© Elliott Erwitt
Staged, but Don’t Call It Candid
Street photography has always sold the idea of “I swear, it really happened exactly like this.” But if you look closely, a lot of what we call street photography today is closer to a set than to an accident. There’s a person placed where they need to be, a step frozen at the right point, a gaze into the camera. That’s not a problem in itself. The problem starts when we pretend it’s still innocent, when we use the word “moment” to cover up direction.
The masters who worked with posing never hid the pact. The person being photographed knows they are there, is often paid, sometimes repeats the same gesture several times until everything falls into place. It’s theater in the street, not stolen street photography. It’s a choreography that uses the sidewalk as a stage set. The image works precisely because it accepts this fiction, because it isn’t afraid of looking constructed.
What we often see today is a slightly cowardly middle ground. The photographer intervenes, directs, moves things around, asks “could you stand there?” and then presents the image as if it were a pure, snatched instant. The pose is there, but it’s disguised. The subject becomes an unwitting actor, and the viewer isn’t given the tools to truly read the scene. There’s no longer the frankness of portraiture, nor the risk of the candid.
From a publisher’s point of view, the question is simple and uncomfortable: how much of this is staged? Not to judge, but to understand what kind of book you’re making. If you’ve directed half of your images, maybe you’re not working with “life as it is,” but with your improved version of reality. It can still work, it can be extremely powerful, but it has to be stated. The problem isn’t posing, it’s comfortable ambiguity.
Maybe the most honest thing you can do today is choose the pact and honor it. Want to direct the street? Do it openly, take responsibility for the staging. Want to stay in the territory of the unposed? Then accept chaos, error, the moment that never comes back. In both cases you’re not making “more” or “less” photography. But if you try to keep a foot in both camps, you eventually risk losing everyone’s trust, both the people you photograph and the ones who open the book.
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.