Practice makes perfect, so we’re told. As a lazy teen playing noisy guitar, I rebelled against sensible notions, such as being good with the instrument. No need to practise, then. Later in life, when I began to play the piano, times had changed. I understood the importance of practice, compounded by the indisputable fact that I wasn’t particularly good at it.

Making an Effort

Despite what some may say, street photography is not easy, and it takes years of determined, deliberate practice to make it look like it may be. Henri Cartier-Bresson’s quote that your first 10,000 photographs are your worst sits in eerie similarity to the odious Malcolm Gladwell’s assertion that one needs 10,000 hours of practice to achieve mastery. Weathered street photographers know that in any given year only a handful of photographs made will be special. I manage 10 to 15 true keepers each year, and if I am lucky, 1 of them will be a truly special frame. Of course, I achieve nothing if my camera sits on my desk, and I’m indoors playing the latest Spider-Man PlayStation game.

To practise street photography, one must walk out of the apartment door and become immersed in the world found there. Here, the street photographer learns by doing, by walking the many kilometres, wearing down the soles of the shoes, and by training the eye to see and the reflex to react. Commit to the practice of street photography, and whether rain or shine, throw the camera over a shoulder and get out there.

Building Experience

A musical instrument is practised before performance, whether alone or with a group. Issues are ironed out before taking to the stage. In street photography, the practice is done on the run. As such, all perceived failure can be treated as the product of practice. To critically evaluate the pictures after a day out photographing is a crucial way to learn what went wrong and to find the best strategies to correct it the next time. If a poor composition was chosen, how may it have been improved? If timing was off, would a quicker reaction, or a delay, have made for a better photograph? Was the shutter speed too slow? Was the aperture too wide?

New Horizons

With practice and review, such things become second nature, and some choices can be left to muscle memory. With repeated practice, the camera can become an extension of the photographer. Natural in hand and when brought to the eye – familiar and used without breaking concentration. Finding this comfort with the camera is made easier when beginning by choosing 1 camera and 1 fixed focal length. Familiarity with a camera avoids any fruitless search for dials or settings in the heat of the moment. Sticking to 1 focal length, the boundaries of the frame become instinctive. Even without the camera, I can intuit a 28mm frame.

As those rhetorical 10,000 worst photographs are slowly spent, so much can be learned by experimenting and practising on the street. Take chances, make bad photographs, if only to see the limits, or lack thereof, of a certain idea. There is no substitute for being present, with an innate curiosity watching life unfold and releasing the shutter when something feels interesting. Though it can be tempting to stick to areas of the city where success has been found, overcome that temptation to push outside the comfort zone and mix those happy hunting grounds with new horizons.

Growing Confidence

A vital benefit of practice I have found is growing confidence that pushes me out of periods of imposter syndrome. I have some experience, and yet, I still find myself struggling with the fear of not being good enough or the fear of confrontation. These anxieties are more pronounced when I have had a longer break from making photographs. After some afternoons out in the city, pushing myself to stretch the elastic of my comfort zone, I find the practice has given me back the confidence that leaked out, like the air from a bicycle tyre.

It would be silly to imagine that a camera can be left on the shelf for months, and then the rusty street photographer can hit the ground running. With some experience and a hiatus of over a decade, I can say without fear of contradiction that this isn’t the case. Street photography does take some figurative warming up. I would say it took about a year for me to exceed the level I had left behind before moving to Poland.

In microcosm, this works in much the same way on a daily basis. While it may happen, I don’t expect to make my best photographs immediately upon leaving the flat. It can take some time to build momentum and to find the rhythms of the street. Some days it is easier than others. One afternoon it may be chaotic, on another it can be prosaic. Finding and matching that pace can take a little practice.

Directions?

This feels like a lot to return to the simple truism that to get to Carnegie Hall, it takes practice. Or, in the case of street photography, we can think of the alliterative words of Magnum photographer Bruce Davidson when he described what it takes to make a great photograph: Passion, persistence, patience, and, I would add, practice.

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Cartier-Bresson, Meyerowitz, Webb, Winogrand: as exceptional as they are, they are unable to see the future, but they did learn to predict it. This talent for anticipation may be innate, an instinctive sense honed through childhood, but it can be learned. One only needs to study the patterns and rhythms of the street to develop an awareness that feeds an intuition that supports anticipation.

The Psychology of Anticipation

In the sense of street photography, to anticipate is to recognise a future moment to allow time to be in the right place at the right time to make the photograph. To do so means recognising patterns and predicting movement. Unique occurrences that unfold in the street are rare, so the photographer begins to unconsciously recognise cause and effect. Whether comedy or tragedy, an aggressive collision between 2 people will give rise to some drama. A missed bus sparks a commuter’s gesture of frustration. A child playing with a ball in a busy street? That ball is going to find its way under someone’s feet. The potential is endless; it only takes some experience to develop intuition and a gut instinct that something may transpire.

In a past issue of my newsletter, I wrote about the French concept of disponible, of being open and receptive to what might occur. Anticipation is an important part of this, letting one’s eye be open to all possibilities, waiting for something to happen and trying not to dismiss or second guess a situation. To notice and wait for development, attention to detail is key.

