© Hans Gedda
Human Rights, Don’t Look Away
Today is December 10th, Human Rights Day, and it feels like the perfect moment to talk about photography as a desire to tell stories, rather than as a matter of technique or moral duty.
I often think about how powerful the act of giving form to a story can be, whether big or small. When you photograph the street or work on a documentary project, what you are really saying is, “I want this moment to exist,” not to slip away like everything else. You don’t do it out of obligation; you do it because you feel that there is something there worth sharing.
On a day like this meant to remind us of rights, vulnerabilities, and the struggles of so many people around the world, photography becomes an invitation to look critically at what surrounds us. You don’t need to be in a war zone to make work that matters. A corner of a city, a family, a gesture of care or exclusion can all tell us something about the way we live together.
Perhaps the point is to keep using photography as a tool for active curiosity. To study, improve, and experiment not in search of the “right” photograph, but to find the most honest way possible to give shape to what you see and feel. Every project, every series, every image made on the street is a small piece of a larger narrative we build over time.
Today may be a good opportunity to ask yourself not whether your photographs are strong enough, but whether they truly speak about what you care about. Because when the desire to tell a story is clear, technique finds a way to follow. And that’s when photography stops being just an image and slowly becomes part of history and of the collective conversation we are all immersed in.
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 Sidibé’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.