ยฉ Antoine D’Agata
Out of Focus Is Not Out of Control
Most of the out-of-focus photographs I receive in portfolios are accidents. The photographer didn’t want them, didn’t choose them, doesn’t know what to do with them. They keep them because the moment was right and the sharpness wasn’t. Sometimes they throw them away. Other times they keep them with a sense of guilt, as if admitting they work meant admitting they can’t use their camera.
Then there are those who use blur as a filter. Applied afterward, in post, or chased with the aperture wide open on everything. The result is decorative. It softens edges, smooths the scene, gives it a cinematic feel. It’s pleasant to look at. It says nothing.
Antoine D’Agata does neither. Ten years of nomadism across Europe, Central America, and the United States before ever holding a camera with intention. When he started photographing, his body was already inside the places others would have observed from the outside. His images are out of focus because he is too deep inside the scene to control it. He built his photography on one principle: giving up technical control to stay inside the experience. “While shooting I try to give up technical and aesthetic control and focus on the existential considerations at stake.” The blur in his photographs is the physical trace of a presence that has given up the safety of distance.
The difference with Moriyama is revealing. Moriyama wants to photograph the gap between himself and the world. D’Agata wants to contaminate himself with the world. Both produce blurred, grainy, out-of-focus images. The result looks similar, but the intention is opposite.
This changes the question. The issue is not whether an out-of-focus photograph is acceptable. The issue is where that blur comes from. If it comes from an accident, it’s a mistake. If it comes from a filter, it’s decoration. If it comes from the fact that you were so deep inside the scene that you couldn’t control anything, it’s the most honest document you can produce.
Next time you find a blurred image in your work, before discarding it ask yourself: was I inside, or was I watching from the outside?
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.