Honing Anticipation

Anticipation doesn’t come easy, though it can be learned and developed. As I have noted, a vital aspect is to become familiar with the patterns and repetition of the street. This is, to some degree, synonymous with understanding human nature and the behaviour, both rational and irrational, that we exhibit in public. Beyond that, though, it is helpful to learn to see beyond the obvious. A situation may seem run-of-the-mill, completely without interest, but then some small detail or action turns the scene on its head. So often something may catch the eye and the scene will not develop as one may hope. So what? What is lost? The photographer was attentive to the possibility that something may unfold, and in those situations when it does? Perfect!

It is crucial to pay attention. Elsewhere, I’ve written about staying alert when photographing in the street. Avoid podcasts, music, or anything else that may divert attention away from the street. Look for stories that may occur. See something and imagine what might transpire. In this way, one can be quick to make a decision and step into the space to make the photograph. While it may seem unlikely, a comparison can be made of Garry Winogrand’s photography with the paintings of his contemporary, Jackson Pollock. Both artists are at the centre of their art. Pollock literally stood on his canvas and dripped the paint. To view Winogrand’s photographs is to feel like you are in the midst of the frame. He was a master of anticipation.

Timing is Everything

Often, street photographers will talk about the importance of timing. Richard Kalvar often analyses a frame by imagining what it may have been a second before or a second after. Criticism of much of the mediocre street photography out there tends to rest on a frame made a fraction too early or a fraction too late. Considering a photograph made at 1/1000s, Joel Meyerowitz notes that in 1s, 1000 photographs could have been made. Was the one captured the right one? In the documentary, The Impassioned Eye, Henri Cartier-Bresson illustrates that oft-misunderstood decisive moment: oui, non, oui, non, OUI! Everything falls together in that fraction of a second, then is gone.

To predict and then catch that fraction of a second, then, is what anticipation in street photography is all about. Foreseeing and then positioning oneself for that optimal moment to trip the shutter – that moment of heightened emotion, action, drama, comedy, or irony. To spot things as they begin, then predict how they may transpire, how movement, action, gesture, and emotion will affect the scene – that is anticipation.

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In truth, candid street photography is not easy. It is a dynamic, stealthy practice, often beset with failure, that requires some nerve, even audacity, to be close enough, ready to fill the frame. The street photographer makes photographs without permission not to avoid accountability, but instead to capture the scene as they see it, unbothered by the presence of the camera. Provided they work with sincerity and empathy, there is nothing inappropriate or transgressive in making these pictures.

Thankfully, there are a number of subtle, illusory techniques used by the masters that can help the street photographer go unnoticed. Well, mostly.

The Misdirect

The irrational fear that stands between street photographers and opportunities for engaging and exciting pictures is that of being caught in the act and that trouble may ensue. Most often, when someone sees a camera, their response is one of curious suspicion. While it can happen, it is rarely anger. Nevertheless, once the subject is aware of the camera, the picture irrevocably changes.

By far and away the most popular technique in candid street photography, used by almost all of us, is the Misdirect, sometimes known as the Tourist. Last year, I was fortunate enough to stand on the Place de la République in Paris and, from afar, watch Richard Kalvar masterfully employ this approach.

In practice, it is simple. Approach the scene, for example, a couple in conversation, by pretending to photograph something else. Something beside, above, below, behind – it doesn’t matter. If the subject becomes curious or suspicious, step out to compose from a different angle on your pretend subject. Like the NPCs in a stealth video game, eventually the question mark that is metaphorically hovering over your subject will disappear, and then you can return for the shot when they are convinced they are standing next to an enthusiastic tourist.

The Misunderstanding

Similar to the Misdirect, the Misunderstanding also applies some creative sleight of hand or, I suppose, sleight of lens. The previous technique is most useful in situations when you are approaching a subject, whereas this one is effective when the subject is moving towards you.

Walking along a busy city street, you may see, for instance, a character dressed in a peculiar or visually arresting way. As he walks past, you raise the camera to your eye, compose and click… You remove the camera from in front of your face, wind on the film and are about to carry on, but this eccentric has decided to take issue with your photograph and give you a piece of his mind.

A clever, if cute, trick is to keep the camera to your eye for some time after the subject has passed. Most often, any suspicions raised by the presence of the camera are allayed as the character turns to see, in fact, the photographer they believed to be picturing them was in fact photographing something else. This technique is particularly useful for the beginner lacking in confidence, but is useful for all, particularly to avoid an unwelcome confrontation.

The Mistake

There is a video on YouTube and, one would imagine, saved to many a street photographer’s hard drive, taken from Michael Engler’s film, Contemporary Photographie [sic] In The USA. The extract is a short interview with Garry Winogrand as he photographs on the streets of what I imagine is Los Angeles. This video is both illustrative and instructive of this particular technique.

Watch the video closely, and one will see the famously kinetic and jittery Winogrand raise his Leica to his eye; before it gets there, he has composed the frame and released the shutter. Without missing a beat, he takes the camera from his eye, shakes his head, and feigns to make adjustments to the focus or the aperture, all the while the unsuspecting subject sees someone unhappy with their choices, or worse still, with a defective or substandard camera.

This particular approach is one that use often, however, it is not easy and takes an abundance of practice. One must learn to compose through the viewfinder as it is approaching the eye – one must, nevertheless, compose!

Later, in the video, in a nod to the Misdirect, Winogrand goes further when he makes a photograph of a subject who passes by, eyes locked on the photographer. Winogrand turns and follows the gentleman past, pretending not to see him, pretending to be looking at something else. It truly is a skilled performance.

