You see them everywhere. Usually around late October. Vibrant skulls, orange marigolds so bright they look filtered, and those hauntingly beautiful faces painted like Catrinas. But honestly, most of the day of the dead photographs you scroll past on social media are just scratching the surface. They’re the "tourist version." There is a massive difference between a staged photoshoot in a studio and the raw, grainy, candle-lit reality of a cemetery in Michoacán at three in the morning.
Photos aren't just decorations.
In the context of Día de los Muertos, a photograph is actually a functional tool. It's a bridge. If you've ever looked at an ofrenda (altar), you’ll notice the photos of the deceased are the centerpiece. Without the photo, the soul might not find its way back. It’s a literal beacon. This isn't just about "capturing a moment." It's about maintaining a relationship with someone who isn't breathing anymore.
The Evolution of Day of the Dead Photographs
Before everyone had an iPhone, photography in Mexico had a very different relationship with death. We have to talk about memento mori and the "little angels" (angelitos). In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, it was actually common to take photos of deceased children. It sounds macabre to a modern Western audience, I know. But back then, it was often the only photo the family would ever have of that child. These historical day of the dead photographs paved the way for how the holiday is documented today. They weren't meant to be scary; they were meant to be eternal.
Fast forward a bit.
The aesthetic shifted when photographers like Manuel Álvarez Bravo and later, Mary Ellen Mark, started documenting the festivals. They captured the grit. They didn't care about perfect lighting. They cared about the smoke from the copal incense and the way the light hit the wax dripping off a thousand candles.
Then came the "Disney effect."
After the movie Coco and the James Bond film Spectre (which literally invented a parade in Mexico City that didn't exist before), the way we consume day of the dead photographs changed overnight. Now, everyone wants the high-contrast, saturated shot of a model in a $500 headpiece. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, but it’s a stylized version of a deeply indigenous and Catholic syncretic tradition. It’s the "Instagrammable" version of grief.
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Why Your Altar Photo Matters More Than Your Instagram Post
If you’re setting up an altar, the photo you choose is a big deal. Traditionally, you don't just pick any random selfie. You find a photo that captures the essence of the person. Maybe they’re laughing. Maybe they’re holding a beer. The belief is that the spirit sees this image and recognizes the home they are being invited back to.
Some families prefer black and white prints. They feel more "ancestral." Others use the most recent color photo they have.
There is a specific etiquette here that many photographers miss. When you’re in a Mexican cemetery like the ones in Janitzio or Mixquic, you’ll see people talking to the photos. They’re sharing gossip. They’re complaining about the price of gas. They’re introducing a new baby to a great-grandfather who died ten years ago. If you’re just there to snap a "cool pic," you’re missing the entire point of the ritual. You're basically a voyeur at a family reunion.
How to Take Authentic Day of the Dead Photographs Without Being "That Person"
Look, I get it. You want the shot. The colors are incredible. But there’s a way to do it without being disrespectful.
First, ditch the flash. Seriously.
Nothing ruins the atmosphere of a candle-lit vigil faster than a strobe light hitting a mourning grandmother in the face. It’s rude. It’s also bad photography. The soul of the holiday is in the shadows. Use a wide aperture. Let the natural glow of the velas (candles) do the work. If your camera can’t handle the low light, just put it away. Some moments are better felt than captured on a memory card.
- Always ask permission. Especially if you are in a smaller village. A simple "disculpe, ¿puedo tomar una foto?" goes a long way.
- Don't step on the graves. This seems obvious, but you'd be surprised. Many of those mounds of dirt are the actual resting places, even if they don't have a giant marble headstone.
- Focus on the details. The texture of the cempasúchil petals. The sugar skulls with names written in glitter icing. The way the bread (pan de muerto) looks under the moonlight.
- Wait for the "in-between" moments. The shot of a kid falling asleep on a tombstone is often more powerful than the shot of a professional performer in full makeup.
