© Cristina Garcia Rodero
Self-Publishing Is Not a Game
Self-publishing in photography has become something everyone speaks well of, almost as a matter of principle. Total freedom, creative control, no intermediary between you and the reader. All true, provided you understand what you’re doing and how costly it can be to do it badly.
The problem isn’t self-publishing itself. The problem is when it becomes a shortcut to avoid editorial complexity, that is, the fact that making a book is not just sequencing photos, printing, and waiting for sales. There’s graphic design, paper choice, sequencing, text, format, binding. And then there’s distribution, where most self-produced projects run aground. You end up with two hundred copies in the basement and the realization that “publishing” and “circulating” are two very different things.
What works in self-publishing, when it truly works, is almost always a project with very clear ideas about three things: a small, deliberate print run; a coherent visual and material identity; and a distribution channel planned before going to press. Not a thousand copies made in hope, but a few copies for an audience that already exists. Not a generic book, but an edition with a precise reason for being in the hands of the person who receives it.
There’s also a question of honesty toward your own work. Self-publishing can be a serious editorial act, but it requires you to do, at least in part, what a publisher does, namely select, cut, structure, choose materials, proofread, and then handle communication and sales. If you don’t have the time or the will to do it well, the risk is that the book becomes the place where your photographic work looks weaker than it actually is. A bad book by a good photographer does more damage than an Instagram series.
Self-publishing isn’t wrong. It’s a tool that works when you use it knowing what you’re willing to learn and what you want to delegate. Improvising as a publisher with the enthusiasm of a freshly finished project is the fastest way to ruin both things: the project and the money you put into 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 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.