Prosopographus: the silhouette automaton

AS AN ARTIST interested in science I’m aways fascinated by weird pseudo-scientific ideas of the past, especially if they involve silhouettes. One which caught my eye recently concerns a contraption known as Prosopographus. It really got me thinking!

The 200-year anniversary of an odd machine

In this post I’m going to take you back in time to see if this weird object can be brought back to life. I’m looking for ideas to help me design a silhouette machine.

I’m going to take you back exactly 200 years.

At the end of 1819, just before the dawn of the 1820s, a silhouettist called Charles Hervé was pondering the ever-expanding craze in silhouettes (or “shades” as they were then known). Wondering if he could automate the process, he took it upon himself to design and build a fully-automatic, silhouette-making machine. His idea was to create a machine that could observe a human countenance, translate it as a silhouette and present it on a card. All this in less than a minute without any need to employ a human artist at all.

Thinking about automation

I’m reminded of this when people ask if I worry that somebody might invent a smartphone app to make silhouettes faster and better than I do. This question has come up a few times already during this busy Xmas event season. I reply that I’m not in the least concerned because it’s already been done. Charles Hervé famously did something similar 200 years ago and it didn’t do him any harm. Perhaps I’ll even make one myself!

Hervé didn’t, of course, invent a smartphone app (had he done so he would now be a household name). Instead, he invented an automaton.

Prosopographus

Automata were all the rage at the time: complex mechanical contraptions which appeared to perform complicated tasks all on their own. Charles called his machine “Prosopographus” and advertised that:

“The Public will probably be startled when it is stated that a Lifeless Machine is endowed by mechanical powers to draw likenesses of the Human Countenance… it not only traces an outline in less than one minute, but actually produces more perfect resemblances than any living artist could possibly execute…”

Sadly, the only illustration of the automaton comes from an advertisement; no working diagram of this impossible machine has survived. I read a description of a small figure seated on a large box, or table. In one hand it held a tablet, and in the other a stylus. An operator placed a sheet of paper onto the tablet, onto which Prosopographus then traced the outline of the sitter’s profile.

Prosopographus was a huge success. It opened at 161 Strand, London before moving to larger premises at no 128. I operated throughout the 1820s and made Mr Hervé into a wealthy man. It cut thousands of silhouettes (adverts claim hundreds of thousands) many of which survive. They vary in quality from crude to rather good; some even have white and gold details added (see silhouettes above) which would have been an optional extra.

How did Prosopographus work?

The only clue to the mechanism comes from a published eye-witness account of the time, which reports seeing a human eye peering out from an opening in a curtain. Was Prosopographus a scientific fraud? Did the table simply hide an artist, seated underneath with a pocketful of paper and a pair of scissors?

If so, I could’ve been that artist, I can visualise exactly what they were doing. I think Prosopgraphus was a kind of fairground attraction. It lured people in with an impossible claim, and sent them away happily holding their automaton silhouette. It’s possible that many people saw through the disguise, but went along anyway because it was fun and because Charles Hervé was a talented silhouettist in his own right.

I suspect that many artists worked secretly at the Prosopographus studio, which was open for long hours each day. This would also account for the variation in quality of the silhouettes. Other artists would have been more openly available to add painted “embellishments” (white and gold details of hair and clothing) to the plain black cuttings produced by Prosopographus. For a small extra fee of course!

Time for a revival?

This got me thinking: in this 200-anniversary year could it be time to revive Prosopographus? How would a modern audience react to such a machine?

At first, I was put off by the lack of any working drawing or illustration. On reflection, however, I realised this could be an advantage. It leaves me free to redesign Prosopographus from scratch, to create a version more suited to the 2020s. I’m dreaming the very best of steam-punk inspired confabulations, the only prerequisite being the inclusion of a figure holding a tablet and stylus. What should it look like?

What would your Prosopographus look like?

If, like me, you’ve had enough of politics I invite you to focus your mind on Prosopographus instead. Please sketch on paper (or tablet if you prefer) the image which first comes to mind. What do think it should look like? Will the public of the 2020s enjoy it?

Feel free to sketch in as much or as little detail as you like. In the New Year I’ll pick a few out and work the most promising ideas into a design. Note that I’m not expecting you to draw a machine which actually works, so please let your imagination go wild!

Prosopographus 2020

I’ll describe my Prosopgraphus as the nineteenth-century selfie machine. I’m hoping to build and launch it during the 2020s. I’m planning to offer anybody who sends me a truly inspiring sketch a chance to showcase Prosopgraphus 2020 at an event of their choice. So, if the idea tickles your fancy, please do get involved.

Could this be you? Do you have occasion to plan such an event?

Lend me your thoughts below.