The Mischievous

There are photographers, of course, who are less concerned with remaining invisible, feeling instead free and confident to make their presence known. Some use the camera to provoke a reaction from their subject. Unposed and still candid in nature, this style of street photography is, however, more aggressive. There are many ways to undertake this approach. Bruce Gilden, for instance, is famous for pushing boundaries and bringing his camera and an off-body flash very close to his subject.

There is, however, still technique. If you watch videos of Gilden on the street, he often carries his camera and flash with his hands crossed behind his back, bringing them forward to make the photograph only at the very last moment.

Though Gilden takes this approach to its extreme, there is a place for it in your street photography toolbox. Not every situation requires a quiet, unseen approach. Even if such an approach is preferable, it may be impossible, at which point the decision has to be made whether to dive in, come what may.

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The first article in this short series was titled Required Reading for Street Photographers and, with the exception of one salty contrarian, was well received. Those were books that I believe one must read for a strong start in the practice of street photography. As this series continues, I will list further recommended books that supplement or complement those already chosen.

Snaps – Elliott Erwitt (Phaidon. 2001)

Elliott Erwitt is often quoted as having said that all the technique in the world doesn’t compensate for the inability to notice. In this extensive collection, Erwitt provides the reader with a comprehensive demonstration of his exceptional capacity for noticing. Snaps is not only a great introduction to the photographer’s work but at the time of its 2001 publication, a sweeping retrospective. It’s astonishing how much work Erwitt has made since. The photographer’s distinctive, witty style is oft-imitated (not least by your author) but never bettered. Whether famous faces or public passers-by, the peculiar, the curious, and the humdrum all come alive in front of Erwitt’s lens.

Following Murray Sayle’s insightful introduction, the book opens with North Carolina, 1950, that of the segregated water fountains, one of Erwitt’s most enduring images. Over the next 500-or-so photographs, split neatly across nine one-verb-titled chapters, there are photographs of gesticulating presidents, Polish confessions, naked nudists, evocative emotion, disarming Americana, and a great many dogs. Everything one might expect from this master of photography whose work has been described as a study and celebration of life. Snaps is a perfect introduction to a wry, humorous, empathetic tradition of street photography and that is continued in our next book.

Earthlings – Richard Kalvar (Flammarion. 2007)

The conceit of Richard Kalvar’s first monograph Earthlings is that the photographs are a view of human beings as an alien race. As Kalvar himself says, it is almost as though he had come from another planet to observe the Earthlings and the strange situations in which they find themselves. I spent some time in Paris with the photographer last year and it was a formative, decisive experience for me, at the time a year only since returning to the practice of street photography. Particularly as, in my own photography, I share his proclivity for odd situations and the connections, expressions, gestures, and emotions that leak from them.

Kalvar often talks about the French word, disponible. To the photographer, it translates to being open and ready to photograph. This is how he makes his work, receptive to the unknown and the unforeseeable. As the reader pages through this collection of 88 photographs, they find that each tells or implies small dramas playing out within the 4 walls of their rectangles. At capturing these, Kalvar is a master and Earthlings is his magnum opus (if you may excuse the rather obvious and unintentional pun). This book, the photographs within, and the loose concept binding it all together have had a profound effect on my return to photography so it would be remiss of me not to recommend it somewhat early in the series.

Glasgow – Raymond Depardon (Seuil. 2016)

43 years ago, just over a year after I was born in sleepy Bellshill, The Sunday Times brought French photographer Raymond Depardon 15 miles from me to photograph both the rich and the poor of Glasgow. Finding the more affluent citizens of the city less interesting, Depardon wandered the poorer areas of the city and made some of the most striking photographs of the nation’s second city. The Times chose not to publish and the photos were confined to a box for decades until uncovered for an exhibition of the photographer’s colour work. In 2016, the photographs were collected together for the first time in a book published by Seuil. Glasgow by Raymond Depardon is staggering.

My early memories of Glasgow are over a decade later and though a lot had changed, much had not. I remember areas south of the river, or in the east end that even in the 90s had not seen any appreciable improvement. In Airdrie, my home town, 15 miles to the east, there were areas of great affluence and those of great poverty. To that degree, the town was a microcosm of the city. Depardon’s photographs, then, have great nostalgic appeal, but, they are also astonishing, empathetic pictures of a proud and determined people.

It is in Depardon’s photographs of the Glaswegian children, however, where the collection comes alive. The vivid pink of a little girl’s dress, or a luminous blown bubble of gum, artfully set against the steel grey concrete sky of Glasgow speaks to the playful warmth, and curious nature of the city’s young. This is the epitome of empathetic street photography.

Street Photography and the Poetic Image – Alex Webb and Rebecca Norris-Webb (Aperture. 2014)

I was slow to appreciate the compositional and serendipitous majesty of Alex Webb’s street photography. Though I didn’t ignore colour street photography, my preference was for black and white pictures and as I began to make photographs of my own, I concentrated on reading the photographers working in monochrome. When I felt comfortable in my own black-and-white practice, I started to spend more time with books by Martin Parr, Harry Gruyaert, and the aforementioned Alex Webb. Of course, it was through Mr Webb that I discovered Mrs Webb, or more accurately Rebecca Norris Webb – the pair, of course, creative as well as romantic partners for many years. In 2014, the pair wrote this book for Aperture, the second of the publisher’s Photography Workshop series.

