Redefining screenshots: Toward critical literacy of screen capture practices

Abstract

With the help of screenshots, human and nonhuman actors alike document their professional and leisure encounters with screen-based technologies. In this article, I investigate how and why screenshots have come to be understood as faithful visual records of digital culture. By tracing screenshot’s origins to photographic techniques used for capturing medical imaging, oscillograms, and first applications of computer-aided design, I show a lineage of a straightforward mode of representation built on the assumptions of indexicality and iconic resemblance. However, this initially mechanical act of image reproduction has given rise to transformative practices of promotional and artistic screenshots (represented in this article by in-game photography), which subvert the conventions of accurate representation. By contrasting these visual phenomena, I argue for the redefinition of screenshot and show the need for critical literacy of screenshot-based images.

Keywords

Advertising documentation film still indexicality in-game photography photography representation screen capture screenshot

Whether it is to speed up communication via a messaging app or document a glitch for posterity, screenshots offer a relatively easy way to represent, store, and distribute what would otherwise be a fleeting on-screen moment. Partly due to their broad utility, screenshots are often perceived as an uninteresting cultural phenomenon. In this respect, Paul Frosh has called screenshots ‘the unglamorous drudge of digital culture’, stating that in their ‘[…] routine use [they are] among the most transparent of digital phenomena’ (Frosh, 2018: 62–63). Both vernacularly and in previous research, this term was used to refer to any image captured from a screen but also to a specific technological process, therefore posing difficulties for a systematic treatment of the subject. After more than 10 years from Cindy Poremba’s (2007) first major article on the topic, there has still been no attempt at defining screenshots on a conceptual level. Instead, the existing scholarly works focus on the cultural practices that employ various screen capture techniques (Allen, 2016; Frosh, 2018; Gerling, 2018; Möring and Mutiis, 2019; Poremba, 2007) and largely rely on vernacular terminology in determining their object of study. Thus, what the current screenshot scholarship is lacking is a clear definition of its central phenomenon and accounting for its various cultural uses and variants.

The goals of this article are thus threefold. First, I bring together the previous scholarship to highlight screenshots as cultural artifacts that appear across different screen-based media and whose origins predate the contemporary digital platforms with integrated screenshot functionality. To this end, I offer a theoretical exploration of the phenomenon, grounded in media history. Second, I connect the question of screen capture technologies to the ongoing theoretical discussions about indexicality of the digital image and clarify screenshots’ mode of representation using Peircean semiotics. The third goal is an intervention aimed at rearticulating the value of screenshot as an analytical category, contrasting its generally accepted function as documentation with transformative practices of promotional screenshots and in-game photography.

As I show, screenshots have often been relegated to a mere form of remediation of photography (Book, 2003; Gerling, 2018; Giddings, 2013; Moore, 2014; Möring and Mutiis, 2019; Poremba, 2007), while at the same time they have become a foundation of transformative practices, such as promotional screenshots (Sprengler, 2014) and in-game photography (Gerling, 2018; Möring and Mutiis, 2019; Zylinska, 2020). By drawing attention to the different functions of these qualitatively distinct uses of screen capture techniques, I show the need for an explicit definition of screenshots that would acknowledge the claim of representational accuracy and the circumstances behind screenshots’ creation. This intervention can help develop user literacy and professional best practices, also taking into consideration that screenshots are often used as illustrations in academic writing and journalism. Rather than just identifying an image as a screenshot, which alone is a trivial observation, one should also distinguish between the different modifications and agendas to which such screenshot could have been subjected to. Promoting terminological clarity and disclosure (e.g. what software was used to capture it or what edits were made) in how professionals and users present screenshots can raise awareness of the malleability of screenshots and dispel the myth of their nature as transparent records of screen-based digital media.

Theorizing screenshots

Despite a modest academic interest in screenshot-related phenomena over the last 10 years (see Allen, 2016; Frosh, 2018; Gaboury, 2018; Gerling, 2018; Giddings, 2013; Moore, 2014; Möring and Mutiis, 2019; Sprengler, 2014; Zylinska, 2020), there has been no open discussion, let alone consensus on the definition of screenshot. Some scholars (Giddings, 2013; Moore, 2014; Poremba, 2007) have completely avoided this question and instead have relied on the vernacular understanding of the term, which is dependent on the sociohistorical context (see Gaboury, 2019a). For others (Allen, 2016; Möring and Mutiis, 2019), all types of images captured from any screen have qualified as screenshots regardless of the specific technological solution. This approach can, however, be seen as anachronistic as the term itself was coined only in 1983 (see Allen, 2016). On the other hand, Frosh (2018) understands screenshots as digital images created internally within electronic devices such as computers and smartphones. The most nuanced classification is employed by Winfried Gerling (2018), who distinguishes between digital screenshots, which are captured internally, and screen image photography. The latter designation is directly appropriated from a term describing a type of medical imaging and refers to actual photographs of a screen. The already unclear terminology is further complicated by transformative practices whose definitions, such as in the case of in-game photography, partially overlap with the common understanding of screenshot. However, in-game photography can be also created using an external photographic camera (Gerling, 2018; Möring and Mutiis, 2019; Zylinska, 2020).¹

The work of defining screenshots has been historically overshadowed by a preoccupation with screenshots as remediation of photography, which dates back to Betsy Book’s (2003) early exploration of three-dimensional visual virtual worlds. According to Book, player-made screenshots serve the same functions as tourist photography and they also exhibit similar aesthetics.

