ยฉ Bruce Gilden
The Fear Behind the Lens
When it comes to lenses in street photography, the discussion almost always ends up being technical. 28mm or 50mm? Wide-angle or telephoto? But what rarely gets addressed is what truly drives these choices: fear. Fear of getting close, of being seen, of disturbing, of getting it wrong. The focal length then becomes a justification, a shield. We donโt choose a lens based on what we want to say, but on how much weโre willing to expose ourselves.
Wide-angle lenses are often associated with courage, but they can just as easily become a mask. Wide scenes, chaos, apparent energy. Everything inside the frame, very little inside the image. Itโs easy to fill space, but much harder to truly be in the scene. Without real presence, the wide angle only amplifies emptiness. In the same way, telephoto lenses are often accused of cowardice, when in reality the issue isnโt distance, but the reason behind choosing it. If itโs used to observe, compress, or abstract, itโs a conscious decision. If itโs used to avoid confrontation, then fear has already entered the image.
Even the 50mm, often celebrated as a โpureโ focal length, can become a refuge. A controlled distance, a correct photograph that works but risks nothing. A photograph that never gets it wrong and for that very reason, never questions anything. As an editor, I see this fear often, in images that are right but unnecessary, in photographs that seem chosen but are actually protected. The fear isnโt obvious, but you feel it in the margins, in the always-identical distances.
The problem isnโt which focal length you use. Itโs whether youโre using it to truly look, or to avoid getting too close. Photography doesnโt ask for aesthetic courage; it asks for honesty. And thatโs something no lens can replace.
To be continuedโฆโจโจ
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.
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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.