This is an enjoyable, thoughtful wander through the poetic possibilities of street photography. Chapters in the book are short and informative, and it isn’t always clear if the text accompanies the photographs, or if the pictures illustrate the text which makes the reading even more entertaining and educative. As one may expect from Aperture, the photographs are well-presented and the colours are as vivid as hoped. For beginners, one might better suggest Matt Stuart’s book, however, Webb and Norris Webb occupy different creative niches within street photography so the more oblique advice that emerges from their individual perspectives on their respective practices complement one another so well, especially if the reader comes to the book with an existing appreciation of their work.

Street Philosophy of Garry Winogrand – Geoff Dyer (University of Texas Press. 2018)

Garry Winogrand is the only name in this list to be seen, explicitly, in the first of this series, appearing as he does in the New Documents, 1967 book I chose as required reading. Nevertheless, he has such a profound and lasting effect on what is now considered classic street photography that I felt it was fitting to include him again. This time, a book modelled on John Szarkowski’s collection of photographs by Atget. This is a notable collection of 100 photographs spanning the photographer’s career, some unseen before publication, accompanied by a perspicacious critical essay by writer, Geoff Dyer.

Despite the title, if one is expecting a pedagogic analysis of Winogrand’s stated philosophy of street photography then one is destined to be disappointed, and while that is what I originally hoped for, I nevertheless came away happy that Dyer let loose with his own playful, enthusiastic interpretations of Winogrand’s work. Winogrand’s famous quote that he photographed to find out what something would look like photographed is as transparent as his philosophy was. I’m not even sure Winogrand often understood what drew him to his subjects, so it is a tough ask to expect Dyer to know. Nevertheless, the essays that accompany 100 photographs from Winogrand’s extensive archive provide enough analysis, interpretation, and creativity to spark both motivation and inspiration in equal measure.

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In On Reading, a concise collection of photographs by André Kertész, there is a picture made in The Bowery, New York City, on December 8th, 1960. Two men stand a few feet apart, each reading a newspaper. This picture, however, is all about the faces.

In the background, a man peers down at his pages, lying on a windowsill, in deep concentration. We can never know what he is reading. With his fingers carefully following the lines of the page, perhaps he is skimming the sports results or racing odds. In the foreground is his companion – do they even know each other?

This other gentleman has an enigmatic look, his face contorted. At first, it seems like mirth, but looking closer, one wonders if it is anger. Frustration? Disgust? In a book full of people reading, this photograph leaps out for the expressions on the faces of the subjects.

The Expressive Face

In a previous life, I was an instructor and coach for public speakers, most notably working with TEDxWarsaw. I taught my students that both facial expression and eye contact are vital cogs in the gears of good communication. To illustrate, I used photography to show how much we give of ourselves through our faces.

The expressive face is ubiquitous in the annals of street photography. I chose a photo by Kertész – Cartier-Bresson, Frank, Winogrand, and Erwitt get plenty of love around my little corner of the internet – but I could have chosen a picture by any street photographer of any worth from the invention of photography to date. The quickening pulse of the metropolis can be read in the emotions found on the faces within street photography. The masters of street photography are skilled at anticipating moments of expression, whether joy, contemplation, melancholy, or heartbreak. A key practice to make better street photography, then, is to master the art of capturing expression and to do so, one must learn to see.

Those with interesting, weathered faces make fruitful subjects, though, as Bruce Gilden often warns, those who work too hard to be seen as a character make poor subjects. Too often, this brings an evident artifice to the picture. Set aside from the pretenders, true characters stand out.

Authenticity

Though others may capture expressive faces in street portraiture with the explicit involvement of their subject, awareness of the camera forever changes the picture. Those in front of the unblinking lens interact with it whether they realise it or not. Clothes are smoothed, hair is tidied, posture is straightened, and most damaging of all, the expression on the face changes from one of unaffected emotion to a peculiar, uncanny simulacrum of what is inferred to be expected.

Instead, the street photographer may practice anticipation. To capture authentic, true emotion in the street, timing is everything. Emotion can be fleeting; such moments are ephemeral. Often, an ebullient smile, a gesture of love, a withering glance, or a flash of anger can pass between people before a camera can be brought to the eye. It takes experience to see the potential in a moment and to idle around, in plain sight, waiting for the moment and click.

Eye Contact

The ultimate expression of connection and communication is, of course, eye contact. More timid or less experienced, street photographers may be afraid of eye contact. If the subject looks down the barrel of the lens, they will recognise their photograph has been taken and there may be a confrontation. That is a risk, though it is a small one. We can assume the worst in others, and it may lead us to have irrational fears. Most often, nothing will be said. If something is mentioned, it will be curious to begin and then amiable. Only a few may react in an inappropriate manner, and though it is good to be prepared for this, it should not be expected. The best way to avoid aggravation is to smile and be open.

Eye contact, though, is often the cherry on top of an otherwise strong photograph. The expression read on the face, whether an amused smile or a look that could kill, is not directed at a third party; instead, there is a connection to the reader of the photograph, which adds intensity to the emotion felt when reading.

With a camera and the world outside the front door, street photography is easy to do. It is, however, not easy to do well. The art of capturing expressions of a spectrum of emotions on the faces of one’s subjects shortens the odds of making excellent work and standing above the average, humdrum street photography out there.

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Cons. Chucks. Hi-tops. Gutties. Whatever you call them, Converse Chuck Taylors have long been my favoured flavour of footwear, beating Adidas Samba to the finish by the width of only a shoelace. While great footwear for hanging around a record label office (read: various kitchens over the years), or throwing oneself chaotically around a stage, Chucks aren’t ideal for hours of walking.