Virtual tourists take photographs for the same reasons offline tourists take photographs. They want to commemorate their travels, obtain a visual record of enjoyable experiences, and show evidence of their experiences to friends and family. […] Many screen captures recall the composition of offline tourist photographs […] [the] avatar is “posed” in front of a recognizable landmark, mimicking the poses and gestures that an offline tourist might make in a tourist photograph. (Book, 2003, under ‘Screen Captures as Tourist Photography’)

The logic of remediation (Bolter and Grusin, 2000), which is invoked here, was later explicated by Poremba (2007). In the process of adapting Book’s argument to video games, Poremba expanded its scope beyond the genre of tourist photography to vernacular photography more broadly. Frosh (2018) has recently developed this approach further by arguing that screenshots in general (not just video game screenshots) are experienced as photographs due to the many ways in which they reproduce photographic conventions, for example, by mimicking shutter sounds on smartphones.

The remediation paradigm has previously led scholars (Book, 2003; Gerling, 2018; Giddings, 2013; Möring and Mutiis, 2019; Poremba, 2007) away from screenshots toward other aspects of video games and virtual worlds that resemble photography and cinema, such as camera angles, image composition, or specific game mechanics (see also Manovich, 2001). To a certain extent, video game developers embrace this cultural lineage by simulating (Giddings, 2013; Möring and Mutiis, 2019) photography in titles ranging from the family-friendly Pokémon Snap (HAL Laboratory and Pax Softnica, 1999) to the brutal first-person shooter BioShock (2K Boston and 2K Australia, 2007). Another admission of this deliberate remediation takes the form of the so-called photo modes (see Gerling, 2018; Möring and Mutiis, 2019), which provide tools and editing options to players wishing to engage in in-game photography.

By searching for similarities between screenshots and photography, the perspective of remediation downplays the technological differences between the various images that are commonly understood and labeled as screenshots. If a ‘screenshot’ is taken by a photographic camera, it no longer constitutes remediation of photography, but it is a photograph itself. This distinction is not merely of terminological concern but has implications regarding the scope of representation. Internally created screenshots can only capture what is displayed on a screen, while photographs can also show the surroundings of a screen (Allen, 2016; Gerling, 2018).² Referring to both types of images using the same term might make sense in everyday use in which they can fulfill the same representational purpose and are thus functionally interchangeable. However, on an analytical level, these differences are meaningful and warrant a more precise vocabulary, which has been partially attempted by Frosh (2018) or Gerling (2018). To prevent further terminological confusion, I will distinguish between three basic types of images captured from screens: (A) screen capture, (A1) photographic screen capture, and (A2) screenshot. Any image that features a visual record of a screen will be referred to as a screen capture regardless of the tools and procedures used to create it. This umbrella term provides a common ground for discussing the shared qualities of all images that are vernacularly considered screenshots. Its two subcategories are then distinguished by the technological process of their creation. Photographic screen capture ³ (A1) refers to a photographic record of a screen. Screenshot (A2) primarily denotes a screen capture as a digital image file created within the same device as the one that displayed the original screen contents. Alternatively, screenshots can be created using a connected accessory that records the screen, or the signal that is displayed on the screen, using a nonphotographic process, such as a video capture card. The two subcategories – photographic screen capture and screenshot – do not necessarily attempt to cover the whole possible spectrum of screen capture but highlight its two basic modes.⁴

The process of screen capture creation is but one of its defining qualities and ways of distinguishing between its variants and related phenomena. The core aspect of both photographic screen capture and screenshot is their capability, due to their presumed transparency (Frosh, 2018; see also Gaboury, 2019b), to serve as a method of documentation. Especially when contrasted with promotional screenshots and in-game photography, ‘regular’ screenshots are understood in terms of their most basic representational quality. Whereas in-game photography is often modified and manipulated using dedicated photo modes and other tools, and thus not entirely representative of regular gameplay (Möring and Mutiis, 2019), screenshots are believed to serve as untainted evidence of what has transpired on screen (Frosh, 2018; Gaboury, 2019b). This perceived indexicality (coupled with iconic resemblance) establishes screenshot’s documentation function.

In Peircean semiotics, three basic types of signs can be recognized based on their relation to the represented object: (1) ‘icon’, (2) ‘index’, and (3) ‘symbol’ (Peirce, 1998: 4.447 [1903]). First, icon’s connection to the represented object is based on resemblance and in this regard screen capture would technically qualify as an icon. However, in his writings, Charles Sanders Peirce has generally prioritized index’s causal relation to the represented object as a more salient semiotic quality compared to icon’s resemblance. Following this hierarchy, he has identified, for example, photographs as first and foremost indexical signs, although they also bear visual resemblance to the represented object:

Photographs […] are in certain respects exactly like the objects they represent. But this resemblance is due to the photographs having been produced under such circumstances that they were physically forced to correspond point by point to nature. In that aspect, then, they belong to the second class of signs, those by physical connection [indices]. (Peirce, 1998: 2.281 [1895])

This logic can then be applied to photographic screen capture and screenshots. For analog photographs, indexicality is predicated on the technology of their creation, which captures light rays reflected from an object on a photochemical medium, thus constituting a causal relationship. However, the shift to digital photography has for some scholars broken (Manovich, 2001; Rubinstein and Sluis, 2013) or at least contested this causal link and the underlying assumption that physical connection is the exclusive source of indexicality (Doane, 2007; Soderman, 2007). Mary Ann Doane (2007), for example, has argued for the recognition of the deixical quality of index – the ability to point at a specific object – along with the more traditional notion of index as a trace. For others (Giddings, 2013; Wolf, 2000), indexicality in some capacity persists even in a digital image despite the different technological conditions, often due to the adoption of photographic conventions. Overreliance on indexicality in the understanding how photographs, both analog and digital, represent objects, threatens to obscure their iconicity, which is also relevant for screenshots. In this regard, Braxton Soderman (2007: 158) has emphasized that photography is an ‘index/icon hybrid’ or in Peirce’s own words: ‘a photograph is an index having an icon incorporated into it’ (Peirce, 1998: 4.447 [1903]).

