Charles C. Ebbets’ classic precarious scene with the blue-collar daredevils blurred into anonymity… Sickly appropriate since the photographer wasn’t recognized with credit for this photograph until October 2003.
In this universe, Diane Arbus can’t go plucking picturesque photo models from the streets.
William Eggleston’s subjects could be feeling anything right now.
Civil Rights Movement photographer and secret FBI informant Ernest C. Withers’ protest documentation: “I Am a Man,” but who?
Likewise, the expressive crowds of Dan Garson’s Woodstock 1969 are privacy-blurred into a faceless layer of blobs.
Robert Doisneau’s street shots, minus the magic.
John Filo’s iconic shot of the tragic Kent State protests, grief erased.
Scrubbing faces out of just one of Henri Cartier-Bresson immaculate masterpieces feels like a crime.
Boris Mikhailov’s legendary drunks. No lucidity. No emotion. No character.
Weegee aka Arthur Fellig’s unbelievable scene of children, faces glowing with hunger to see their first murder victim… or not so much.
Dorothea Lange’s Migrant Mother, Dust Bowl Era devastation diluted.
Garry Winogrand’s olde version of Last Night’s Party, but less exciting.
Shawn Nee’s prime capture of Hollywood Boulevard performers on a break, with lots less oomph.
Miroslav Tichý’s voyeuristic, DIY-camera-wielding antics usurped.
Lastly, Kim Phuc’s tragic, world-changing scene of young Napalm victims of the Vietnam War. The effect of a privacy-protecting blur here is profound and distancing.