Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1916)

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

216 The Much Photographed Mary Fuller magnetic personality, and, as no one has ever given a better explanation of it, we will permit this description to stand. She entered the room like a soft evening breeze, and she brought with her a smile which demanded forgiveness for her tardiness. Like her thoughts, her gown was conservative and extremely modest with its pale blue, and "My. life seems to be spent in front of the camera. Despite how busy my many duties keep me, photographers are constantly demanding the favor of a sitting. It seems that all I do is pose, pose, pose." "Which shouldn't be very difficult, considering you are a woman," I ventured. "It is difficult for me," she returned. "I think a photograph is a testimony of a certain egotism. Then, too, they seldom tell the truth. They almost always misconstrue the facts, and never play absolutely fair with the victim. Either you are exhibited as extremely Three of Mary Fuller's latest photographs that portray as |j many entirely different personalities the gentle rustle which accompanied it seemed to add a freshness to her coming which was very appropriate. On her arm hung a wonderful millinery creation suspended from two ribbons, and she looked as though she had just stepped from the leaves of an interesting novel, with every vestige of romance still clinging to her. "I'm awfully sorry," she began. "I know I'm late. Have you been waiting long ?" Then, for a reason I know not why, I lied: "No, I just arrived." "I've been to the photographer's," she explained, as she took a seat beside me on the big divan. "More photographs?" "More photographs," she sighed. beautiful or else discouragingly ugly. If you happen to be unfortunate enough to be ordinary in countenance, you are presented with a wonderful piece of photography which would pass a reproduction of the Venus de Milo or Helen of Troy. And, if you possess a certain amount of facial attractiveness, the photographer usually succeeds in handing you something which requires a considerable amount of study for you to determine whether it is you, or if he has mixed your plates with some one else's. "Both cause disappointment and em