Dragons Teeth Crichton 2017 (WWT)

The Black Hills Art Gallery
“How quickly can one’s disadvantages be turned to profit!” Johnson wrote in his journal.
With the opening of my studio, the Black Hills Art Gallery, my every character flaw is perceived in a
new light. Before, my Eastern habits were seen as lacking masculinity; now they are proof of artistry.
Before, my disinterest in mining was viewed with suspicion; now, with relief. Before, I had nothing that
anyone wanted; now, I can provide what everyone will pay dearly to possess—a portrait.
Johnson rented a location in the south bend of Deadwood, because the light was stronger there for
more of the day; the Black Hills Art Gallery was located behind Kim Sing’s laundry, and business
was brisk.
Johnson charged two dollars for a portrait and later, as demand increased, raised his prices to
three. He could never get used to the demand: “In this rude and bleak setting, hard men want nothing
more than to sit as like death, and walk away with their likeness.”
The life of a miner was backbreaking and exhausting; all these men had come a long and dangerous
way to seek their fortune in the rugged wilderness, and it was clear that few would succeed.
Photographs provided a tangible reality to men who were far from home, fearful and tired; they were
posed proofs of success, souvenirs to send to sweethearts and loved ones, or simply ways of
remembering, of grasping a moment in a swiftly changing and uncertain world.
His business was not limited to portraits. When the weather was bright, he made excursions to
placer mines outside town, to photograph men working at their claims; for this he charged ten dollars.
Meanwhile, most of the businesses in town hired him to portray their establishments. There were
moments of minor triumph: on September 4, he tersely records:
Photograph of Colonel Ramsay Stablery. Charged $25 because of “large plate required.” He hated to
pay! F11, at 22 sec., dull day.
And he was apparently pleased to become a full citizen of the town. As the days passed, “Foggy”
Johnson (a contraction of “photographer”?) became a familiar figure in Deadwood, known to
everyone.
He also acquired the frustrations of commercial photographers everywhere. On September 9:
Broken Nose Jack McCall, a notorious gunman, returned to complain of his portrait made yesterday.
He showed it to his inamorata, Sarah, who said it did not flatter him, so he was back to demand a more
sympathetic version. Mr. McCall has a face like a hatchet, a sneer that would kill a cow from fright, a
pox-scarred complexion, and a wall-eye. I told him politely that I had done the best I could,