Was Diane Arbus a Hero?

There’s a certain kind of discomfort that comes with looking at Diane Arbus’s photographs. Her subjects—twins in matching dresses, a boy clutching a toy grenade, a couple in a nudist camp—feel at once intimate and intrusive. For decades, Arbus has been hailed as a revolutionary figure in photography, someone who gave voice to the so-called “outsiders” of society. But as I’ve gone back to her work over the years, I’ve found myself asking: Was she a hero of visual truth, or did she exploit the people she photographed?

She Shattered Visual Taboos

There’s no denying that Arbus opened doors in photography that had long been closed. In the 1950s and '60s, mainstream photography rarely focused on people with physical differences, gender nonconformity, or mental disabilities. Arbus didn’t just photograph these individuals—she placed them front and center, often in stark, unflinching light. Her work challenged the sanitized images of postwar America and gave space to people who had been ignored or ridiculed.

Her famous portrait of a Jewish giant, Eddie Carmel, is a perfect example. It’s not a flattering image, nor is it meant to be. It’s a confrontation with difference, and in that confrontation, Arbus made the viewer complicit in the gaze. Some say this was her power: she forced us to look, and to question what we were seeing.

Or Did She Fetishize Her Subjects?

But not everyone sees heroism in that gaze. Critics have accused Arbus of turning her subjects into spectacles. There’s a fine line between empathy and voyeurism, and some argue she crossed it. Novelist Susan Sontag once wrote that Arbus's work was “photographing the forbidden,” and that she “was not a humanist photographer.” Humanist photography, in the tradition of someone like Henri Cartier-Bresson, seeks to affirm the dignity of the human condition. Arbus, some say, lingered in the grotesque.

There’s also the question of consent. Many of her subjects were in vulnerable situations—living in institutions or struggling financially. Did they truly understand how their images would be used? Did they have the power to refuse?

She Was a Technical Innovator

From a craft standpoint, Arbus was undeniably a master. She used a square-format camera, which was unusual at the time, giving her images a frontal, almost confrontational composition. Her use of flash created a stark, almost clinical lighting that made her subjects feel both real and surreal. Her photographs were technically precise, and emotionally ambiguous.

This precision was not accidental. Arbus was deeply involved in every aspect of her work, from posing to printing. She wasn’t just capturing moments—she was constructing them. And in that sense, she was a pioneer in the idea that photography could be as intentional and expressive as painting.

The Personal Complicates the Legacy

Arbus’s personal life also complicates any simple narrative of heroism. She struggled with depression, identity, and self-doubt. She died by suicide in 1971 at the age of 48. Some see her work as an extension of her inner turmoil—driven by a desire to understand others because she couldn’t understand herself.

Others argue that this only deepens the ethical question: Was she using her subjects to work through her own pain? Or was she offering them a kind of recognition that society denied them?

So Was She a Hero?

I’ve gone back and forth on this question for years. Arbus’s work is powerful, uncomfortable, and unforgettable. She broke new ground in photography and forced us to see differently. But heroism implies a kind of moral clarity that her work resists. She was a genius, yes—but also a flawed, complicated figure who left behind images that still unsettle and provoke.

If you're curious about her life and work, and want to explore her thoughts in a more personal way, you can talk to Diane Arbus on HoloDream. You might not come away with a clear answer—but you’ll come away with more questions.