ยฉ Carolyn Drake
If I Can’t Find You, I Move On
As an editor I spend more time looking for photographers than you’d think, and I’ve learned that what almost never decides is the quality of the work: the difference between being considered and not is the material possibility of writing to you. I see a photograph in a show, in a magazine, scrolling someone’s feed, I try to track down the photographer, open the site and find three projects stuck seven years ago. I look for an email, can’t find one, I open Instagram and the bio is empty, no link, no contact line. Half an hour passes and I move on.
You only see your side, you take the photographs and hope something happens when you post them, and when an opportunity comes you recognize it. When an opportunity stops at the door because the door didn’t exist, you never see it. It’s the submerged part of search work, and no one tells you because whoever searches, simply, moves on.
This isn’t marketing, marketing means promoting yourself or building a facade. We’re talking about something else, about putting the minimum conditions in place so your work can be reached by someone who actually wants it: a visible email on your site, a site updated to what you’re doing now, a short bio that says who you are, where you are, and what you’re working on. It’s hours, not months.
Two sharp tests for this afternoon. Open your site in an incognito window, and within thirty seconds you should find a contact email, work from the last two years, and a line that says who you are, otherwise you have a structural problem more shooting won’t fix. Second test, more uncomfortable, ask someone who doesn’t know you to look you up online and write you an email, and if it takes more than five minutes you’ve understood which side of the table to sit on.
The part of the work that gets done shooting is enormous, the part that makes you reachable takes a few hours, and you’re investing zero in what decides whether the most important opportunities of your life reach those who can catch them.
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.