Viewers of photographs, the general public as we say, are usually influenced by what they think the photograph narrates. That is, they start from the elements shown in the frame and construct their own, imaginary story, which might relate to a caption accompanying the photograph. In reality, the photograph doesn’t say anything absolute, it doesn’t narrate anything absolute; it only describes. That is, it shows what it shows, without linking the elements—a person who could be older or younger in age, of unknown nationality, with another person, whose relationship we do not know—all the rest have to do either with the caption, or with texts accompanying the photograph, or with the viewer’s imagination, the reader of the photograph. The viewer must understand that, without excluding all else, what makes a photograph powerful is its description. Not even what the photographer was thinking, nor what the viewer thinks. The second concern for the viewer is emotions. They think that a photograph—and generally a work of art—was made to incorporate the artist’s emotions and to provoke the viewer's emotions. This is a big mistake. The work of art starts from emotions that all people have within them, but in reality, these emotions are just the starting point for creation. The subject itself leads to creation and the act of creation itself generates the stirring. And when we talk about stirring, we mean something much broader and more complex than feelings of joy or sadness that every person experiences and feels in their life. Therefore, a work of art—and a photograph when it is art—incorporates, encompasses a degree of stirring, i.e., intensity, and provokes in the viewer a corresponding—albeit different in content—degree of stirring and intensity. It is, therefore, a vehicle of stirring, not a vehicle of conveying emotions. If we limit the photograph to narration, we make it merely an adjunct to speech. We do not give it its own autonomy, which is the description and through the description, the stirring.