The National Gallery of Art’s exhibit “The Pre-Raphaelite Lens: British Photography and Painting” welcomed me with a depiction of two lovers embracing each other passionately. At first glimpse, I had difficulty deciding whether it was a painting or a photograph. If it were oil on canvas, how could that young woman’s hair look so alive? How did the artist portray the delicacy in her dress, the variegated hues of the flowers or the crudeness of the brick wall? Such accuracy was far beyond the imperfection of the human eye.

My first doubt about its medium was not a consequence of my inability to distinguish among different types of art, but proof of the painting’s success as a Pre-Raphaelite art piece. The Pre-Raphaelite movement, born in the 1840s, aimed to return to the “purity, sincerity and clarity of detail” in art by depicting the real world by “rejecting nothing, selecting nothing and scorning nothing,” according to 19th-century art critic John Ruskin. “The Pre-Raphaelite Lens” shows how such a realism can be achieved with photography and painting.

The exhibit begins with a selection of nature-themed photographs. Despite their excellence in lighting and contrast, their composition and subject matter were too crude and expressionless to evoke any emotion in me. Photographs are simply the printable versions of what our eyes see, and the paintings were “copies of those photographs,” according to the exhibit.

My discontent with the first part of the exhibition waned when I encountered Roger Fenton’s “View from Ogwen Falls into Nant Ffrancon” (1857) albumen print. Yes, it was another piece of nature photography. Yes, it was an image of rocks and a waterfall flowing down a hill. Unlike the rest, however, it had much more of a story to tell. The high-contrast depiction of the hill against the gloominess of the colossal mountains suggests that there is a world out there — a world to be discovered. The diagonal flow of the water down the hill towards a vastness is an open invitation by Fenton.

It was its untold story that drew me into Fenton’s piece, and in a similar way I was moved by Henry Peach Robinson’s albumen print “Fading Away” (1858): a young girl lying on her deathbed, her family accompanying her — simple and simply tragic. And yet, almost no sign of agony is evident in Robinson’s work. The figures’ stoic pose, lack of expression in their look — just like Hellenic sculptures —, the use of only natural light and the crystal-clarity of each detail gives the piece a poignant realism. Robinson does not make use of any dramatic or artistic technique, but tells us a story with honesty and sincerity. Some may be disturbed with a question: How come this subject matter can be depicted so utterly realistically? They may look for some glossing over of the realism. But for me, the obtrusive anti-Romanticism conveys the reality of a tragedy much more profoundly. It does not trivialize the subject matter by attaching too much maudlin drama.

As I walked through the exhibition rooms, I discovered something about what I like to see in art. I want the artist to tell me a story — if not, to make me tell a story. Visit the National Gallery of Art to see what you prefer. If you do, don’t forget to check out Julia Margaret Cameron’s “The Sunflower” and Lewis Caroll portraits. Who knows? Maybe the girl in those portraits was the influence behind Alice.