Century: The Golden Age of Stereoscopy
During the second half of the 19th century, stereoscopy reached a true peak. Devices and images circulated through aristocratic parlours, outdoor cafés, world fairs, and bourgeois living rooms. They were everywhere. Paper stereographs, mounted on cards, became increasingly accessible to the general public. People could travel to Rome, climb the Alps, visit exotic monuments, or observe scientific phenomena – all without leaving home. The stereoscope became the intermediary between people and the world, offering an image experience that was almost tactile.
Stereoscopy intersected with multiple worlds: science, education, art, and entertainment. It was linked to discovery, but also to collecting and private wonder. It could be a tool for study or delight. Often, it was both.
Stereoscopic photography at the turn of the century
As the 19th century gave way to the 20th, stereoscopic photography followed the technological and cultural transformations of modernity. Improvements in photosensitive materials, increased portability of cameras, and the refinement of viewing devices allowed for a more autonomous and personal use of stereoscopy.
It is in this context that the Glyphoscope Jules Richard was launched in 1904, and remained in production for decades with great success. This compact camera was designed for amateur use but delivered high-quality results. It used 45x107 mm glass plates, capturing two slightly offset images simultaneously. One of its most fascinating features was that it also functioned as a viewer: the user could see their images after development, using the same device. It offered a complete experience – viewing and making, all in one.
At the dawn of the 20th century, stereoscopy continued to fuel the desire to see more, better, and closer. It was a technology that did more than reproduce the world – it reorganised it in three dimensions, creating windows into other realities.
Glyphoscope and Universal Stereoscopic Viewer
Two Ways of Seeing
My Glyphoscope is a Model 2 – similar to the original Model 1, but slightly lighter – and it’s one of those devices that connect us to the past in an almost direct way. It’s a small but dense object, with a strong presence, and the solid feel of something built to last. At the same time, it carries a certain mechanical romanticism: the idea that seeing well takes time, effort, and choice. When I place it before my eyes, it feels like peering into a carefully shaped world.
The Universal Stereoscopic Viewer I use is The Perfectscope, made by H. C. White, also from 1904. It’s designed for viewing paper stereographs and has a more open character. It accepts slight variations in stereograph format, is intuitive, and democratic. It was meant to circulate, to teach, and to delight. The cards, with their paired images mounted side by side, slide into the holder – and suddenly, the world gains volume. Some of the stereographs I own show everyday scenes, portraits, urban views. Others depict travel, natural landscapes, or architectural interiors. In all of them, there is a depth that challenges the hurried gaze we’ve grown used to.
Two Materialities
The images I view through my devices are divided into two types of material: paper and glass. This difference is not just technical; it’s also a sensory variation.
Paper stereographs – more common and accessible – offer a feeling of intimacy and lightness. They are easy to handle, share, and store. They carry the charm of popular imagery: slightly worn, sometimes faded, but rich in history.
Glass stereographs, on the other hand, introduce an almost magical dimension. The ones I own are in Agfachrome, a rival of the better-known Autochrome. These are glass plates that, when viewed under a microscope, are made up of countless coloured dots – a direct positive process, like photographic slides, if that still means something to younger generations. In these cases, there is no positive/negative pair. The final image was created on the very plate that entered the camera – not in the lab.
They reveal soft, sometimes slightly unreal colours, yet with a distinct vibrancy. Glass slides are meant to be seen with backlighting and allow for remarkable clarity and luminosity. When observing a glass stereograph through the Glyphoscope, it’s as if the image opens up into a small light box. The presence is intense: it’s not just what you see – it’s how you see it.
Looking, Touching, Keeping: My Relationship with These Images
When I began exploring stereoscopy, I never imagined that this 19th-century technology could feel so contemporary. What drew me in, perhaps, was the invitation to slow down: to pause, choose an image, and look attentively. Above all, to see with depth. Today, when I use my equipment – the universal viewer or the Glyphoscope – I don’t do it out of nostalgia, but from a desire to understand other ways of seeing.
The images I have – whether bought, found, or made by me – form a small collection of suspended worlds. They hold a fragile materiality (paper that yellows, glass that may break), and a visual force that resists the passage of time. Every time I look at a stereograph, I know I am repeating an old gesture: that of someone who, with two eyes, wanted to see more deeply.
And I try to imagine what that moment felt like back then – when there was no endless stream of images stored on a phone in your pocket. Surely, the little “ah!” was already there, but it wasn’t the same as today – or was it?
The Persistence of Wonder
On June 21st, we celebrate Stereoscopy Day. The date coincides with the summer solstice in the Northern Hemisphere – a symbolic moment of peak light and solar depth. It’s an informal yet meaningful celebration that brings together enthusiasts, collectors, researchers, and the curious, all drawn to a technique that continues to surprise.
Stereoscopy has survived many transformations: the arrival of cinema, television, digital photography, and virtual reality. It remains an apparently simple medium that challenges our perception and attention. It invites us to see with time, with detail, with both eyes – and with an open mind.
On this day, sharing these images and experiences is also a way of keeping alive a visual and tactile heritage. A heritage made of objects, yes – but above all, of ways of seeing. Because in the end, to view stereoscopically is to exercise presence: the presence of the body that looks, of the time that has passed, of the image that reveals itself in depth.
