Some photo books come and go. The Family of Man stays. First published in 1955, it was the catalogue for an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, curated by Edward Steichen. His idea was ambitious: show humanity in all its forms, through photographs gathered from around the world.
My parents bought the book back in the fifties, and as a young boy I would often flip through its pages. The black and white photographs fascinated me. I didn’t always understand what I was looking at, but I felt their weight—the people, the faces, the emotions caught in time. In many ways, this was my first real introduction to photography, and I think it planted a seed. Long before I ever picked up a camera, I learned from those pages that a photograph could carry both power and tenderness.
More than 500 images made it into the exhibition, from 273 photographers across 68 countries. The book became a way to hold that exhibition in your hands. Page after page, you move from birth to childhood, from work to love, from war to loss. It’s life in sequence, told not with words but with images. What stands out is how universal it feels. A wedding in one country looks different from a wedding in another, but the emotions echo each other. A farmer planting rice and a farmer plowing fields may live worlds apart, yet the gestures are the same. It’s a reminder that we share more than what divides us.
Flute Player 1954 © Eugene Harris
Migrant Mother 1936 © Dorothea Lange
Of course, not everyone agrees. Some critics say the book is too idealistic, that it smooths over differences and turns real struggles into something too general. And maybe that’s true. But even with its flaws, the book carries a kind of quiet power. It believes in photography as a bridge, something that can connect people across borders and languages. Today, when images flash by in endless digital feeds, The Family of Man still feels grounding. It slows you down. It asks you to look, to reflect, to notice the small and big things we all share.
Steichen called it “a mirror of the essential oneness of mankind.” Big words, maybe. But hold the book, flip through its pages, and you feel at least some of that truth. For me, it was also a mirror of what photography could become in my own life: a way of noticing, of holding on, of reaching for the human thread that runs through us all.
MoMA Exhibition Entrance (1955) – by Ezra Stoller.
Interior Installation View
The Family of Man Archive – Clervaux, Luxembourg