ยฉ Mitch Epstein
Consistency Is What Breaks You
There is something in photography that makes people more uncomfortable than a lack of talent: consistency. Not quality, not style, not the single successful result. Returning to the work every day, even when there is nothing obvious to photograph or understand, is what truly puts many photographers in crisis.
Quality can be episodic. It can arrive through intuition or coincidence. Consistency cannot. It demands sustained presence and acceptance that most days will not produce memorable images, clear answers, or validation. This is precisely why it is often avoided, or disguised as a lack of inspiration, as if the problem were creative rather than practical.
In editorial work this becomes obvious. The projects that endure are not the ones that start strong, but the ones that move through opaque phases without stopping. There is always a point when the initial idea stops protecting you. At that moment, enthusiasm is no longer enough. What remains is the repeated gesture, the returning gaze, the decision to stay even when there is no immediate reward.
Many people confuse consistency with habit. In reality, it is the opposite. Habit numbs, whereas consistency exposes. It forces you to look when you would rather not, to decide when postponing would be easier, to remain inside the work without the excuse of exceptionality. That is where it becomes clear whether you are building something or simply waiting for the next favorable moment.
Daily discipline does not automatically make the work better. It makes visible what you are willing to sustain over time. After a while, you can no longer hide behind a successful image or a good intuition. What remains is what you continue to do when interest fades and no one is expecting anything from you.
Quality can impress for a moment.
Consistency determines what remains.
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.