While screenshots, similarly to digital photography, do not possess any physical connection to what they represent, they establish a deixical relationship – claiming that this is what happened on a screen. Coupled with visual resemblance of the original scene, this rearticulated indexicality mimics the index/icon hybrid status of analog photography. In other words, despite the lack of a theoretical consensus about indexicality of a digital image, both photographic screen capture and screenshot conjure a notion of a causal link even if the actual physical connection is missing. This link goes beyond an incidental visual resemblance and is perceived and judged, arguably only in certain contexts, based on veracity or, to use the more vernacular term, ‘representativity’ (Švelch, 2017). Arguably, this mode of representation, which combines indexicality and iconicity, is not a binary attribute but rather a continuum with an unmodified image on one side of the spectrum and a doctored, aestheticized, or otherwise transformed picture on the opposite side. I would argue that the former (unmodified) part of the spectrum is represented by screenshot in its basic form as a means of documentation (Frosh, 2018; Gaboury, 2019b; Gerling, 2018), while the latter (doctored) consists of transformative practices of promotional screenshots and in-game photography.

A genealogy of screenshot’s mode of representation

The current conventions of screenshot representation and the emphasis on the documentational quality date back to the early practices of photographic screen capture, which already harnessed the index/icon hybridity to tie an image to specific visual contents of a screen. In this section, I investigate the origins of the screenshot’s mode of representation using historical examples of roentgen photography (de Abreu, 1939; Gerling, 2018), Oscillons (Gaboury, 2018; Laposky, 1969), and photographic screen capture of computer-aided design applications (Allen, 2016).

One of the reasons for the development of screen capture techniques has been to create a spatially and temporally independent image that could be shared and distributed without having to access the original machine and recreate the conditions under which it had been created. Early screen-based media technologies displayed ephemeral images with no easy way to store them, not even internally:

Television, and some early radar applications, could transmit pictures and text to a distant receiver, but the images remained visible on the receiving screen only so long as they were being transmitted. In 1946, no one had succeeded in storing the image on the screen so that it would remain visible for as long as was desired. (Copeland et al., 2017: 15)

Photography has emerged as a practical and affordable solution to this problem (de Abreu, 1939; Allen, 2016; Gaboury, 2018; Gerling, 2018; Laposky, 1969). From a spatial perspective, photographic screen capture has allowed for dissemination of electronic screen-based images without the necessity to move heavy equipment, such as X-ray apparatuses, oscilloscopes, or computers with cathode-ray tube (CRT) screens. Regarding the temporal dimension, photographic screen capture has provided the tools for fixing a moving, and thus ephemeral, image and storing it long after the screen had been turned off.

In 1936, physician Manoel de Abreu (1939) used photographic screen capture to improve fluorography – an X-ray screening method similar to radiography. Under normal circumstances, the results of this medical test appeared in real time on a fluorescent screen. However, the ephemeral nature of this screening method posed difficulties for both analysis and documentation of findings, requiring a large number of medical professionals who had to both operate and observe the screening while it was happening (de Abreu, 1939). To solve these issues, de Abreu attached a small-format camera in front of the projection screen to take snapshots of a fluorography screening in progress. The so-called roentgen photography, sometimes referred to as screen image photography (Gerling, 2018), became an affordable (especially in comparison to then expensive radiocinematography) imaging technique that could provide pictures of necessary detail to establish a reliable medical diagnosis. It did so by representing a discrete moment of a patient’s fluorography test.

In the early 1950s, mathematician Ben F Laposky started employing a similar setup to take pictures of Oscillons: ‘unique images […] composed of waveforms as they appear on the screen of a cathode ray oscilloscope’ (Laposky, 1969: 345). In this case, the camera became a part of an artistic practice, partly due to the then limited options how to store and reproduce an image from a CRT screen, as noted by Gaboury: ‘[…] in 1952 there were no image file formats to capture the graphical output of a screen’ (2018: 28). However, photographic screen capture was but one of many potential ways of representing Oscillons. Laposky himself listed a number of other possibilities: ‘[Oscillons] may be recorded […] as motion pictures. They may be shown as drawings or paintings. In the case of computer-derived oscillograms, they might be traced by electronic plotters’ (1969: 345). The decision to use photography was motivated by its affordability, similarly to de Abreu’s case. For Laposky ‘it would be costly to arrange a separate oscilloscope or television screen with all the necessary equipment for each composition, for public exhibitions, except in special situations, I chose to record Oscillons [emphasis original] by photography’ (1969: 351). Laposky’s consideration of other methods of reproduction suggests that the accuracy of an iconic resemblance and the indexical connection to the original image were not his main concern. Nonetheless, the final photographic pictures possessed these qualities and could thus claim to be faithful representations of reproducible, existing Oscillons (Laposky, 1969). Combined with the ‘records […] of much of what was done, in particular, instruments used, approximate waveform frequencies and other factors’ (Laposky, 1969: 351), photographic screen captures could serve as a part of the documentation necessary for the reconstruction of a particular Oscillon.

