There is an interesting article about the ethics of editing scrapbook photos in The Salt Lake Tribune this week. The author, Rebecca Walsh, tells the story of manipulating family photographs in various ways to produce a "much more satisfying" scrapbook for the "future grandchildren who will look at the book."
Walsh shares the reaction she received from photojournalists at the newspaper when she told them what she was doing to "beautify" her personal account of the family's history, including adding and removing people and objects, and staging pictures weeks after an event to produce pictures that were more "quintessential."
Walsh notes:
Newspaper photographers recoil at the idea of misrepresenting time and season. And posing their subjects makes them uncomfortable.
"If I'm going to open a scrapbook, I expect it to be an accurate depiction of family history," says Salt Lake Tribune Photo Editor Scott Sommerdorf. "You're diminishing the value of your scrapbook as a historical record if you're cutting people out or changing history. You have to decide: Is it art or is it journalism?"
Although a seemingly trivial affair, there are some interesting implications raised about the differences between personal and professional image ethics in this article.
The key to understanding the "right or wrong" thing about someone's fudging a personal history such as a scrapbook is largely dependent on context and audience.
Why should it matter to the larger world if Walsh bends the rules a bit by blending a few pixels here and there in the electronic darkroom?
Ethics applicable to photojournalism do not always transfer over to what someone does with a personal narrative.
In other words, if someone wants to erase the drunk ex in-law from a holiday party picture in a scrapbook, the decision to edit is largely a family matter not a public one.
Or is it?
What would happen if an historian stumbled across the scrapbook a century later in the attic of the local library? How could an accurate interpretation of the past be made and how valuable would this historical account actually be?
If the creator of the scrapbook and the manipulator of family images happens to be a journalist, does that mean that he or she will automatically take artistic license with the news they report?
Should the same ethical standards apply to one's personal conduct as they do in professional life?
If my father is a police officer and I steal $20 from his wallet or take his car for a joy ride without permission should he haul me downtown and have me booked for the offense? If my mother is a teacher and she catches me cheating on my homework should she report me to the principal?
Walsh contends, "Scrapbooking is both art and journalism. The rules that guide journalists seem nitpicky and impractical when putting together a book for family. Maybe we need our own code of ethics."
In the not so distant past, people were known to have elaborated and embellished personal narratives in an oral tradition. We've all heard the stories of how our parents walked to school without shoes in a snowstorm, and, we've all heard about the "one that got away."
Now, in a visual culture, the oral tradition is subsumed by the accumulation of pictorial records. Our hard drives are brimming to capacity with digital images, both still and video. We feel overwhelmed by the burden of visual truth. To make things worse, we have at our disposal an arsenal of really slick software, that with a click of mouse, can magically alter reality.
As in the oral tradition of storytelling, people are still prone to exaggeration -- it's only human nature. However, instead of gathering around the campfire for a tall tale or two, we circle the computer to get a look at post-photoshopped perfect skin and those brilliant blue eyes. So what if the babies eyes were actually brown.
We tend to live out our lives accepting the little "white lies" we pass along to our children in our scrapbooks. We tend to think on these visual alterations as an innocent acts of fictionalizing or sanitizing our own realities.
The hope in this case, is that the proclivity toward manufacturing a personal visual truth ends with the scrapbook and does not continue on to enter the public record as journalistic truth-telling.