ยฉ Jake Ricker
From Behind: Not Poetry, an Alibi
I say this as an editor, but also as someone who looks at thousands of photographs every year. When I come across an image taken from behind, the first question I ask myself is never โIs it beautiful?โ Itโs โWhy did you stay back there?โ
In street photography, photographing a subject from behind is often framed as a poetic, intimate, respectful, clean choice. I see it far more often as an elegant way of not truly entering the scene. A way to keep a safe distance without exposing oneself.
A back doesnโt look at you. It doesnโt challenge you. It doesnโt put you in crisis. It doesnโt force you to negotiate your presence in public space, and for that reason, itโs comfortable. Too comfortable.
When I edit a photograph taken from behind, the feeling is almost always the same. The photographer was there, yes, but with the handbrake on. They walked alongside the scene, not inside it. They chose the margin instead of the center.
From my perspective, street photography is not just observation. Itโs friction, itโs exposure. Itโs taking a position, even an uncomfortable one. When this is missing, the photograph becomes polite, correct, and harmless.
Letโs be clear, most photographs taken from behind are banal. A body walking away, a generic background, a layer of ready-made melancholy applied afterward. There is no tension. No risk. I donโt feel a real choice.
Great photographs taken from behind do exist, of course, but they are rare. Because in those cases, the back is not an escape route. It is a precise act, as in the cover photograph by Jake Ricker, where it carries weight, direction, and ambiguity.
For me, the problem is not the absence of a face. It is the absence of courage behind the frame. If a photograph taken from behind does not add complexity or pose a real question, then I do not consider it an aesthetic choice. I read it for what it is: a compromise.
And the street, seen from an editing table, is already full of images that have chosen the most comfortable path.
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.