Photography has long been considered a window to reality, a tool capable of capturing the tangible world and leaving behind a visible trace. If we think about it, every photograph is like a footprint: just as an imprint in the mud tells us something about who passed through that place at that moment, but a photograph is able to captures an infinite amount of detail, giving us the feeling of preserving and communicating not just the instant but an entire story.

However, the landscape of photography is rapidly changing. With the rise of AI-generated images, this direct link between photography and reality is being questioned. As once Joan Fontcuberta noted, “Photography was born in the 19th century as a tool for verifying reality: what was photographed was real. Today, that function of reality authentication belongs to Google, and depending on the number of responses and how convincing they are, we come to believe it or not. But just as a photograph can be manipulated, so too can Google.” This parallel between photography and online searches highlights how, whether in photographic images or digital information, truth can be easily constructed and falsified. “What is the first step of a forger today?” Fontcuberta continues, “To insert data on the internet, so that when we search for something, we find a plausible number of results that reassure us. That’s why we must maintain this attitude of skepticism.”¹

With the advent of computer-generated creations, digital images produced by artificial intelligence seem to aim to replace photography, but can they truly do so? No, because they do not arise from the same process. Photography, by definition, is the result of a direct contact between a sensitive surface and the external world. AI-generated images, no matter how realistic, do not share this physical connection to reality. They are not the footprints left by real life, but simulated creations. Can we really call them photographs?

The answer seems obvious, but it’s not that simple. For a long time, we believed that a photograph, because of its physical connection to the world, was a representation of truth. It was one of the great myths of the 20th century: photography as an impartial witness to reality. Despite the awareness that photographs can be manipulated, the myth of photographic truth remains deeply ingrained in our minds. It’s an idea that reassures us, and for that very reason, we rightfully defend it.

However, as artificial images become increasingly realistic, this belief begins to crumble. AI can generate images so perfect that it becomes impossible to distinguish a real photograph from a digitally created one. Thus, this photography like images doesn’t have the status of truth bearer, returning to something more akin to painting: a subjective representation of reality rather than a direct testimony.

In his famous book *Camera Lucida*, Roland Barthes introduces the concept of the “interfuit”. According to Barthes, the essence of photography—the noema—lies in the idea of ‘intersum’, a term that captures the photograph’s direct connection to reality. What we see in a photograph has truly existed in front of the camera, in that precise space between the infinite and the observer, whether it’s the photographer (operator) or the viewer (spectator). The photograph testifies to the undeniable presence of the subject in that moment—it was there. Yet, at the same time, it has already been removed from that moment, separated by time. The subject was unquestionably present, but now that presence is deferred, locked in the past. The verb ‘intersum’ encapsulates all of this: the photograph both affirms the past reality of the subject and simultaneously acknowledges its immediate disconnection from the present. No other form of visual art can claim the same indissoluble connection to time and space. But what happens when this connection is broken?

Computer-generated images challenge this very essence of photography. Even though there will continue to be photographers, like myself, who are deeply interested in capturing that connection, photography itself will be called into question. Every image, whether real or artificial, will face the same level of scrutiny, and the public, as is already happening today, will become increasingly reluctant to trust what they see—until, eventually, no one will.

This shift raises a series of unsettling questions. When we see a photograph of war or a forest on fire, how can we be certain that these images are genuine? After all, in an age where technology can fabricate even the most convincing scenes, what evidence do we have that what we are witnessing is real? And even if the images are artificial, does that diminish their impact? Couldn’t they still evoke the same emotions, stirring our conscience and raising awareness of human suffering or environmental destruction, just as a real photograph would? If the emotions and the message remain the same, does it even matter whether the image is real or constructed?

The line between reality and fiction is no longer just thin—it’s nearly erased, as photography faces an unprecedented challenge. Real photos and AI-generated images will soon compete side by side, with the effect of casting doubt on even the so-called ‘genuine’ photographs. As skepticism grows, we risk entering a world where every image is suspect, and the boundary between the real and the imaginary shatters for good. In such a landscape, photography may lose its role as a reliable witness to truth. Instead, it could become something more elusive—a medium that manipulates our perception of reality rather than confirming it. After all, we are already surrounded by a good number of people who believe that films reveal hidden truths, a completely absurd idea—and yet, this is where we find ourselves today.