A photograph is never just about what’s in front of the lens. It’s also about the person behind it—their way of seeing, their choices, their experiences. When we look at a photograph, we’re not only seeing a subject, we’re also catching a glimpse of the photographer’s personality and intentions. That’s part of what gives an image its energy and life.
It helps, then, to know something about the photographer. A bit of context—who they are, where they’ve been, what they’re trying to say—can deepen our connection to the picture. It can also help us decide how much we trust it as an expression of truth.
Truth, of course, is especially important in documentary photography. But truth is not always easy to pin down. Even before artificial intelligence, photos could be staged, cropped, or stripped of context. Roger Fenton, one of the earliest war photographers, even carried a portable studio into the field. In one famous Crimean War image, cannonballs appear scattered across a road. Historians have long debated whether he placed them there himself—a reminder that questions about authenticity in photography are nothing new.
The rise of misinformation has made these questions even more urgent. Images and stories circulate faster than ever, often manipulated or detached from their original context. Audiences now need stronger media literacy to separate fact from fabrication.
This is why trust in named photographers and reputable news agencies matters so much. Our tradition of trusted journalism—such as the BBC—remains a vital safeguard. But the threat misinformation poses to democracy is real. Photographers and journalists carry the responsibility to represent events truthfully, and viewers share the responsibility of reading them critically. Truth in media is a collective task: without it, free speech risks losing its meaning. Agencies that cut corners with integrity won’t last long, because audiences must feel that the work they encounter comes from people who take truth seriously.
Looking ahead, I suspect there will be a growing reluctance to over-process or over-dramatise photographs, precisely because of fears they could be mistaken for AI fabrications. When we look at a landscape, we’ll want the colours and atmosphere to feel believable. When we see a portrait, we’ll value signs of humanity—the imperfections, the individuality—over artificial polish.
AI-generated images will always be built from patterns in existing material. That doesn’t mean they aren’t interesting, but it does mean the real challenge for artists will be to express something that feels truly original, rooted in lived experience.
In this sense, AI may turn out to be a useful reminder. It could sharpen our awareness of what makes human expression so compelling. The best photographs will still be those that carry something no machine can invent: a lived emotion, a unique story, a way of seeing that could only have come from one person, in one moment, in one place.
© Mark Waddington 2025
Mark Waddington 