To study the physics of nuclear detonation in the 1940s and ‘50s, the US government enlisted high-speed cameras developed by the engineer Harold “Doc” Edgerton. Capable of stopping time with exposures of one billionth of a second, Edgerton’s electronic shutters revealed dynamics too rapid for the eye to see.
More than almost any other picture, Edgerton’s Splash of a Milk Drop has become an icon of superhuman visual augmentation, transplanting the precept that the camera doesn’t lie from empirical claim to article of faith by presenting photographic documentation of an event uniquely witnessed by the lens. For this reason, the inclusion of Edgerton’s image in a new Nelson-Atkins Museum exhibit about photography and perceptual distortion is worthy of a double-take.
The slippery status of Edgerton’s spilt milk is most starkly illustrated by the Swiss tricksters Cortis and Sonderegger, who recently ingeniously recreated the image through photographic duplicity. The coronet of milk is cast in a resinous material, and the falling droplet is suspended from a thread. Their camera angle is wide enough to include not only the familiar image but also their hilarious setup. Making of “Milk Drop Coronet” (by Harold Edgerton, 1957) is delightful satire, especially when seen together their other photographic shenanigans including a fraudulent remake of the Moon landing.
