Seven Photographers Bring New Energy to Self-Portraiture

The first photographic portrait ever made was a self-portrait: a daguerreotype shot in 1839 by Robert Cornelius, who held still for over a minute as the exposure slow-burned into place. As culture and technology have evolved, naturally, so has the practice of photographing one’s self. Since then, countless photographers from Claude Cahun to Paul Mpagi Sepuya and Talia Chetrit have used it as conceptual exercises and expressions of their identity, as well as to discuss a range of cultural and political issues.

And then came the selfie, the 2013 Oxford English Dictionary Word of the Year, which has been equally praised as an empowering cultural exclamation and hated-upon as a dumbed-down vanity exercise. At times, it's spawned debates about the future of self-portraiture—an on-the-nose question akin to "is painting dead?" "did the Brownie camera kill photography for the masters?" or even "Did Instagram kill photography?"—to which many could rightfully respond: "Yeah, so what?"

While it's undeniable that selfies have forever altered contemporary culture, they are one piece of a long, splintering technological and photo historical puzzle. Selfie or not, self-portraiture continues to evolve. Below are seven photographers who continue to move the genre along. Some, like Tim Davis, directly reference absurdity of selfie tropes. Others, like Angela Cappetta, have been making photographs that resemble the selfie-aesthetic before selfies were even a thing. Still others, like Rafael Soldi, Tommy Kha, Stacey Tyrell, Pixy Liao, and D’Angelo Lovell Williams, use it to examine gender, sexuality and/or the experience of feeling like an outsider.

Tommy Kha

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For years, between commercial shoots and documentary projects, Angela Cappetta has photographed on the fly, grabbing in-between moments with New York City's chaotic landscape as her backdrop. On a bus, in a cab, somewhere where the available light is convenient and works, Cappetta makes self-portraits wherever she is. "I always shoot cars,” Cappetta says. "I will always shoot an interior. And then I always shoot myself. It's not very complicated, and it's always something available to shoot."

Many of Cappetta’s photos, which, until recently were all shot on film, look like precursors to selfies. She stares at the viewer, inches from the lens, confident, yet unsure of how she'll come out. While she may have been able to shoot multiple frames, there's no screen to trigger a "take it again" response. There's always an element of anticipation or surprise, often another person sharing Cappetta's gaze back at the camera. A man on a bus, a mother and child walking behind her on the street, a game of chance that might read differently in today’s iPhone-heavy culture.

In other photographs, shot in a mirror or other reflective surface, Cappetta's camera is visible, front and center. But these photos are different than the posturing avatar-style photos of bro-photographers boasting their wares we’ve come to expect—instead they fit into a larger diary of Cappetta’s in-between moments. Pauses getting from here to there.

And still, other, slightly more formal images show Cappetta in more personal spaces—in her apartment, in bed, on a couch, all spaces that are her own, sometimes staring back at the lens, sometimes off in thought. Regardless of the environment and where she directs her gaze, Cappetta’s self-portraits which she continues making to this day, capture a sense of confidence and self-possession—she is in control of her likeness, whether it's glamorous, fleeting, or somewhere in between.

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