ยฉ Hiroji Kubota
Value Is Not a Strategy
There is a difference between a book you can buy at any time and one that exists only for a specific period. It is not a difference of quality. It is a difference of nature.
A book that is always available is a product. It answers a question whenever it is asked. You can wait, postpone, come back when you are ready. Time changes nothing. The object is the same today as it will be in five years. Its existence does not depend on any choice you make now.
A book that stops existing as a possibility becomes something else. Not at the moment you buy it, but at the moment the pre-order closes. From that point on it is no longer an open choice. It is a defined object. It knows exactly how many copies exist in the world. It knows no more will be made. And this, over time, gives it a different weight. Not because it happened to become rare, but because rarity was already in the structure of how it was made.
We do not say this as a commercial strategy. We say it because it is what we have seen happen in almost eight years of working this way. The books and magazines we have published and declared sold out have not disappeared. They have become more present, not less. The people who have them treat them differently from how they treat something they could buy again at any moment. They keep them carefully, show them, lend them with attention. Because they know that copy is one of the few that exist in the world. And that no more will be added.
There is no formula for building value over time. But there is one necessary condition: that the object has a real limit. That the world knows how many copies exist. That no one can add more.
We have worked this way since 2018. Not because it is easier. It is exactly the opposite. We do it because it is the only way we know to make books that last.
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.