Starting from 1959, photographic screen capture became a preferred means of representing the capabilities and results of computer-aided design tools, such as Sketchpad (Allen, 2016). Similarly to the previous two examples, other forms of reproduction were considered – in this case drafting machine and plotter drawings – but photographic screen capture was chosen for its convenience, availability, and speed (Allen, 2016). In the 1960s, this approach became formalized and was carried out by a dedicated apparatus:

Computers sometimes had two identical screens displaying the same image, one of which would be used interactively by its operator while the other had a camera mounted to it. To accurately record what was being displayed on the screens, all that had to be done was to push a button to operate the shutter. (Allen, 2016: 654)

Photographic screen capture became so widespread in the 1970s (Allen, 2016) that camera manufacturers, such as Polaroid, developed new products specifically intended for photographing a CRT screen (Gerling, 2018).

Looking at early historical examples of photographic screen capture, visual resemblance is key for all these images, whether it is de Abreu’s roentgen photography, Laposky’s reproductions of Oscillons, or snapshots of computer-aided design tools. All these techniques attempt to capture the visual appearance of a screen with a sufficient level of detail. At the same time, indexicality contributes to the semiotic quality of these images as it ties them to a concrete existing object, especially in the case of fluorography in which the connection to a real patient is central to its function. Furthermore, photographic screen capture of computer-aided design leverages this indexical link to showcase the computer hardware and software that played a part in creating these images.⁵

The transition from photographic screen capture toward screenshot occurred around 1984 with the introduction of the so-called Print Screen feature, which was included in the operating system of the original Macintosh computer (see Gerling, 2018). By executing a specific key command, users could save the visual contents of a screen to a locally stored digital image file. This technological shortcut to creating a screen capture adopted the representational conventions of photographic screen capture, exhibiting near perfect iconic accuracy⁶ and establishing an indexical link between the image and concrete visual contents of the screen (both in terms of a virtual trace and deixis). The major difference between photographic screen capture and screenshot is that in the latter case the image is created internally within the computer without the need for any special equipment. Screenshot became a standard part of home computing, making its way onto keyboards as a dedicated button (labeled by abbreviations such as PrtScn). Default graphics programs such as MacPaint and MS Paint integrated this feature and further streamlined the screenshot process (Davison, 2014). Writing in 2003, Book (2003) noted the relative ease of taking screenshots using either these default options embedded in computer operating systems or special software. The screenshot functionality was later adopted by mobile operating systems, starting with iPhone OS 1 in 2007 and followed by Android 4.0 in 2011. Video game console manufacturers took longer to fully implement the screenshot feature. One of the first experiments with internal screenshot tools was the Photo Mode in the racing game Gran Turismo 4 (Polyphony Digital, 2004), in which players could take pictures of their virtual cars and export them from PlayStation 3 using a USB port. However, the utility of the Photo Mode was limited to specific in-game situations, as is usually the case with video game photo modes (Gerling, 2018; Möring and Mutiis, 2019). As such, these images can be considered early examples of in-game photography rather than results of a general screenshot function. Proper screenshot functionality was introduced with PlayStation 4 and Xbox One in 2013 (and Nintendo Switch in 2017), which shipped at launch with tools that allowed users to take screenshots and record video, unless a game specifically prohibited it. Currently, most major consumer electronic devices with a screen, including, for example, e-book readers, support screenshot functionality.

People and nonhuman actors create screenshots for several purposes, many of which relate to the screenshots’ documentation function. These include, for example, screenshots taken by smartphone users as visual evidence (see Chen et al., 2015; Kofoed and Larsen, 2016; Thelwall et al., 2016), by historians for preservation and exhibition purposes (see Guins, 2014; Lowood et al., 2018; Nylund, 2018), or by researchers as material for empirical analysis (see Bainbridge, 2010; Boellstorff et al., 2012; Karlson et al., 2010; Markham, 2013; Reimer, 2018). Journalistic uses of screenshots also generally emphasize the same representational qualities (unless they resort to using promotional images). Many user-created images from video games also qualify as screenshots by simply documenting gameplay events without any efforts to aestheticize or embellish them (Gerling, 2018; Giddings, 2013; Moore, 2014; Möring and Mutiis, 2019; Poremba, 2007).

To further illustrate the shared qualities of photographic screen capture and screenshot and the continued lineage of their mode of representation, I highlight two aspects relevant to their function as documentation: the admission of circumstantial detail and the irrelevance of authorship. First, circumstantial detail emphasizes the indexical connection of these visual phenomena to the objects they represent by preferring unaltered visual reproduction of all, even seemingly irrelevant details. Second, due to an arguably mechanical act of their creation, photographic screen capture and screenshot trivialize the creative input of their authors. The subversion (or rejection) of these two aspects characterizes transformative screen capture practices such as promotional screenshots and in-game photography.

Circumstantial detail

Originally, the concept of circumstantial detail was used by Steven Shapin (1984) to describe naturalistic representation in engravings and literary descriptions of Robert Boyle’s 17th-century inventions and experiments. The term referred to techniques that aimed to convey the ‘realness’ of these representations by reproducing seemingly unimportant details, such as shadowing (Shapin, 1984). Allen (2016) later used the concept to describe the visual conventions of photographic screen capture in the 1960s and 1970s, pointing to the detail outside the screen, such as the surrounding working space and computer hardware. These additional visual features established and strengthened the picture’s claimed connection to reality, showing the capabilities of computer-aided design at a time when this technology was still being introduced in professional circles. As Gerling (2018) noted, screenshots can also exhibit circumstantial detail.⁷ For example, open browser tabs can convey additional, often unintended information.

Since screenshot predicates its representational function on the conventional understanding of its index/icon hybridity, circumstantial detail, while possibly distracting, contributes to the overall veracity and visual accuracy of such image. In other words, a mouse cursor or other elements of user interface captured in a screenshot might detract from its aesthetic quality but they highlight the desirable straightforward connection between the final image and the captured moment, suggesting that the only action taken by the creator of such screenshot was pressing a keyboard shortcut or a smartphone button combination.