The Problem with Digital Decay
We live in a digital age, but day of the dead photographs thrive in the physical world. A JPEG on a phone doesn't belong on an altar. It needs to be printed. It needs to be tangible. There’s a certain power in a physical photograph that has been handled, maybe has a little coffee stain on the corner, or has faded slightly from being placed in the sun every November.
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Digital photos are ephemeral. Paper is permanent—or at least, it feels that way.
I’ve seen families who don't have a photo of a relative. Maybe they lost it in a fire or a move. They’ll place a mirror on the altar instead. Why? So the spirit can see themselves. Or they'll place a drawing. It shows that the "image" is what counts, not the technology used to create it.
The Ethics of Commercializing the Image
We have to talk about the "Catrina."
The image of the elegant skeleton was originally a political cartoon by José Guadalupe Posada. It was a critique of Mexicans who tried to look more European. Now, it’s the most photographed face in Mexico. When you see day of the dead photographs featuring Catrina makeup, remember that it’s a symbol of the equality of death. Rich or poor, we all end up as bones.
When big brands use these images to sell soda or sneakers, it gets weird. It strips away the "Mictlán" (the Aztec underworld) and replaces it with a "theme." As a creator or a consumer of these images, it’s worth asking: is this photo honoring a tradition, or is it just using a culture as a cool backdrop?
The best photographers—people like Graciela Iturbide—understand this. Her work isn't "pretty" in the traditional sense. It’s stark. It’s honest. It shows the bird-sellers and the grave-diggers. It shows that death is a part of the daily rhythm of life in Mexico, not just a two-day party for tourists.
Common Misconceptions in Popular Photography
A huge mistake people make is thinking this is "Mexican Halloween."
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It’s not.
If your day of the dead photographs look like horror movie posters, you’ve failed the assignment. Halloween is about fear; Día de los Muertos is about nostalgia and joy. Even the skeletons are usually smiling or playing instruments. They are depicted as being "alive" in their own world. If you find yourself editing your photos to look "spooky" or "dark," try shifting the white balance. Lean into the warmth. This is a celebration of life that just happens to involve the dead.
Another thing: the marigolds (cempasúchil). People think they’re just for decoration. In reality, their scent is believed to be what the spirits follow. In your photos, try to capture the abundance of them. A single flower is okay, but a carpet of orange is what tells the story.
Practical Steps for Documenting Your Own Traditions
If you want to start taking or collecting day of the dead photographs that actually mean something, stop looking for the "perfect" shot.
- Start with your own family. Go through old shoeboxes. Find the photos of your grandparents. If they aren't around anymore, those photos are your most valuable possession during the first few days of November.
- Print your photos. Get a decent photo printer or go to a local shop. A physical 4x6 print is infinitely more respectful on an altar than a tablet propped up against a vase.
- Look for the stories, not just the faces. A photo of a grandfather’s favorite old hat sitting next to his picture can be just as moving as the portrait itself.
- Study the masters. Look up the work of Juan Rulfo (who was a writer but also an incredible photographer). See how he used stark light and landscape to evoke a sense of memory.
- Be okay with imperfection. Some of the best day of the dead photographs are blurry. They are taken in a hurry, or through tears, or in a crowded street. That's the energy of the holiday. It’s chaotic. It’s loud. It’s alive.
The reality is that these images serve a purpose that goes beyond art. They are a way of saying "I haven't forgotten you." Whether you are a professional photographer with a $5,000 Leica or a kid with a disposable camera, the intent is what matters. If you approach the subject with genuine curiosity and respect for the weight of the tradition, your photos will reflect that. They won't just be images; they'll be memories.
Your Next Steps:
Instead of just browsing online, take one physical photograph of a loved one you wish to honor. Place it in a central spot in your home this week. Notice how your relationship with that image changes when it’s out in the world rather than hidden in your phone’s gallery. If you’re planning to photograph a public celebration, research the specific history of that town first. Each region—from the Oaxacan valleys to the urban sprawl of CDMX—has its own visual language. Understanding that language is the only way to capture it truly.