THERE’S A TENDENCY TO WANT TO SHOW IT ALL in a photograph. To capture all the details, to show what lies in the shadows. But what if so much information comes at the loss of impact? What if the photograph succeeds most powerfully in the absence of detail and the presence of mystery?
Mystery relies on something more powerful than any camera or technique: imagination. The human imagination is hardwired to fill in the blanks. We seem incapable of leaving things unresolved, so our minds try to solve the problem, to make connections. We fear the unknown, and that fear has evolved into a powerful need to understand what we don’t know and to peer into dark corners. The power of mystery is its ability to engage the imagination. It’s why good filmmakers don’t show the monster right away, and it’s why magicians don’t tell their secrets. The experience is in the not knowing. The monster is never scarier on the screen than what our own imagination can conjure, drawn from our fears. The magic trick always loses its wonder when the secret is told—from the miraculous to the mundane with just one new detail.
Could leaving part of your story untold make that story stronger? Perhaps not always, but there is room in our photography for a little more mystery and ambiguity. Any image that prompts questions—unless there is a strong need for clarity, as is the case in journalism—is likely to be explored further in the search for visual clues and remembered longer as the viewer’s mind works to resolve it.
There are a lot of ways to engage the imagination in a photograph. Here are some questions that can spark ideas for incorporating mystery into your own work:
In 1979, the first of a best-selling series of kids’ books was published. The series was called Choose Your Own Adventure, and it gave kids like me a chance to be part of the story. As a reader, you were not only the main character, but you had agency—a chance to determine the choices and destiny of that character. You would get to a point in the story at which the protagonist had a choice to make. If you chose to do one thing, you were directed to page X; if you chose the alternative, you were sent to page Y. You had no idea what the result would be, and each book gave you enough alternatives that for several readings, the story was different.
It’s a long shot to suggest that our photographs can do this, too, but the effect can be similar. Resist the urge to tell it all, to answer my questions completely. Leave a gap that invites me to fill in my own story. Leave a moment unresolved. Let the shadows invite me to explore them.
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