The integration of screenshot functionality into basic graphic editors (Davison, 2014) facilitates the move away from a ‘screen dump’ toward images that build on screenshots. However, the process of editing such images weakens their connection to the represented on-screen situation. Some modifications, such as image cropping or simple highlighting, are arguably more trivial than others. Yet, the careful posing of characters in virtual worlds, observed by Book (2003), already exposes the user’s effort to create something more than a basic screen capture. The boundary between a screenshot and a transformative screenshot-based image depends not only on formal aspects but also on the context in which the image is presented. For instance, Frosh (2018: 63) discussed and showed a screenshot of a deleted tweet that was cropped to contain only the necessary information, such as the Twitter account, date, number of likes, and retweets. If the tweet had been captured using a standard screenshot function, it then had to be cropped (or alternatively it could have been taken using a snipping tool). These minor alterations, however, do not undermine the screenshot’s value as documentation of that specific tweet. The screenshot thus serves as evidence of its existence before deletion even though some of its circumstantial detail was removed. As I show in later sections, transformative screen capture practices intentionally remove (or otherwise modify) the circumstantial detail to embellish the image.

Authorship

Most authors of photographic screen captures and screenshots remain in anonymity, suggesting that these images are treated as technical communication of sorts (Kimball, 2017). Following this logic and the conventions associated with technical communication, the author’s identity is inconsequential to the image’s function as documentation. If the process of creation is as mechanical as in the cases of roentgen photography (de Abreu, 1939), photographic screen capture of computer-aided design (Allen, 2016), or many screenshots, including Frosh’s (2018) aforementioned example, it should not matter who is the person operating the photographic apparatus or pressing a button. While the on-screen situation might be unique to author’s interaction with the screen-based technology, such as setting a high score in a game (Gaboury, 2019a) or receiving a private Snapchat message (Chia et al., 2015), the creation of the image itself is a trivial task. As such, it can be automated as is the case of trophy screenshots on video game consoles, which by default commemorate predefined gameplay achievements upon their completion.

In academic publishing, the authorship of a screenshot is often disclosed to comply with copyright protection (Lastowka and Ogino, 2014). For example, video game screenshots are believed to be protected by the fair use doctrine (in the US legal framework) if they are properly labeled and displayed in a scholarly context. The question of authorship matters only because it legitimizes a partial reproduction of a copyrighted material. This legal concern does not turn ‘screenshotting’ into an authorial or artistic practice, it merely explicates that the creator of a screenshot is independent from the original copyright holder.

For Laposky’s (1969) Oscillons, his creative input during the process of photographic screen capture was arguably more significant than in the previously discussed examples. However, in this case, the composition of images using oscilloscopes and connected circuits constituted the core of Laposky’s artistic practice. In his own words, photographic camera only came into play as a tool for recording of Oscillons, not for their creation. As I show in the following sections, authorship becomes central to the function and cultural status of transformative screenshot practices, both in the form of institutionalized authorship of promotional screenshots and the artistic credit of in-game photography.

Transformative screenshot practices

Whereas general photographic screen capture and screenshots serve as a means of documentation, images captured from screens can also fulfill other functions. In doing so, they often reject the conventions of index/icon relationship and embellish or otherwise modify the original visual contents of a screen. In this regard, they can be considered transformative practices as they add to the otherwise mechanical act of screen capture and in consequence alter its meaning. While such images still maintain and often explicitly claim some connection to what has been displayed on a screen, they are no longer screenshots (or photographic screen capture) in the way these terms imply a transparent representation (Frosh, 2018) or unmediated capture (Gaboury, 2019b). By investigating the qualitative differences between these practices and screenshots, I intend to show the need for conceptual and terminological clarity, which can improve user literacy and professional best practices related to images originating from screens. To illustrate this point, I focus on two distinct types of transformative screen capture practices: (a) promotional screenshots, and (b) in-game photography, which is a subset of a broader category of artistic screenshots.

Promotional screenshots

The promotional use of photographic screen capture and screenshots dates back to the 1970s, when images from screens had to be captured using special apparatuses to achieve a desirable level of visual clarity (Allen, 2016; Gaboury, 2019a). In this context, photographic screen capture was considered a professional practice limited to people with access to the necessary equipment. In the video game industry, photographic screen capture had to compete with other visual materials for its place in official advertising. Game packaging regularly featured artistic impressions of main themes and general gameplay (Guins, 2014) rather than images of what the game actually looked like in action. Screenshots became more suitable for promotion as video game graphics became more advanced and detailed (Gaboury, 2019a). Although promotional screenshots are meant to represent a product or its part, they often sacrifice visual veracity in favor of visual attractiveness. The latter can be achieved by ‘doctoring’ of the final image, but also by changes to the underlying software itself that are not included in the consumer versions of the product. These modifications distance promotional screenshots from the screenshots captured in everyday use.

