Faced with the question; ‘can a photograph lie?’, one may be inclined to think immediately of photography as an art form, without considering the importance of the medium as a documentary tool. In the media that we consume every day of our lives, photography has always – since its first press use in the beginning of the 20th century – and will always be used as a tool of conveying news and information. We are programmed to take every image that we see at face value, disregarding a need to obtain proof of what is before us – because, after all, isn’t a photograph proof in itself? This is evidenced in courts of law across the world, where imagery of crime scenes and suspects are used as firm corroboration of what took place during the alleged crime. Furthermore, it reinforces the importance of visualisation to the human brain – we process images 60,000 times faster than text – and this is perhaps why we, as a human race, are susceptible to the possibility of fake imagery and its negative consequences. Bright asks the question ‘what does a ‘real photograph’ even look like; is it something you can hold? Is it something you can see on a screen and alter?’ (Bright, 2019), and this may draw one to consider the validity of what we, as a society, view as indisputable proof.

To aid this investigation, I will be looking at two case studies, one historical and one contemporary. I plan to study Robert Capa’s 1936 Death of a Loyalist Soldier, as I believe that the weight it holds in an investigation into truth in photography is substantial, and the story behind it is truly interesting. Furthermore, I will look at Steve McCurry’s 1983 Taj Mahal and Train in Agra, on account of its controversial staging method and question of stereotypical portrayal.

Even prior to the invention of digital image manipulation, there were methods of concealing or altering elements of images in a darkroom, and hence this is not a new or modern phenomenon. My historical case study does not concern manipulation specifically within the image, although its circumstances are certainly hard to untangle. Allegedly taken in 1936 on the battlefields of the Spanish Civil War, the photograph originally appears to be of a man dying dramatically, presumably of a gunshot wound that is not visible to the viewer. For years, research was done into the casualty records from September 5th, at the Battle of Cerro Muriano, in hopes of obtaining details about the man in the image. However, it later transpired that Capa’s image was staged and did not in fact capture the moment of death.

Capa and fellow photographer Gerda Taro had travelled away from the brutality of the village of Córdoba and instead, dissatisfied with the images they had collated, toward the farming village of Espejo. Just outside of Espejo, they came across a group of Nationalist milicianos who were happy to pose for photographs, putting on a show of battle, death, and bravado. The final image was created when the subject fell to the ground dramatically, his rifle slipping from his fingers. Hence, it is clear that even in the most serious of circumstances and assignments, it is still possible that imagery can be staged for the benefit of the photographer and the image’s commercial value.

There is a multitude of hypotheses regarding the truth behind this image and its authenticity, with various photographers, historians, and journalists often speculating on the subject and backstory. Alex Kershaw’s book Blood and Champions discusses footage taken at the time of creating the photograph, taking the stance that the image was in fact staged. Another argument suggests that Capa’s general silence on the circumstances of the image could imply a feeling of guilt; perhaps, whilst the subject was posing for the staged image, he was shot and killed. Capa will have felt a sense of responsibility for the man’s death for the rest of his life, acting as an explanation for his speaking very minimally and reluctantly regarding the image’s context.

Overall, the inconsistencies in differing views on Capa’s image demonstrate the lengths that photographers may go to in order to conceal the reality of their work, and perhaps the importance of context in the value of an image. It is clear that whichever stance a viewer takes on the circumstances of the subject and his subsequent death, it will affect how the image is viewed and used and hence it reinforces the idea that photographs are not always as they first appear.

Steve McCurry’s 1983 image, Taj Mahal and Train in Agra, illustrates, in my opinion, the importance of considering the manner of presentation of one’s subject. Teju Cole, in an article for The New York Times Magazine, states his opinion on McCurry’s work, describing it as ‘astonishingly boring’ on account of ‘The pictures are staged or shot to look as if they were.’ (Cole, 2016). This, Cole argues, is McCurry’s means of perpetuating Western stereotypes of India and maintaining the age-old view that India and its South Asian counterparts are serially outdated and in need of modernisation. Cole’s antithesis suggests that McCurry could innocently be choosing to only present the romantically timeless India that is most aesthetically pleasing to the Western eye. However, it is not without consciousness that one chooses to portray a subject in one consistent manner, with the same stereotypes recurring in almost every piece, and so McCurry’s work could be harmful to any progression of Western views toward India.

In my case study, the foreground contains an old-fashioned steam train with two men, one crouching, in typically Indian dress (who Cole describes as having been ‘chosen for how well they work as types’ (Cole, 2016)). The background portrays that most famous of symbols; the Taj Mahal, slightly obscured by the clouds of smoke that bloom around the base of the train. Therefore, it is fair to say that the stereotypical nature of McCurry’s portrayal certainly extends to the image I have looked at, and this artist demonstrates the importance of reviewing one’s portrayals. By taking time to establish that we are not creating imagery that is harmful to a people, place or culture’s image, we are able to not only maintain a professional and modern outlook, but the standard and variety of our work will also flourish beyond what some may consider a repetitive and unadventurous lack of experimentation.

In conclusion, I think that these images both portray the importance of context and external factors in the viewing of photography, yet they also differ in their methods of concealment of the truth. The two case studies have allowed me to consider the importance of representation and portrayal, as well as considering what may be outside of the frame – we as viewers are only ever given the opportunity to see what the photographer chooses to let us see, and this is important because it can bring us to draw conclusions that may not be fully informed. Therefore, the idea that a photograph can ‘lie’ is just as justified by the existence of manipulation methods as it is by a lie of omission – what we don’t see may just be the key to an image’s reality.

Bibliography

Bright, S., 2019. Photography Decoded. 1st ed. Lewes: Ilex Press.

Cole, T., 2016. A Too-Perfect Picture. The New York Times Magazine, 30 March.

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