ยฉ Fan Ho
When an image works
There is a misunderstanding that runs through much contemporary photography, even when it is never named. The idea that all images should behave in the same way. That they should work everywhere, at the same time, under the same expectations as if there were a single way to say that a photograph has succeeded.
But images do not all ask for the same thing. Some are born to be seen immediately and consumed quickly. They sit comfortably in the flow, on the screen, in instant reaction. Others struggle there. They need to stop, to occupy space, to be looked at without haste. And then there are images that work neither immediately nor easily. They remain. They resurface later. Or they continue to resist.
The critical point comes when we expect a single image to do everything. To be fast and enduring. To hold both the feed and the wall. To work today and keep working tomorrow without losing anything along the way. It is often at that moment that photographs weaken. Not because intention is lacking, but because they are asked to carry more than they can sustain.
In editorial work this becomes very clear. I am not interested in whether an image works โin absolute terms.โ I am interested in where it works. For how long. And what it sacrifices in order to do so. There are images that win in the moment of reaction and end there. Others ask for time and stop saying anything if they are forced into speed. The problem arises when we no longer distinguish between the two.
Saying that an image was meant to be ephemeral does not automatically make it solid. Just as demanding that everything last does not make a body of work more serious. Intention does not protect. It only matters at the beginning. Then there is time, there is context, there is the space in which that image is made to live.
Perhaps the question is not whether a photograph passes a test. Perhaps the question is whether we are asking it the right test. And whether we are willing to accept that some images fail as soon as they leave the place for which they were born.
Understanding this does not simplify the work, but it prevents us from asking images to lie.
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.