In 2017, to celebrate Magnum’s 70th anniversary, the agency published a collection of advice from its photographers. Paraphrasing a tip from Abbas contained within, it was titled Wear Good Shoes. Since setting back out onto the streets, my Chucks have been relegated to the cupboard, making the occasional outing when I photograph a music show or two. Instead, I’ve spent the last few years experimenting with other shoes, some suitable for 5 or 6 hours spent on my feet.

Worth Every Penny

As photographers, we often spend a lot of time daydreaming about the money we will spend on this lens or that. We imagine what camera body we might buy to make our lives that little easier. It is rare that we will consider the shoes we buy as part of our budget for gear. If, like me, street photography is where we have decided to concentrate, and we hope for longevity, then taking care of our feet is vital and spending a few quid to buy decent footwear is worth every penny.

The first and most important consideration when deciding what to walk around in with a camera in hand is, of course, comfort. Having worked for years in music retail before ever lifting a camera to my eye, I knew how important comfortable shoes are. Spending hours on end standing, often standing still, in the wrong shoes can be tough. To endure long hours in the city without ever thinking of any pain or fatigue, for street photography, getting into something with comfortable padding and an insole with good support and a good fit is vital. Something weatherproof is recommended for the autumn and winter months.

Quickly and Often Quietly

Mobility is next. Light, slim shoes are preferable to anything with bulk. On the street, one needs to move quickly and often quietly. This becomes more difficult when plodding around in colossal hiking shoes. Shoes that squeak should also be avoided. Picture yourself inching closer to a subject to make a shot while all the time a shoe is shouting eh-eee, eh-eee. Stealth, it is not. While on the subject, the colour, as with most street photography clothing, should be inconspicuous. Black or dark colours are preferable.

I began my journey with a first step towards my favoured sports brand, Adidas. I started with some classic Sambas, but while good for a kick-about, they weren’t great for walking. Since then, on good recommendation, I’ve worn through 2 pairs of Adidas Lite Racer shoes. More recently, though, I have been wearing the comfortable Allbirds shoes; however, since the company has gone bananas and inexplicably pivoted to AI, I’ll be going back to Adidas when it comes time. Whatever you buy, though, keep in mind the need for comfort and mobility, and as Abbas suggests, wear good shoes.

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Nestling underneath my spasmodic impostor syndrome, I am told I have the particular affliction of being far too hard on myself. The practical upshot of this, of course, is that photographs good enough to make my edit don’t. I see this as net positive as it weeds out weaker photographs. My family and friends are less keen as it does so to a fault, and some good work is left on the cutting room floor. Reviewing past work is a valuable step to include in a workflow as it has benefits that stretch beyond finding one or two missed photographs.

Hidden Gems and Untold Stories

A rewarding, comprehensive rummage through the archive of negatives of old can offer a mine of potential hidden gems or stories left untold. When shooting on film, it is common to make a photograph that heightens the anticipation of developing the roll, only to be disappointed by the result afterwards. Our immediate emotional response to the picture threatens to shroud what is good and only show the imperfection. With the benefit of time, reevaluating old photographs allows the frame to be looked upon with fresh, less critical eyes, and we can then avoid the perfect being the enemy of the good.

Over time, the personal, societal, or political significance of a picture may evolve. An ironic visual comment on the pandemic, thought of as too close to the bone in 2021, may now, in 2023, with temporal distance, seem more wry and appropriate. Time can lend new context that breathes life and a renewed affection to a once discarded photograph.

Artistic Growth and Learning from Past Mistakes

When I look at my first film photographs, shot on Tri-X with a Zenit TTL in the snowy Warsaw winter of 2021, two things are apparent. I was rusty after more than a decade’s absence from serious photography, and it was clear I didn’t appreciate the technical differences set between digital photography and making photographs on film.

In poking around those early folders of negatives and photographs, it is remarkable to see my journey from a film newbie to the photographer I am now. Recognise that artistic growth is of particular use when in a rut. We find the gutters from the past and accept that we fall into them for a while, but then we overcome them in a new burst of creative energy, and that is heartening. Measuring pictures from months or years ago with those of more recent times is also an active way to learn from past mistakes. Honest criticism of past work shows what to avoid in the future.

Gaining a Fresh Perspective and Inspiration for New Projects

Early in 2022, I began a long-term project directing my camera at the fans and subculture of motorcycle Speedway. My initial trips to the UK to photograph Speedway meetings were a mixed bag, and my time spent in the pits at the Warsaw Grand Prix was a strong experience but photographically mediocre. As the project was not progressing the way I had hoped, my enthusiasm waned and the Speedway season came to an end. In 2023, my life changed. I left my job, returned to school, and out of necessity, I placed the project on hiatus.

Since the pause, I have taken time to retrace my steps and see what was successful and what didn’t work. My time in the pits photographing the riders, crew, and track marshals, that was successful. My photographs of the supporters around the race grounds were less so, in particular those at the Grand Prix at Warsaw, with less opportunity to walk among the fans. A review of these photographs has shown those that work as stand alone images, and has given fresh perspective into the possibilities of such a project, and what I need to do, to make it successful. In much the same way, a recent return to photographs from 2007/09 has pointed me in the direction of a possible new long-term project, one that I may not have considered without the trigger of past work.

Appreciating the Journey

As a street photographer, taking the time to rest and revisit older photographs allows a valuable beat to reflect and appreciate the work made so far. Taking a moment to consider the changes in our creativity, our process, and how we now see is integral to enjoying the creative journey we are on. Moreover, looking at past work engenders a sense of nostalgia for the situations we found ourselves in, evoking the contemporaneous state of mind and memory of what sparked the desire to make the photograph. With distance, reviewing past work allows us to evaluate how all of this has informed the photographic path we now take.

