ยฉ Tazio Secchiaroli
The Focal Length That Makes You Disappear
The short telephoto is already a statement of distance: with an 85mm you choose not to enter the scene, but the subject can still see you, recognize you, tell you no. Past one hundred and thirty-five millimeters this possibility disappears, and the pact breaks. Physical distance becomes invisibility, and invisibility changes the meaning of the photo even when the photo looks like street.
Rome, late fifties, Via Veneto. Tazio Secchiaroli invents the profession that will become paparazzo, works up close with flash in the face and the help of the brawls. One night in 1958 he photographs King Farouk overturning the restaurant table, and Ava Gardner caught by his flash while Walter Chiari lunges at him. Fellini notices, takes him on as a consultant, in 1960 La Dolce Vita comes out and names the character Paparazzo. The grammar is clear. To photograph those who do not want to be photographed, deliberately, as a trade.
That grammar did not die with him, it changed glass. When the long lens became accessible, in the seventies, the paparazzo no longer needed proximity: he sat across the square and made the same picture you would call a candid portrait. The pact is identical, the tool hides it. The long telephoto on the street is not distance, it is a back door.
When you reach for a 135mm on the street, the pact you are signing is Secchiaroli’s, only he knew it and you do not. The subject does not notice you, cannot turn around or shout at you. The apparent respect of distance cancels every possible response. The clean photo you bring home is clean because nobody could mess it up.
Before you reach for a focal length past 135mm on the street, ask if the subject could at least see you. If the answer is no, you have already chosen. The long telephoto denies the wide-angle that founded street by demanding presence. Keeping it is legitimate, but it must be said. Still calling it street is the real retouch.
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.