Due to this dubious claim of ‘representativity’, Christine Sprengler (2014) has likened promotional video game screenshots to film stills. Her argument applies to promotional screenshots in general. Historically, film stills were often taken on set but with a dedicated still photographic camera. As such, they were created independently from the cinematographic footage that appeared in the film (Jacobs, 2010; Van Parys, 2008). Film stills were preferred over frame enlargements of a film reel. While the latter could boast a direct indexical connection to the film, especially in the era of analog cinematography, it lacked the aesthetic quality and level of detail of a still photograph. Film stills still attempted to represent film’s stars, scenes, or sometimes an entire plot, but they followed the visual conventions of portrait photography (such as the relative sharpness compared to cinematography), further separating them from the actual film footage. Furthermore, film stills of classical Hollywood cinema were often heavily retouched, resulting in ‘hyper-realistic rather than naturalistic’ images (Jacobs, 2010: 380). Sprengler has observed a similar level of visual embellishment in promotional video game screenshots:

Those [screenshots] used for publicity purposes are often called “bullshots” because they misrepresent the aesthetic quality of the game in a way similar to how film stills exaggerate the drama of the film they are tasked with selling. By considering the screenshot in relation to the film still, we come upon their shared heritage of embellishment, if not outright deception. (Sprengler, 2014: 85)

In practice, the so-called ‘bullshots’ are achieved using a wide variety of modifications and postproduction tweaks. The specific tricks of capture artists and media editors, who are usually tasked with creating video game screenshots, have been covered by the specialized press (Plunkett, 2016, 2018). On a fundamental level, promotional video game screenshots may be created using assets, viewing angles, and compositions not available to players. The most prosaic modification is the removal of a graphical user interface (a prime example of circumstantial detail), which otherwise signals that the image has originated from a game. In a pursuit of aesthetic quality, promotional screenshots may strip away these features and weaken both the iconic resemblance and indexical connection. In the postproduction stage, promotional screenshots are further aestheticized by smoothing, retouching, or by adding visual effects such as weather. Their faithfulness is further undermined by the fact that many promotional screenshots are created during development. As such they represent an unfinished product, whose final form they only approximate. In this sense, promotional screenshots cause similar controversies as misleading trailers by showing features that might have been in the meantime cut from the released version (Švelch, 2017).

Although creators of promotional screenshots can only rarely claim public credit for their work, the authorship rests on the official production collective. This institutionalized type of authorship implies a specific agenda of showing a product (or service) in favorable light while complying with arguably vague advertising regulations. As a result, misleading promotional screenshots often widely circulate in the storefronts of digital distribution platforms, such as App Store, Google Play, or Steam, and in the press, regularly causing disappointment among audiences that take them for accurate representations. For example, in 2016, the British Advertising Standards Authority investigated screenshots (and trailers) on the Steam product page of the video game No Man’s Sky (Hello Games, 2016) after receiving complaints from consumers (Advertising Standards Authority, 2016). Although the agency has found no violation of its regulations, this case shows that creators of promotional screenshots leverage the fact that the vernacular use of screenshot functionality has become equated with unaltered and unmediated documentation and exploit the lack of digital image literacy among their audiences.

Artistic screen capture and in-game photography

The origins of artistic screen capture can be traced to Oscillons, even though Laposky thought of the use of a photographic camera only as an act of recording. While the tools for photographic screen capture were available for decades and screenshot functionality was introduced in the mid-1980s, artistic screen capture first became recognized as a distinct practice thanks to Matteo Bittanti’s and Domenico Quaranta’s book Gamescenes: Art in the Age of Videogames (2006). Bittanti had developed this project into a blog and later helped establish the term in-game photography (Bittanti, 2011). In-game photography was further popularized by the professional video game capture artist Duncan Harris on his website Dead End Thrills (see also Möring and Mutiis, 2019). Artistic screenshotting became more available to hobbyists with the introduction of video game photo modes. Especially, The Last of Us Remastered (Naughty Dog, 2014) has been seen as a turning point after which photo modes started to be regularly featured in major video game releases (Möring and Mutiis, 2019).

A part of this artistic turn is the deliberate use of photographic terminology, which implies a rejection of screenshot’s incidental aesthetic caused by the mechanical act of creation. In comparison, in-game photography emphasizes the deliberate authorial activity of image composition as well as postproduction tweaking. In-game photography is created using photo modes, advanced software tools, such as NVIDIA’s Ansel (Gerling, 2018), engine modifications (Möring and Mutiis, 2019), visual glitches, as well as analog photography and various experimental processes (Bittanti, 2018). Creators often replicate genres and conventions (portraits, landscapes) from other visual arts such as photography (Gerling, 2018; Möring and Mutiis, 2019). The inspiration taken from established art forms also involves remediation of their conventions, including the individualized authorship. In-game photographers, for example, create online portfolios to showcase their work. While these images might be accompanied by information about which game they originate from, the indexicality and iconicity of such image is often downplayed or actively subverted to prove the author’s creative input. Most visibly this is shown by the removal of graphical user interface, which is also one of the basic tools provided by most photo modes. Images created this way can then be leveraged as crowdsourced video game promotion, bridging the two categories of transformative screen capture practices. A large portion of in-game photography is not exhibited in art galleries and other established cultural institutions, but it is rather shared on social media, where it can contribute to a marketing hype. Publishers often solicit these user-created images via fan screenshot contests and display the winning pictures online as free promotional content (Švelch and Krobová, 2016). While promotional screenshots aim to downplay their transformative nature, in-game photography boasts the same creative aspect. Both discursive strategies show awareness of the dominant vernacular understanding of screenshots as documentation (Frosh, 2018; Gaboury, 2019b) and use it to best serve their specific agendas.

Conclusion

Frosh (2018: 62, emphasis original) has argued that ‘we almost exclusively “look through” screenshots to focus on what they depict, and almost never “look at” them to foreground how they operate’. In scholarly discussions, this approach is paralleled by the disinterest in screenshots as a self-sufficient cultural phenomenon. Instead, screenshots are used as a stepping-stone to talk about other issues. This is true also for Frosh’s chapter that investigates the contemporary digital culture and social media as sources of events that can be ‘witnessed’ by screenshots. As I showed, the way how screenshots operate as a means of representation is as important as their further applications.

