ยฉ Garry Winogrand
The photo doesn’t remember what you felt
I receive portfolios where the photographer, before even showing the images, tells me about the scene. I was there at five in the morning, the light was incredible, that man walked by only once. They say it with a conviction that should belong to the photographs, not the story. Then I open the work and the photos give back nothing of what was described to me. They are correct images, sometimes even well composed, that convey none of what the photographer swears they saw.
It happens often. The photographer experienced something powerful, shot it, and when reviewing the images still sees the emotion they were carrying. The light they remember, the heartbeat, the tension of that moment. The problem is the image contains none of this. It contains only what the sensor recorded: shapes, tones, relationships between elements inside a rectangle. The rest is memory, not photography.
Garry Winogrand put it bluntly: photographers mistake the emotion they feel while taking the picture as proof that the photograph is good. It is a sentence worth rereading every time you sit down to make a selection. Winogrand photographed to discover what things looked like once photographed, not to confirm what he had already seen. For him the photo was an autonomous object, disconnected from the scene. If it did not work as an image, it did not work. The memory would not save it.
This separation is the hardest part of daily practice. It is not about technique, it is about judgment. Every time you defend a photo because you remember what you felt, you are judging the moment, not the image. And the moment is yours alone. Whoever looks at the photo was not there, felt nothing, sees only what is inside the rectangle. If what is inside is not enough, next time you go out to shoot try not to narrate the scene to yourself. Just look at the screen
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.