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In the 3 years since I left the indie music industry and returned to photography, my library of photo books has steadily grown. Much to my partner’s dismay, it now occupies 5 squares of Ikea’s Kallax, and is expanding. Oh, Marta supports the library. It’s the Kallax she despises. New, bespoke shelving coming soon, I think. I have replaced many of the books I once let go, and I have acquired many others, and have no intention of stopping. Some are monographs, others are collections. Some are practical, others are philosophical. All are vital resources in improving as a photographer.

A Required Reading, not The Required Reading

In a recent, compelling conversation online, an opportunity arose to recommend some photo books. I offered a number of apposite suggestions. In doing so, I considered the photo books that street photographers must read. Required reading, if you will. In much the same manner that Simon Schama named his acclaimed television documentary series, A History of Britain, to indicate the subjective nature of his story, and that there are many other histories of Britain, entirely dependant on who you ask. This, then, is A Required Reading List for Street Photographers. Likely the first of many.

As I continue my studies, specifically on photography and art criticism, I will return to each book for a deeper dive, however, for now a brief guide to likely the first part of my required reading list for street photographers.

The Americans – Robert Frank (Delpire. 1958)

To write of Robert Frank’s collection of 83 photographs made while traveling across America in 1955/56, it is an effort not to tumble into a bad Kerouac imitation, writing as he does, with free-form poetic vigour, in the book’s introduction. The Americans received severe criticism on its publication. The contemporary magazine, Popular Photography, expressed contempt for its meaningless blur, grain, muddy exposures, drunken horizons and general sloppiness. As an outsider, the Swiss photographer’s pictures held a mirror to the complex, nuanced myth of American exceptionalism, and many did not like what they saw.

Photographing with a Leica iiif, Frank was able to be so unobtrusive as to be invisible. Shooting on Tri-X and Plus-X, high speed for their time, he was able to take creative chances. With The Americans, Frank fractured the formality of the incipient practice of street photography, its trunk splintering with each frame, throwing shards of technical imperfection and unconventional form to pierce through the street photography of the next 65 years. With them, fly fragments of fascination, suffering, wry wit and observation, and of manifest empathy. To study The Americans is to take a formative step for any street photographer.

Read The Americans at the OpenLibrary through the Internet Archive

Henri Cartier-Bresson’s Scrapbook: Photographs 1932–1946 (Thames and Hudson. 2007)

The story of French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson’s Scrapbook is almost as legendary as the photographs themselves. During the war, the Museum of Modern Art in New York, believing the photographer had perished in a German prison, began to assemble a posthumous retrospective. Upon escaping his internment Cartier-Bresson was dismayed to discover he was dead, and delighted to learn of his retrospective, so much so he resolved to curate it himself. As a Surrealist, I imagine he revelled in the absurdity of it all. After the war, Cartier-Bresson travelled to New York with a number of prints, bought a beautiful, ornately decorated scrapbook, and created an album to be presented to MoMA. The exhibition was, of course, a success.

The photographs found in the scrapbook are restored with great care by the Fondation Henri Cartier-Bresson and are bound in a faithful recreation of the cover of the original scrapbook. Figuratively glued to the pages are many photographs that will be familiar, and a number that won’t. Present are his formative frames in early 1930s France, his travels through Spain, Italy, Mexico, the USA, the UK, and his many portraits of the time. The collection ends with his war-time photographs. Cartier-Bresson was to fill his pages with vivid, graceful geometry and articulate, playful humanism. The formal precursor to Frank’s seeming ambivalence to form.

Magnum Contact Sheets (Thames and Hudson. 2011)

There is little more illustrative than the contact sheets of the masters. If fortunate, one may steal a glance at a contact sheet or three during a practical workshop or masterclass, and come to understand the process that led from the initial glimmer-spark of an idea through to the final, masterful frame. Realising this may offer fascination to both readers and practicing photographers alike, Magnum conceived of the voluminous collection, Magnum Contact Sheets.

This magnificent book demystifies the process behind the creation of many of the great photographs of our time. Every photographer makes their photographs in their own way. Some make a frame and move on, economical with their film. Others may spend a roll of Tri-X on one scene, adjusting and improving until, click. They have it. Richard Kalvar, for instance, works the scene of the mirror-like street window until he makes his reflective masterstroke, choosing only one frame from the roll. Josef Koudelka photographs the Warsaw Pact invasion of Prague in 1968, a roll from which 5 will make it to his book, Invasion Prague 68. This book is essential to any photographer, especially so for those still labouring under the misapprehension that the masters make their seminal work first time, every time.

Read Magnum Contact Sheets at the OpenLibrary through the Internet Archive

Regarding the Pain of Others – Susan Sontag (Farrar, Straus and Giroux. 2003)

Moving away from the image to the written word, one might expect my choice to be Susan Sontag’s collected essays, On Photography. A reasonable expectation, and I do feel it is required reading. My choice for street photographers, though, may prove to me controversial and debatable. Nevertheless, I feel Sontag’s final book before her untimely death is more essential, although by only a hair. Sontag’s book-length essay evaluates photography as a means to represent war and violence, and in doing so attempts to answer what is the intention of depicting the atrocities of war, and how do such images affect the reader and our culture.

