Portraits of an Era

Dorothea Lange was beyond exhausted. It was a cold, rainy March morning in 1936, during the height of the Great Depression, and the photographer had been on the road for weeks without a break, capturing the plight of struggling farmers with her camera. Driving up a long stretch of California highway past fruit and vegetable fields, she was in a hurry to get back to her home just outside San Francisco. Near the town of Nipomo, she passed a hand-drawn sign: Pea Picker’s Camp. Lange considered stopping but didn’t. She had all the photos she needed for this trip, she thought. Then, 20 miles on, she turned back.

“I was following instinct, not reason,” Lange later wrote. “I drove into that wet and soggy camp and parked my car like a homing pigeon.”

Dorothea Lange was exhausted. It was a cold, rainy March morning in 1936. It was during the height of the Great Depression, and the photographer had been on the road for weeks without a break. She had been capturing the plight of struggling farmers with her camera.

Driving up a long stretch of California highway, she was in a hurry to get back to her home just outside San Francisco. Near the town of Nipomo, she passed a hand-drawn sign: Pea Picker’s Camp. Lange considered stopping but didn’t. She had all the photos she needed for this trip, she thought.

Then, 20 miles on, she turned back.

“I was following instinct, not reason,” Lange later wrote. “I drove into that wet and soggy camp and parked my car like a homing pigeon.”

Approaching with her camera, she found 32-year-old Florence Owens Thompson and several of her children living in a makeshift tent. Like thousands of other migrant families, Thompson’s had fled drought-stricken Oklahoma, desperately looking for work on California’s farms. But weeks of heavy rain had kept them from picking peas as they had hoped, and then frost had killed the crop. The family had no money, their car had broken down, and they were reduced to scavenging the frozen fields for scraps to eat.

Lange’s encounter with the family was brief. She took seven pictures of Thompson and her children, then left. But the impact of those photographs is still felt to this day, scholars say. Lange helped change the way people around the world viewed those who were suffering during the Great Depression, a decade-long era of global economic downturn following the U.S. stock market crash of 1929 (see “A Decade of Struggle,” below). One close-up shot of Thompson, eventually known as Migrant Mother, would become symbolic of hard times and human resilience. It’s also one of the most famous photographs ever taken.

“At some point it may have been . . . the most recognized photograph in the world,” says Linda Gordon, a Lange biographer.

She found 32-year-old Florence Owens Thompson and several of her children living in a makeshift tent. Like thousands of other migrant families, Thompson’s had fled drought-stricken Oklahoma, desperately looking for work on California’s farms. But weeks of heavy rain had kept them from picking peas as they had hoped. Then frost had killed the crop. The family had no money. Their car had broken down, and they were reduced to scavenging the frozen fields for scraps to eat.

Lange’s encounter with the family was brief. She took seven pictures of Thompson and her children, then left. But the impact of those photographs is still felt to this day, scholars say.

Lange helped change the way people around the world viewed those who were suffering during the Great Depression, a decade-long era of global economic downturn following the U.S. stock market crash of 1929 (see “A Decade of Struggle,” below). One close-up shot of Thompson, eventually known as Migrant Mother, would become symbolic of hard times and human resilience. It’s also one of the most famous photographs ever taken.

“At some point it may have been . . . the most recognized photograph in the world,” says Linda Gordon, a Lange biographer.

Lange was born in 1895 in Hoboken, New Jersey. At age 7, she contracted polio, which weakened the muscles in her right leg and left her with a lifelong limp.

“I think it perhaps was the most important thing that happened to me,” Lange said.

She said the limp made her more determined and more empathetic toward others.

As a teen, Lange took up photography during an era when few people had cameras. With no idea how to use one, she got a series of jobs in nearby New York City and learned from other photographers. Working with a portrait photographer taught her how to put people at ease when they posed in front of a lens.

