12/03/2025
Another one of my recent articles, for those that are interested. :)
Ghost Photography: When Grief Met the Camera Lens
By: Susan Horsley-Pitts
While perusing the internet in search of historical rabbit holes, I stumbled across something called "Ghost Photography". It’s one of those strange intersections of technology, belief, and emotion that says a lot about human nature—especially our need to find meaning, even in the shadows.
The story begins in the 1850s, in England, during the early days of photography. Cameras were still new and temperamental contraptions, and exposure times were long and tricky to manage. During this period, one photographer accidentally captured what would later be called the first “ghost photograph.” The image, caused by overexposure, appeared to show a faint, misty figure beside the subject. It wasn’t supernatural at all—just a technical mistake—but it sparked curiosity and fascination.
Soon after, other photographers began to play with these effects. By layering negatives, using reflections, or allowing subjects to move slightly during long exposures, they could create translucent, ghostly images.
These early “spirit photographs” were meant to amuse and entertain. They were often humorous or theatrical—campy portraits that showed family members sitting next to “spirits” or spectral figures hovering behind them. People enjoyed the novelty, and for a time, it was just another parlor trick, an optical illusion to make friends laugh.
But the mood around these images changed drastically after the American Civil War. The war had left behind a nation in mourning. Nearly every family had lost someone—a son, a brother, a father. Photography had become an important way to remember loved ones, as many soldiers had posed for portraits before heading to the battlefield. When they never came home, those photographs became precious relics of the living past.
Into that deep well of grief stepped the “spiritual photographers.” These individuals—part showmen, part con artists—realized they could profit from the pain of others. By using the same photographic tricks that had once been used for fun, they began producing portraits that supposedly showed the spirits of the dead standing beside their loved ones. Customers were told these were not tricks of the camera but genuine evidence that their dearly departed were still near.
One of the most infamous of these swindlers, was William H. Mumler, who began producing “spirit photographs” in the 1860s. People from all walks of life visited his studio, hoping for a glimpse of a lost child or spouse appearing beside them in a photo. Even notable figures like Mary Todd Lincoln reportedly sat for spirit photographs after the death of her husband, Abraham Lincoln. The images were eerie and strangely comforting—faint figures of the dead hovering protectively over the living.
Unfortunately, Mumler and others like him were not guided by spiritual sensitivity, but by greed. When skeptics and professional photographers examined the images, they quickly discovered evidence of manipulation—reused negatives, double exposures, and compositing techniques that made the “ghosts” appear. Eventually, Mumler was put on trial for fraud, though he was acquitted due to lack of hard evidence. Still, the damage was done. The public had been shown how easily emotion could be exploited when combined with the mysteries of new technology.
Yet, even after the exposure of fraudulence, the idea of spirit photography never completely died. In times of widespread loss—like during the World Wars or the 1918 flu pandemic—People wanted to believe.
Today, we can see those old ghost photographs for what they are: strange artifacts of an age when grief, curiosity, and the marvel of new invention collided. They remind us that people in every era wrestle with the same questions—about life, death, and what lingers in between. Whether viewed as hoaxes, art, or expressions of longing, ghost photographs continue to haunt the imagination, proof that sometimes what we most want to see, will find a way to appear.
Origonally published in The Gateway-Beacon October 2025.