While less violent, the practice of street photography may still be considered to be intrusive. Interpolating these ideas reminds us that taking a photograph, while in good faith, is fundamentally a predatory act and thus there is much responsibility in pressing the shutter. The ideas presented in the book, if repositioned for our craft and considered critically, can help to understand how readers may interpret our street photography, and the conscious authorial intention behind our work. Though not to suggest I was unscrupulous before, I do feel in reading this book I became a more thoughtful, ethical, and empathetic street photographer

Read Regarding the Pain of Others at the OpenLibrary through the Internet Archive

Arbus Friedlander Winogrand: New Documents, 1967 (The Museum of Modern Art, New York. 2017)

Though having developed something of a reputation as an autocrat, by his retirement in 1991, as director of photography at MoMA in New York, John Szarkowski had a radical effect on the world of art photography. One of the many exhibitions he curated in his storied career was to signal a profound shift in street photography. The exhibition was named New Documents and it comprised a selection of photographs from 3 photographers who were not widely known at the time: Diane Arbus, Lee Friedlander, and Garry Winogrand.

What was new about New Documents? Szarkowski wrote that in the decade since The Americans was published, rather than making photographs to describe the suffering in the world in the hope it could be resolved, documentary photographers had begun to look inward, not to mend or rectify, but to know and to understand life. The central tenet of the show, and thus this book, is that in their moments captured on the street, the photographs seek to tell us more about the photographers themselves, than the world they are depicting. That the photographers are Arbus, Friedlander, and Winogrand, this becomes quite a journey to take.

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As the 2 rolls of film just developed, hang on a clothes hanger, dripping over the bath, I take quick, rushed pictures of 3 frames at a time on my phone. Once finished, I close the door, turn off the light, and leave them there ’til morning. Impatience demands I flick through the rough images on my phone. For the first time, I see what I’ll have to work with in the morning. First impressions? An abundance of mediocrity, with one or two that stand out from the crowd. Occasionally, I may see something that catches my eye, like the reflective hologram of a shiny in a packet of Panini stickers. That rare frame: The keeper!

Realistic Expectations

Subjectivity and personal style are crucial in growing as a street photographer, and developing an improved sense of what makes a good photograph rather than an average one is vital. When we start out making street photography, everything is fair game, from the esoteric to the mundane, from the unique to the cliché. As one grows, it is important to discern which is which. What makes a good street photograph? Would the frame have been improved had the shutter been released a second earlier, or a second later? It is important to set realistic expectations. Even the masters of the craft will come home after a day in the city with a generous collection of nearly-theres, and also-rans. Being able to understand and see the difference is what sets a good street photographer apart from the ordinary. Quality really does trump quantity, and editing a day’s, week’s or month’s work to choose only the best to show the world is what sets an aspiring photographer apart. A truly great photograph is not a regular occurrence. Not even for the best.

Street photography is Not Easy

While masters such as Cartier-Bresson, Winogrand, and Frank make it look effortless, street photography is not easy. In truth, I have a number of photographs I am very happy with; however, I only have a handful that I feel are exceptional – and that is normal. If you step out onto the street expecting to return with a roll of film that is all killer no filler, you’re in the wrong game, my friend. The contact sheets of the aforementioned masters disabuse us of that expectation quicksmart. When Alex Webb says that street photography is 99.9% about failure, it is that 0.1% of success that we strive for. Shyness, timing, poor composition, right-time-wrong-place- there are many challenges standing in the way of making that keeper, all of which can be overcome with practice. It takes experience to find a good perspective. It takes photograph after photograph after photograph to learn just when to squeeze the shutter. And even then, the vast majority of photographs we make will be humdrum.

When Failure isn’t

There is no substitute for hard work, for being on the street to make photographs. After a bad day, it can be easy to procrastinate and avoid returning the next day. It is tempting to think of all those disappointing frames as a waste. Not at all. Though counterintuitive, failing time and again is the best way to discover what a keeper truly is. Understanding this and learning to embrace the process is a path to better photography and to avoiding frustration and anxiety. Learn from others, of course, but accept mistakes, missed photographs, or average work as prime opportunities to improve. Often the difference between a strong photograph and an average one is timing. Anticipation becomes key, then tripping the shutter as all elements fall into place. Cartier-Bresson’s famed non, non, non, non, oui! At other times, it is not timing but footwork that lets us down. A quick step forward, or a sidestep to the left would have found the moment in a well-organised rectangle, but instead, it’s just not quite right. Be critical of your own work. Ask why the photograph does not work, and what could be done to improve it next time. Then go do that.

Finding the Keeper

Often, when reviewing my negatives or contact sheets, I see a photograph that doesn’t work. The idea does, but the elements in the photograph don’t sit well together. These are my nearly-theres, and it is especially tempting to include them in an edit; after all, the intention was good. For years, I would consider them good enough. It was Richard Kalvar, in fact, that made it clear to me that intention is irrelevant if the result is a poorly organised rectangle. There are numerous excuses why the photo just isn’t there, and it can be hard to accept, but accept it we must if we want to improve. My partner has grown used to my heavy sigh of resignation when I realise a picture I was excited about just won’t sneak through my edit. It is all the more satisfying, then, when a gem of a keeper appears. To see among the many photos, both pleasing and disappointing, the one that screams Nailed It! is some reward for the patience, persistence, and continued growth in the journey towards becoming a better street photographer.