In this article, I identified the properties that distinguish screenshot from the techniques that preceded it – photographic screen capture and photography more broadly – and those that have been facilitated by it – promotional screenshots and in-game photography. The documentational quality of screenshots was shaped by the conventions of visual representation remediated from photographic screen capture, which in turn form the dominant vernacular understanding of this practice. The standard form of screenshot (and photographic screen capture) is co-defined by presumed indexicality, but also iconic resemblance, wealth of circumstantial detail, and the lack of creative authorial contribution. These aspects become particularly salient in comparison to transformative screen capture practices. Promotional screenshots attempt to maintain (and claim) indexicality and iconicity but engage in exaggeration and embellishment for the sake of advertising. These modifications involve removing circumstantial detail and clearly assigning authorship to official producers of the advertised commodity. In-game photography discursively rejects the trivial and mechanical procedures of screenshot creation and highlights the author’s input, which manifests itself in the removal of circumstantial detail and weakened indexicality and iconicity. These signs of creative authorship are shared across in-game photography and promotional screenshots, although the former emphasizes them, while the latter attempts to disguise the enhanced visuals as accurate representation.

By explicating the differences between screenshots and transformative practices, this article develops an analytical framework that can be used to improve critical literacy as well as practical use of screenshots in academic writing and other contexts. The specific conditions under which these images were captured or created matter and their supposed transparence overlooks the fact that they are as malleable as digital photographs. Scholars should therefore be careful when treating or presenting ‘screenshots’ as evidence. In practice, this critical literacy can be promoted by providing additional information about screenshots both when they are created for the sake of documentation and when they are adapted from other sources. A detailed disclosure about the employed tools and modifications or an acknowledgment that the circumstances under which such image was captured are unknown can help communicate that screenshots’ truthfulness should be questioned rather than taken for granted.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

The author wants to thank Alexandra Polownikow for her intellectual contribution to the earlier versions of this article and Jaroslav Švelch for his comments and suggestions. The author also wants to thank the two anonymous reviewers for their helpful and inspiring feedback.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This publication is the outcome of the project ‘Reinventing Photography: Remediation Techniques from the Perspective of Media Archaeology’ that was supported by the Ministry of Education, Youth and Sports of the Czech Republic – Institutional Support for Longterm Development of Research Organizations – Academy of Performing Arts in Prague in 2019.

ORCID iD

Jan Švelch

Notes

References

2K Boston and 2K Australia (2007) BioShock. Cambridge, MA: 2K Games.

Advertising Standards Authority (2016) Valve Corporation and Hello Games Ltd. ASA. Available at: http://www.asa.org.uk/rulings/valve-corporation-and-hello-games-ltd-a16-351045.html (accessed 11 June 2020).

Allen

(2016) Representing computer-aided design: Screenshots and the interactive computer circa 1960. Perspectives on Science 24(6): 637–668.

Bainbridge

(2010) The Warcraft Civilization: Social Science in a Virtual World. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Bittanti

(2011) Interview: Kent Sheely’s videogame photography, between documentation and experimentation. Gamescenes. Available at: https://www.gamescenes.org/2011/11/interview-kent-sheelys-videogame-photography-between-documentation-and-experimentation.html (accessed 11 June 2020).

Bittanti

(2018) Interview: Gareth Damian martin: The aesthetics of analogue game photography. Gamescenes. Available at: https://www.gamescenes.org/2018/04/interview-gareth-damian-martin-the-aesthetics-of-analogue-game-photography.html (accessed 11 June 2020).

Bittanti

Quaranta

(2006) Gamescenes: Art in the Age of Videogames. Monza: Johan & Levi.

Boellstorff

Nardi

Pearce

, et al. (2012) Ethnography and Virtual Worlds: A Handbook of Method. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Bolter

Grusin

(2000) Remediation: Understanding New Media. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

10.

Book

(2003) Traveling Through Cyberspace: Tourism and Photography in Virtual Worlds. ID 538182, SSRN Scholarly Paper. Rochester, NY: Social Science Research Network.

11.

Chen

Y-Y

Bentley

Holz

, et al. (2015) Sharing (and discussing) the moment: The conversations that occur around shared mobile media. In: Proceedings of the 17th international conference on human-computer interaction with mobile devices and services, MobileHCI ‘15, Copenhagen, 25–28 August 2015, pp. 264–273. New York, NY: ACM.

12.

Chia

AY-S

Bandara

Wang

, et al. (2015) Protecting against screenshots: An image processing approach. In: 2015 IEEE conference on computer vision and pattern recognition (CVPR), Boston, MA, 7–12 June 2015, pp. 1437–1445. New York, NY: IEEE.

13.

Copeland

Haeff

Gough

, et al. (2017) Screen history: The Haeff memory and graphics tube. IEEE Annals of the History of Computing 39(1): 9–28.

14.

Davison

(2014) Because of the pixels: On the history, form, and influence of MS paint. Journal of Visual Culture 13(3): 275–297.

15.

de Abreu

(1939) Collective fluorography. Radiology 33(3): 363–371.

16.

Doane

(2007) The indexical and the concept of medium specificity. Differences 18(1): 128–152.

17.

Frosh

(2018) The Poetics of Digital Media. Medford, MA: Polity.

18.

Gaboury

(2018) The random-access image: Memory and the history of the computer screen. Grey Room Winter 2018(70): 24–53.

19.

Gaboury

(2019a) Screen selfies and high scores. In: Fotomuseum Wintertuhr. Available at: https://www.fotomuseum.ch/en/explore/still-searching/articles/156298_screen_selfies_and_high_scores (accessed 11 June 2020).

20.

