ยฉ Paul Fusco
What Publishers Look For
Most projects submitted for editorial consideration do not fail because of a lack of photographic quality. They fail earlier. They fail because it is not clear from where that work looks at the world, and why it should be published today, in that form, by someone other than the author.
A project is not a selection of successful images. It is a position that uses photography as a language. When I prepare or evaluate a submission, the first question is not about aesthetic coherence or the strength of individual shots. It is about necessity. Why this work exists. Why it could not have been made in another way. Why it cannot be reduced to a single effective image.
Many confuse a project with duration or quantity. They think that photographing the same place or the same subject for a long time is enough to produce meaning. But time alone does not build a vision. Without a clear position, a project becomes an orderly collection of images that do not yet know what they are saying, and a publisher immediately recognizes this indecision, because it emerges in the gaps between one photograph and another, not in the strong points.
Preparing a project for publication means taking on a responsibility that goes beyond oneโs own gaze. It means accepting that the work will be read without your presence, without verbal explanations, without indulgence. The project must stand on its own. It must already contain within itself the questions it raises and the limits it has set. When this happens, there is no need to convince anyone. The work finds its space because it is already structured to be read.
A publisher is not looking for confirmation, but for clarity. Not for works that function, but for works that know why they exist. And often the real work, even before submitting a project, is removing what is unnecessary, giving up images that are loved but useless, accepting that not everything that has been photographed needs to become public.
A mature project does not ask for attention; it sustains it.
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.