ยฉ Fosco Maraini
Commenting Means Taking a Stand
There is something I notice more and more often when reading comments, or rather, their absence.
Everyone looks, many read, but very few actually speak. And yet, it is precisely in the space of the comment that photography stops being consumption and becomes dialogue.
I write these notes as the editor of Eyeshot not to seek agreement, but to open a space. These notes are not meant to be โright,โ but to be engaged with. Even challenged. Especially when there is disagreement. Because photography grows when it is questioned, not when it is simply approved with a silent like.
Commenting does not mean defending an opinion. It means exposing yourself. Saying: this affects me, it disturbs me, it interests me, I donโt agree with it, or it forces me to reconsider something. Even disagreement, when argued, is a form of active participation. Silence, on the other hand, is comfortable but it builds nothing.
Eyeshot was not created to teach how to photograph. It was created to generate friction. To circulate doubts, different points of view, questions that do not have immediate answers. It is in that space that a way of seeing becomes sharper. It is there that technique stops being imitation and becomes a conscious choice.
It is striking how often discussion is pushed into the private sphere. Direct messages, personal replies, whispered opinions. As if speaking publicly were a risk to be avoided. But photography is already fragile enough. If we do not learn to discuss it openly, it remains trapped in self-referential bubbles that lead nowhere.
You donโt need to agree, you need to be present.
A comment wonโt change an algorithm, but it can change a conversation. And a conversation can sometimes change the way you look at images. Or the way you make them.
If Eyeshot has a purpose, this is it: not to offer definitive answers, but to build a space where it is worth asking questions. In public, together.
Marco Savarese
Editor-in-Chief
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marco Savarese
Marco Savarese is Editor-in-Chief at Eyeshot, the independent publisher he founded in Italy in 2018. He spends most of his year reading portfolios, judging the Open Call, and editing the magazine catalogue. The reading desk is open, and he takes one-to-one Professional Reviews from photographers working seriously on long-term projects.
Who Finishes Your Photograph
NOTE #210. A photo isn’t finished until it survives to where people see it. Paul Strand chose hand photogravure for Photographs of Mexico so the printed copy kept the tonal weight of his prints. Protect the tone to the end, or the worst medium decides for you.
What the Dark Does
NOTE #209. A face lost in shadow reads as underexposed, a defect to fix. Gordon Willis kept Brando’s eyes in the dark in The Godfather and held it against the studio. Before you rescue a shadow, ask what it does; if you can say it, you decided it.
The Place After
NOTE #208. Of a huge event, often only an ordinary place is left. In On This Site (1996) Joel Sternfeld photographed fifty banal American places where violence happened, each with a line of text. Photograph the aftermath, and let the line do the work.
The Photo Made Together
NOTE #206. Street photography teaches you to steal people; there’s another way. In Malick Sidibรฉ’s Bamako studio the youth chose how to be seen. Before you take someone, ask how they’d want to look, and make the photo together.
Write Your Own Rules
NOTE #205. The thing that improves you most isn’t a new camera, it’s a short list of your own faults. Tony Ray-Jones kept a notebook of orders to himself and it shaped Martin Parr. Write your three rules and keep them in your pocket.
Watch the Master Work
NOTE #204. You don’t learn from a master’s finished prints, you learn from watching them work. In 1962 Joel Meyerowitz watched Robert Frank shoot, quit his job that day, and picked up a camera. Watch the body, not the result.
The Work Before the Name
NOTE #203. The worth of a photo and the worth of the byline are two different things. Koudelka shot the 1968 Prague invasion anonymously as ‘P.P.’ and revealed it sixteen years later. Photograph what must be photographed even when no one will know it was you.
The Subject You Run From
NOTE #202. The strongest subject you have is the one you’d rather not photograph. Ishiuchi Miyako went back to Yokosuka, the occupied base town she was taught to fear, and made it her life’s work. Point the camera where it’s uncomfortable.