At age 22, Lange moved to San Francisco, where she opened a studio and built a successful business taking portraits of wealthy clients. But in the early 1930s, the Great Depression changed everything. Lange lost a lot of business. Out on the city’s streets, unemployed men waited in long breadlines or at soup kitchens for food handouts. Following her instincts, Lange grabbed her camera one day in 1933 and headed outside.

That wasn’t a simple task.

“I wasn’t accustomed to jostling about in groups of tormented, depressed, and angry men with a camera,” she later said. Plus, Lange used a large, bulky portrait camera called a Graflex. Her small size and her limp made it hard to carry. Yet Lange kept conquering her unease to get back on the street—”to see if I can just grab a hunk of lightning,” she told herself.

In the summer of 1934, Paul Taylor, a professor who studied agricultural economies, saw some of her street photographs at a gallery.

“He had never seen photography that had the emotional impact of hers,” says Gordon.

That year, a California government agency hired Taylor to document the conditions of farmworkers. He took Lange with him as a photographer.

She saw firsthand the plight of migrants from Great Plains states who had fled the devastation of the Dust Bowl. During the 1930s, some 200,000 of them streamed into California looking for work. Jobs on farms were scarce and paid hardly anything. Then when the picking season was over, the migrants had to move on again in search of work, in an endless cycle.

Lange’s years of making people comfortable in front of a camera served her well.

“I think that she deliberately emphasized her limp and her slowness,” says Gordon.

Lange used the time to talk to her subjects. Getting them to relax into what she called their “natural body language” allowed them to let down their guard, Gordon says. The resulting images offered revealing glimpses into people’s everyday lives.

Lange was born in 1895 in Hoboken, New Jersey. At age 7, she contracted polio, which weakened the muscles in her right leg. It left her with a lifelong limp.

“I think it perhaps was the most important thing that happened to me,” Lange said.

She said the limp made her more determined and more empathetic toward others.

As a teen, Lange took up photography during an era when few people had cameras. With no idea how to use one, she got a series of jobs in nearby New York City. She learned from other photographers. Working with a portrait photographer taught her how to put people at ease when they posed in front of a lens.

At age 22, Lange moved to San Francisco. She opened a studio and built a successful business taking portraits of wealthy clients. But in the early 1930s, the Great Depression changed everything. Lange lost a lot of business. Out on the city’s streets, unemployed men waited in long breadlines or at soup kitchens for food handouts. Lange grabbed her camera one day in 1933 and headed outside.

That wasn’t a simple task.

“I wasn’t accustomed to jostling about in groups of tormented, depressed, and angry men with a camera,” she later said. Plus, Lange used a a Graflex. It was a large and bulky portrait camera. Her small size and her limp made it hard to carry. Yet Lange kept conquering her unease to get back on the street—”to see if I can just grab a hunk of lightning,” she told herself.

In the summer of 1934, Paul Taylor, a professor who studied agricultural economies, saw some of her street photographs at a gallery.

“He had never seen photography that had the emotional impact of hers,” says Gordon.

That year, a California government agency hired Taylor to document the conditions of farmworkers. He took Lange with him as a photographer.

She saw firsthand the plight of migrants from Great Plains states who had fled the devastation of the Dust Bowl. During the 1930s, some 200,000 of them streamed into California looking for work. Jobs on farms were scarce. They paid hardly anything. Then when the picking season was over, the migrants had to move on again in search of work. It was an endless cycle.

Lange’s years of making people comfortable in front of a camera served her well.

“I think that she deliberately emphasized her limp and her slowness,” says Gordon.

Lange used the time to talk to her subjects. Getting them to relax into what she called their “natural body language” allowed them to let down their guard, Gordon says. The resulting images offered revealing glimpses into people’s everyday lives.

In 1933, President Franklin D. Roosevelt began implementing a series of federal aid and welfare programs, called the New Deal, to pull the U.S. out of the Great Depression. During the summer of 1935, Lange started working for the Farm Security Administration, taking her camera throughout the Southwest.

