ยฉ Alex Webb
Printing Is Not Nostalgia
Every time the books arrive from the printer, I feel the same sensation. A mix of excitement, relief, and exhaustion. Itโs not just the satisfaction of seeing a finished object, but an awareness of everything behind it, the time, the doubts, the risks, the sacrifices. Every book that enters the studio carries with it a stretch of road already traveled, often without truly knowing where we would end up.
At the beginning of Eyeshot, we didnโt even have the money to print our first magazine. That publication exists only because someone decided to buy it, trusting something that still had no clearly defined form. Today we print books by major authors, but that feeling hasnโt changed. Because every project, even now, remains a leap into the void. This is how independent publishing works: itโs never comfortable, never guaranteed, never without consequences.
At the same time, looking at the world of photography, the same fact always strikes me. How many images we produce, and how many we actually print. We take thousands of photographs, view them on screens, scroll through them, share them, and then they disappear. Printing has become an exception, not a practice. And this profoundly changes our relationship with images. A photograph that is not printed remains light, easily replaceable, never truly confronted.
Printing, instead, forces choices. It forces us to slow down. To take a position. A photograph on paper cannot hide behind the scroll. It exists in space, it has weight, it demands attention. This is also why Eyeshot was born and continues to exist: to bring photography back into a real, physical, lasting confrontation. Not out of nostalgia, but out of responsibility.
Continuing to print books today is a difficult choice, economically, emotionally, humanly. But it is also a necessary one. Because if photography stops being printed, it becomes nothing more than a flow, leaving no trace. And every time we open a box freshly arrived from the printer, that feeling reminds me exactly why, despite everything, we keep doing it.
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.