ยฉ Lee Friedlander
Statement of Role
I am not a photographer.
I do not produce images.
And I do not believe that legitimacy in photography necessarily comes from the act of shooting.
My work happens after photography and around photography.
I operate on meaning, context, sequence, and editorial responsibility. I work with photography as a cultural language, not as an individual gesture or an authorial performance.
My role is that of an editor and critical curator.
I select, build, and place images in relation to one another. I make them public through structures that shape their meaning, their reading, and their impact. Books, magazines, and open calls are not neutral containers: they are devices that orient the gaze.
Through Eyeshot, I am not looking for โstrongโ images, but for conscious positions.
I am not interested in styles, but in responsible ways of seeing.
I am not drawn to the isolated image, but to the thinking that sustains it and to the consequences of its circulation.
I believe photography is never neutral.
Every publication is a cultural, political, and ethical position. For this reason, I consider publishing an act of mediation and care, not promotion.
My work is not about telling people what to look at, but about creating the conditions to ask how to look.
I do not speak in place of photographers. I build spaces where their work can be read with time, complexity, and respect.
I am not interested in occupying the center of the image.
I am interested in constructing the field in which images exist, circulate, and are understood.
This is my role.
This is where I operate.
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.