Gaboury

(2019b) Screenshot or it didn’t happen. In: Fotomuseum Wintertuhr. Available at: http://www.fotomuseum.ch/en/explore/still-searching/articles/156303_screenshot_or_it_didnt_happen (accessed 11 June 2020).

21.

Gerling

(2018) Photography in the digital. Photographies 11(2–3): 149–167.

22.

Giddings

(2013) Drawing without light: Simulated photography in videogames. In: Lister

(ed) The Photographic Image in Digital Culture. 2nd ed. London: Routledge, pp. 41–55.

23.

Guins

(2014) Game After: A Cultural Study of Video Game Afterlife. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

24.

HAL Laboratory and Pax Softnica (1999) Pokémon Snap. Tokyo: Nintendo.

25.

Hello Games (2016) No Man’s Sky. Guildford: Hello Games.

26.

Jacobs

(2010) The history and aesthetics of the classical film still. History of Photography 34(4): 373–386.

27.

Karlson

Iqbal

Meyers

, et al. (2010) Mobile taskflow in context: A screenshot study of smartphone usage. In: Proceedings of the SIGCHI conference on human factors in computing systems, Atlanta, GA, USA, 10–15 April 2010, pp. 2009–2018. New York, NY: ACM.

28.

Kimball

(2017) The golden age of technical communication. Journal of Technical Writing and Communication 47(3): 330–358.

29.

Kofoed

Larsen

(2016) A snap of intimacy: Photo-sharing practices among young people on social media. First Monday 21(11). Available at: http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/6905 (accessed 11 June 2020).

30.

Laposky

(1969) Oscillons: Electronic abstractions. Leonardo 2(4): 345–354.

31.

Lastowka

Ogino

(2014) Use of video game screenshots in scholarly publications: Recommendations from the digital games research association. DiGRA White Papers 12.

32.

Lesk

(1996) Digital libraries meet electronic commerce: On-screen intellectual property. In: Proceedings of the third forum on research and technology advances in digital libraries, Washington, DC, 13–15 May 1996, pp. 58–64. New York, NY: IEEE.

33.

Lowood

Kaltman

Osborn

(2018) Screen capture and replay: Documenting gameplay as performance. In: Giannachi

Westerman

(eds) Histories of Performance Documentation: Museum, Artistic, and Scholarly Practices. London; New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 149–164.

34.

Manovich

(2001) The Language of New Media. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

35.

Markham

(2013) Fieldwork in social media: What would Malinowski do? Qualitative Communication Research 2(4): 434–446.

36.

Moore

(2014) Screenshots as virtual photography: Cybernetics, remediation, and affect. In: Bode

Arthur

(eds) Advancing Digital Humanities: Research, Methods, Theories. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 141–160.

37.

Möring

de Mutiis

(2019) Camera Ludica: Reflections on photography in computer games. In: Fuchs

Thoss

(eds) Intermedia Games – Games Inter Media: Video Games and Intermediality. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic, pp. 69–94.

38.

Naughty Dog (2014) The Last of Us Remastered. Santa Monica, CA: Sony Computer Entertainment.

39.

Nylund

(2018) Constructing digital game exhibitions: Objects, experiences, and context. Arts 7(4): 103.

40.

Peirce

(1998) Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce, Hartshorne

Weiss

(eds). Bristol: Thoemmes Press.

41.

Plunkett

(2016) How a fake video game screenshot is made. Kotaku. Available at: https://kotaku.com/how-a-fake-video-game-screenshot-is-made-1660404535 (accessed 11 June 2020).

42.

Plunkett

(2018) How an official video game screenshot is made. Kotaku. Available at: https://kotaku.com/how-an-official-video-game-screenshot-is-made-1825763337 (accessed 11 June 2020).

43.

Polyphony Digital (2004) Gran Turismo 4. Tokyo: Sony Computer Entertainment.

44.

Poremba

(2007) Point and shoot: Remediating photography in gamespace. Games and Culture 2(1): 49–58.

45.

Reimer

(2018) Contextual cropping, collateral data: Screenshot methods for UX research. Communication Design Quarterly 6(2): 83–92.

46.

Rubinstein

Sluis

(2013) The digital image in photographic culture; algorithmic photography and the crisis of representation. In: Lister

(ed) The Photographic Image in Digital Culture. 2nd ed. London: Routledge, pp. 22–40.

47.

Shapin

(1984) Pump and circumstance: Robert Boyle’s literary technology. Social Studies of Science 14(4): 481–520.

48.

Soderman

(2007) The index and the algorithm. Differences 18(1): 153–186.

49.

Sprengler

(2014) Hitchcock and Contemporary Art. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

50.

Švelch

Krobová

(2016) Who is the note-worthy fan? Featuring players in the official facebook communication of mainstream video games. Replay. The Polish Journal of Game Studies 3(1): 81–100.

51.

Švelch

(2017) Exploring the myth of the representative video game trailer. Kinephanos: Revue d'études des médias et de culture populaire / Journal of Media Studies and Popular Culture 7(1): 7–36.

52.

Thelwall

Goriunova

Vis

, et al. (2016) Chatting through pictures? A classification of images tweeted in one week in the UK and USA. Journal of the Association for Information Science and Technology 67(11): 2575–2586.

53.

Van Parys

(2008) A typology of the publicity still: Film for photograph. History of Photography 32(1): 85–92.

54.

Wolf

MJP

(2000) Abstracting Reality: Art, Communication, and Cognition in the Digital Age. Lanham, MD: University Press of America.

55.

Zylinska

(2020) Perception at the End of the World (or How Not to Play Video Games). Pittsburgh, PA: Flugschriften.