ยฉ Nan Goldin
The Diary You Let People Read
“The Ballad of Sexual Dependency is the diary I let people read.”
Nan Goldin wrote this in 1986. It is not a poetic declaration. It is a precise description of a method. The private diary is shown to no one. This, the photographs, is the public version. What enters the lens is her own life, not the lives of others observed from outside.
This is where the difference lies. The tradition of street photography is built on the invisibility of the photographer. You are there, you see, you shoot, you leave. The subject does not know, does not participate, has not chosen. It is an asymmetric relationship justified by the authenticity of the result. Goldin reverses everything. She does not photograph anyone in a situation she herself would not be willing to be photographed in. The ethical code does not start from protecting the subject, it starts from exposing herself. She photographed herself after surviving violence. She photographed her friends dying of AIDS. She documented sex, addiction, absolute vulnerability. Not as a witness. As part of it all.
This is not a model to copy. It is a position that forces an uncomfortable question: which side are you on when you photograph? Are you inside the scene or outside it? Are you risking something, or just collecting?
Many street photographers hide behind the lens. Goldin steps inside it. The photographs that come out are not observations, they are evidence of presence. Not documents of someone else’s life, but of a shared one. The difference is not technical. It is not a matter of focal length, distance, or decisive moment. It is a question of position: how much of yourself are you willing to put into what you photograph?
The most honest photograph is not always the one no one sees being taken. Sometimes it is the one where the photographer risked as much as the subject.
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.