Αναζητώντας την κρυμμένη αλήθειαIn Search of the Hidden Truth

Essentially, the text that follows is primarily concerned with the limits of freedom and the values required for freedom to exist. Values that, however timeless they may be in philosophical terms, have become exceptionally vulnerable today.

As we know, street photography concerns itself with the representation of moments encountered in public spaces. However, since the photographic image can represent visible “reality” convincingly enough for people to trust it as evidence of the existence of places, people, and states of affairs, and since photographs can now be published at will, matters begin to acquire an extraordinary degree of complexity.

In the following reflections, I have no intention of defending any particular position. Rather, I am attempting, first and foremost for my own sake, to bring some order to the issues surrounding this particular genre of photography and its evolution up to the present day.

Let me begin, then, with a general observation: photography always begins with the photographer, who invariably has an intention. The reason for taking photographs may be purely personal—in which case there is no necessary desire to publish them (Vivian Maier, for those familiar with her work, is an example)—or it may be more socially oriented. The photographer may, for instance, wish to “inform” the public about something happening in the world. In the latter case, the photograph is more likely to be made with publication in mind.

Regardless of whether its subject is political, social, or cultural; regardless of whether the photographer’s intentions are genuine or self-serving; and regardless of whether the photographer is deeply conscious of what they are doing or entirely unaware of its implications, the act of photography essentially intervenes in the natural flow of things. Not because the photographer observes them, but because they simply preserve their observations so that they may remain indelible over time.

Such an intervention remains seemingly harmless as long as the resulting images remain unpublished in any form of mass media. Publication, however, carries the potential to bring about a dramatic change in the lives of those depicted. And it is precisely here that a dilemma undoubtedly begins to emerge—a dilemma rooted in the very foundations of ethics and ultimately concerning freedom itself.

For the photographer, freedom lies in being able to take photographs at will. If someone attempts to prohibit this, the photographer’s freedom begins to come under threat.

On the opposite side stands the person being photographed, facing the photographer who pursues subjects out there in the world. The figures that emerge on the surfaces of photographic images belong to individuals who have not necessarily consented to being photographed. This is why we so often witness all kinds of reactions from people who realise that someone is taking their picture.

There was once an Indigenous American tribe whose supposedly primitive worldview led its members to believe that being photographed meant having their souls imprisoned. Today, I would like to believe that those who do not wish to be photographed do not share the same belief. They simply feel that their privacy is under threat and their freedom is at risk, since their image, both in their own eyes and in the eyes of others, represents their very personality.

Thus, in contrast to the photographer’s freedom of expression, the freedom of the person being photographed resides in not being photographed—unless, of course, they consent to it.

What, then, are the limits of the freedom enjoyed by a photographer who draws their subjects from public spaces? At what point do they violate another person’s freedom? Does anyone have the right to publish whatever happens to pass in front of their lens? How free is the person being photographed to refuse to participate, as prey, in the photographer’s pursuit of information? Who could take responsibility for making a decisive judgment? What is just? What is ethical?

People have always hungered not merely for information, but even more for an authentic glimpse into the events and circumstances of everyday life. We already know, beyond doubt, that people are drawn to the illusion of experience offered by images. We enjoy looking at photographs of unfamiliar places and cultures. Indeed, we feel that we have gained some understanding of the situations depicted, since photography—even if it is gradually losing this privilege today—has already become deeply embedded in our consciousness as evidence.

It was precisely this element of “truth,” which photography still aspires to represent, that the narrative of street photography has always relied upon. What the human eye saw; what was automatically recorded following the camera operator’s decision; the intangible instant that acquired a minimal material form and could then be projected endlessly onto museum walls, printed pages, and screens—all of this becomes worthy, in turn, of the significance it conveys.

The event represented in the image, even though we all know that the image is a simulation, mysteriously comes to be believed as proof of the truth.

But is this simulation of truth truly truthful? Is the person behind the camera honest? Does that person always deserve our trust?

Today, in the postmodern era, the values mentioned above seem to be losing more and more of their significance. Many street photographers appear to be less interested in revealing some form of truth than in the appearance of their images alone. The vast majority, whether consciously or not, seem intent on imitating what already exists rather than pursuing authentic discoveries.

Now that everything is supposedly known through the biographies of the legends of street photography, we have imitators who make a point of acquiring the very camera used by their favourite photographer, hoping to seek out similar subjects and behave in similar ways. Similar ideas, similar ways of seeing, and stories that inspire nothing beyond the little “hearts” of their followers on social media are also what drive them towards an enormous effort to gain recognition. Such an effort carries with it a grandiosity of its own—a grandiosity rooted in vanity.

Some go so far as to stage entire situations in order to make them appear real. Others manipulate their images for the same reason. All of them are attempting to construct a way of seeing that appears authentic by simulating the look of street photography.

There have been numerous cases in which awards have had to be returned after it was discovered that a lie had been recognised as truth, when in fact the image was nothing more than a copy of a copy, simulating visible reality.

And, of course, the number of people turning to the possibilities offered by “artificial intelligence” to create images of things that have never yet appeared before our eyes is bound to increase. For lived experience, it seems, is gradually losing its connection with the kind of experience that longs to explore the world outside.

The experience of contemporary humanity seems to be moving rapidly towards the realm of the intellect. More and more people appear to be losing interest in life “out there,” at a time when we have come to believe that we have already seen everything there is to see on Earth.

Today, street photography can be made from within a dark basement filled with screens monitoring events in different corners of the world, through Google cameras. It is therefore hardly surprising that people are turning their attention towards life “in here.” They seek to penetrate ever more deeply into the “mind” of the computational machine, with the aim of using it to construct anything they can imagine.

Nothing in the content of such an image is real. Yet the imagination of its creator, as well as the intellectual effort invested in communicating with the machine, is real. The image itself is real. Perhaps, then, its creator also deserves recognition—simply within a different field.

After all this, perhaps ethics must throw up its hands in surrender, since it is under threat to precisely the same extent that it threatens others. Personally, I do not know exactly what I should defend.

Nevertheless, in attempting to express at least a rudimentary personal opinion, I would say that, ideally, “street photographers”—those who genuinely recognise the value of the information they draw from their surroundings—have always been, and will remain, few in number. This is simply because they are driven by deeply rooted inner, humanistic motives. They hope that the truth to which they are committed may, through their very existence and work, have a chance of being heard.

Those individuals—at least those I have personally known—have absolutely nothing to fear, because of who they are and the nature of their intentions.

I will always regard them as truly worthy of respect and, as a lover of photography, I will always admire their worth and raise a glass to their health!

Photographer Magazine. Issue: June 2025, p. 100.