While she sometimes traveled with Taylor or had a driver, Lange also went out by herself. She was alone on that day in March 1936 when she encountered Florence Owens Thompson at the Nipomo pea pickers’ camp. With her trained eye, the photographer zeroed in on the mother’s face.

“It is a face that is at once very stressed, lined,” says Gordon. “At the same time, it is a face of great beauty.” It belongs to someone who has seen a lot of hardship and yet has great strength, she explains.

For the final shot, Lange had two of the children tuck their heads behind their mother to highlight Thompson’s face. In that moment, Lange created Migrant Mother. It is more than just a photographic record of a subject in the field, Gordon says—it’s also a work of art.

In 1933, President Franklin D. Roosevelt began implementing a series of federal aid and welfare programs, called the New Deal. The programs were supposed to pull the U.S. out of the Great Depression. During the summer of 1935, Lange started working for the Farm Security Administration. She started taking her camera throughout the Southwest.

She sometimes traveled with Taylor or had a driver. Lange also went out by herself. She was alone on that day in March 1936 when she encountered Florence Owens Thompson at the Nipomo pea pickers’ camp. With her trained eye, the photographer zeroed in on the mother’s face.

“It is a face that is at once very stressed, lined,” says Gordon. “At the same time, it is a face of great beauty.” It belongs to someone who has seen a lot of hardship and yet has great strength, she explains.

For the final shot, Lange had two of the children tuck their heads behind their mother to highlight Thompson’s face. In that moment, Lange created Migrant Mother. It is more than just a photographic record of a subject in the field, Gordon says—it’s also a work of art.

Within days, the San Francisco News ran three of the photos along with articles about Nipomo. Already, Lange’s visit to the camp had prompted the state of California to rush food to the stranded migrants there. Soon other newspapers around the country published the photos. Through them, Americans came to see how some of those on the margins of society lived.

Lange continued to work. A number of her photos over the next few years captured people on the move—walking down long roads or piled into cars with all their worldly belongings. She made many images of sharecroppers—farmers who earned almost nothing working land they didn’t own. But along with struggle, Lange documented moments of ordinary family life, including kids at work and play.

Within days, the San Francisco News ran three of the photos along with articles about Nipomo. Already, Lange’s visit to the camp had prompted the state of California to rush food to the stranded migrants there. Soon other newspapers around the country published the photos. Through them, Americans came to see how some of those on the margins of society lived.

Lange continued to work. A number of her photos over the next few years captured people on the move. They were walking down long roads or piled into cars with all their worldly belongings. She made many images of sharecroppers—farmers who earned almost nothing working land they didn’t own. But along with struggle, Lange documented moments of ordinary family life. This included kids at work and play.

By 1939, the worst of the Great Depression was over. Lange left her job with the government a few years later. She continued working until her death at age 70 in 1965. Yet the photos she took in the 1930s remain her best known.

“I am trying here to say something about the despised, the defeated . . . the helpless, the rootless, the dislocated,” she wrote of her images from that time.

Foremost among them is Migrant Mother—the image of Thompson is so well-known, it has been compared to Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.

The photo’s power as both history and art remains undimmed over time, writes scholar Sarah Meister.

“It continues to resonate with struggles that persist in the world,” Meister says. “A single photograph can help anchor our understanding of the past—and [identify] a challenge we want to address in the future.”

By 1939, the worst of the Great Depression was over. Lange left her job with the government a few years later. She continued working until her death at age 70 in 1965. Yet the photos she took in the 1930s remain her best known.

“I am trying here to say something about the despised, the defeated . . . the helpless, the rootless, the dislocated,” she wrote of her images from that time.

Migrant Mother—the image of Thompson—is so well-known, it has been compared to Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.

The photo’s power as both history and art remains undimmed over time, writes scholar Sarah Meister.

“It continues to resonate with struggles that persist in the world,” Meister says. “A single photograph can help anchor our understanding of the past—and [identify] a challenge we want to address in the future.”