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Dedicate yourself for long enough to making any form of art, be it the written word, music, or photography, and through commitment, enthusiasm, and experience, the work will undoubtedly improve. With any luck, there will be fewer oversights and blunders. Mistakes, though, do happen and in street photography, they rarely come without a cost. It tends to be killer rather than filler that we lose – the photographic equivalent of the whopper wriggling off the hook.

I like to imagine I made these mistakes so that you don’t have to. With the knowing inevitability that this will launch a series, here are 5 sore lessons I’ve learned in my time making street photography.

Carry a Camera Everywhere

In my early days, setting the camera aside as I walked out the door was often tempting, especially if not intending to make any photographs. Too many times to count did I reach to pick up the camera and choose to leave it behind, deciding instead that I won’t need it, I won’t see anything, or, depending on the circumstance, it may be a little annoying having it on my arm. In those moments, the universe will almost certainly conspire to present me with delicious, photographable moments, and me – dejected and full of regret – with no tool to photograph them.

Instead, I normalised having the camera with me wherever I go and whatever I do. Sure, friends of friends may eye me suspiciously at first, but it wasn’t long before I became that guy in my social circle known for carrying the camera like everyone else carries their phones and their keys.

Get Out of the House

While not lazy, I do sometimes procrastinate. Worse, when I find myself in a rut, I prioritise less creative, administrative things to do on days when not full of creative confidence. Though rare these days, there is a temptation to sit behind my computer scanning film, processing photos, or planning for the future rather than getting out the door and in amongst it. Maybe I don’t feel attentive, or presume little will be happening in the town, however, I’ve found that the day I stay at home is the day opportunity knocks and I am not there to open the door.

A recent, thankfully rare, example was Joe Biden’s visit to Warsaw in February. Granted, the US President took to the stage much later than planned and had I gone, I would have struggled for light even pushing Tri-X by a couple of stops. Nevertheless, open events like these are great occasions to turn our backs to the stage and photograph the attendees. Apparently, I had something better to do that afternoon, and months on I regret not going out.

With exceptions only for my school work and for family obligations, I now go out for a couple of hours at least, every day and whole days at the weekends. The lesson, of course, is that we must be out there to do the work and make the pictures. We do this because we love it. Sure, there may be days when you trip the shutter only 3 or 4 times. There may be others when we return home with 2 rolls of dross. It’s the days when we know we’ve got something special on the film that makes all that effort worthwhile. Get out there.

Don’t Mirror Conflict

As I’ve written about before, photograph long enough on the street and there is bound to be some small conflict that arises. Someone may take exception to their being photographed and confront me. It can be a curiosity but can also be resentment or anger. I’ve had my fair share of confrontations and, with experience, I like to think I deal with them well. That wasn’t always the case. There have been confrontations where my inexperienced reaction, be it indignation, irritation, or worse, mirroring the aggressor’s aggression, has thrown fuel on the fire and made the situation much worse.

The goal is, of course, to de-escalate any potential trouble. It can be done with nothing more than a simple smile and a thank you. Richard Kalvar calls this having a good bedside manner, and it can resolve most awkwardness. If that’s not enough and conflict is inevitable, then avoid – for goodness sake, avoid – indignation. The last thing that will take the heat out of such a situation is lecturing our new friend on our right to photograph in public. If there is no talking to the person, politely thank them, and walk away. Don’t let irritation get the better of you and don’t lose your temper, no matter how aggressive the other person may be.

Be Prepared

With all the walking, street photography may be physically taxing, but can also be mentally tiring. There is no telling what may appear for a split second then be gone. The street photographer has to be attentive and ready to make a shot at less than a moment’s notice.

Not long ago, I had spent a less-than-fruitful afternoon on Marszałkowska Street in Warsaw. Deciding to cut my losses, go home and get some dinner, and try again the next day, I walked towards the Metro. Slinging my camera over my shoulder, I stepped onto the escalator only to find that as I descended, my lack of preparedness had lost me a tremendous picture. Travelling up, was an old gentleman with a creased, weathered face, someone who had seen better days, and with pride and great care, was combing a glorious, distinguished moustache. There was no time, at all, to set exposure, focus, and frame before I had reached the bottom, and he, the top.

From the second you walk out the door, to that moment of petting the dog on your return after a long day’s photography, keep the camera at the ready and be prepared.

Remove the Lens Cap

This one will send a familiar shiver down the spine of any photographer with even a little experience in shooting with a camera that doesn’t use a through-the-lens viewfinder. I use rangefinder cameras with the viewfinder above and to the left of the lens. Not seeing through the lens as the photographs are made leaves the clumsy, forgetful, or just plain excitable photographer with one rather stupid hazard: Leaving the lens cap attached.

This one is raw as I last did this just 5 days ago. Going out for some errands, I had the camera with me. As I walked towards the mall, a young girl on a push scooter was accelerating down the bicycle lane, with a helium love heart balloon as big as she was. As she travelled into the frame, I tripped the shutter, wound the film on, and walked away feeling like I’d got one. A few moments later, across the street, from the tall wild grass, an older, somewhat eccentric lady was making an odd bouquet. I framed, took the shot and carried on.

Not too much further up the road, I glanced down at the camera to notice the lens cap, still snugly attached to my lens. Of course, in vain, I tried to convince myself I may have absent-mindedly reattached it, rather than forgotten to remove it in the first place. Delusional.

There is a certain, specific, acute humiliation felt in this particular lesson. It is a comfort that everyone from Robert Frank to Olivia Arthur has done it at some stage. Still, it’s better to avoid it, so just remember to remove the lens cap.

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