© Malick Sidibé
The Photo Made Together
Street photography teaches you to take people before they pose, to steal them without their knowing. It’s one way, and it works. There’s another that starts from the opposite: ask the person how they want to be seen, and make that photo together with them.
In the 1960s, in a Mali that had just become independent, Malick Sidibé opens a studio in Bamako and photographs the young people stepping out of colonial life. They arrive with what they hold dearest, James Brown records, sunglasses, a radio, even the motorbike they push into the room, and in front of the lens they dress how they like and choose the pose, while he photographs them exactly like that, the way they’ve decided to show themselves to the world. At night he follows them to the parties, where no one plays a part. In 2007 he becomes the first African to win the Golden Lion in Venice, for photographs in which no one was taken by stealth.
Look at what happens in those images. The people aren’t captured, they’re present, because they decided to be there and how, and that changes what the photo can say. They show who they are or who they’d like to become, and it’s a truth the stolen shot will never give you, because that kind of truth is handed over only by someone who chooses to hand it over.
I’m not telling you to stop taking street photos. I’m telling you the other road exists too, and that you often skip it out of laziness, because asking costs much more effort than shooting on the sly. The next time a person catches your eye, stop and ask how they’d want to be in a photo. Then make it with them, slowly.
A stolen photo says what you saw. A photo made together also says who the person is to themselves, and the two don’t replace each other, you’re missing half the craft if you can only do the first. Sidibé’s studio was full of people laughing, and you can still see it in the prints. They were there because they wanted to be, and that’s why those faces look back at you straight on, half a century later.
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 Sidibé’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.