In the fall of 1887, Edward and his father arrived in the Puget Sound area of the upper North West. Broke, facing real hunger and no future, the Curtis family was left with no option but to look further west. The money from the rail job dried up after one of the periodic panics that shut down the unregulated American economy. In the spring, the fledgling crops of the new season died in a seizure of frost. The preacher was bedridden during the cold months, wailing and complaining. The winter of 1886-87 nearly finished off the Curtis family. He killed muskrat and turtle still, brought more fish to the family table, tilled a large garden, and used his earnings for cloth and sugar and tobacco.

Because of his height, he looked much older than his actual age. He got a job working for the railroad, rising to become a supervisor. At fourteen, Ed Curtis inherited a heavy burden: he would have to support the whole family, including both parents. The preacher grew more sickly and useless. When his oldest brother, Raphael, left home, young Edward had to step up and be a man: He undoubtedly gained further proficiency in the technical fundamentals of the camera and the craft of producing fine prints and studied the principles of photographic portraiture while on his way to becoming a serious and dedicated practitioner. Paul, where he briefly spent time as an apprentice photographer. In his teens, Curtis spent a great deal of time studying and experimenting with photographic techniques and theory, and at the age of seventeen, he moved to St. Neither Johnson nor any of his relatives could have guessed how this simple stereoscopic lens would one day change the Curtis family fortune.” “Among other things he brought home in his knapsack was a lens from a stereoscopic camera – something he had probably picked up from a fellow soldier. He served as a private in the Union Army, never recovering his health or finding his way in life. He was permanently disabled and in a bad mood most of the time. Edward never knew his father to be anything but ill or bedridden. His father, Asahel “Johnson” Curtis, had neither luck nor money most of his life. At that time, the area was still considered wild and untamed. Įdward Sherriff Curtis was born near Whitewater, Wisconsin, in 1868 and grew up near Cordova, Minnesota. But the images and stories he captured were far more powerful than mere shadows. But, he was much more than a photographer he was also a writer of considerable distinction, whose special interest lay in storytelling and mythology.

Recently, he has been the focus of numerous studies and exhibitions all over the world.

After decades of virtual obscurity, he was rediscovered in the early 1970s.

Timothy egan edward curtis