In October 1952 a book of photographs appeared in Paris and New York at the same time, a co-edition between Tériade's Verve in France and Simon and Schuster in America. The pictures were Henri Cartier-Bresson's. Matisse drew the cover by hand. In French the book was called Images à la Sauvette.
That phrase is difficult to carry into English. It gestures at street sellers working without a licence, the sort with one eye on the far end of the road, ready to sweep everything into a cloth and go the moment somebody official appears. Pictures grabbed on the run, taken slightly on the sly. Cartier-Bresson said the expression suited the way he worked.
His American publisher wanted something punchier. Tériade had suggested a line from Cardinal de Retz, a seventeenth century French cardinal and memoirist, and it sat at the front of the book as an epigraph: there is nothing in this world which does not have its decisive moment. Simon and Schuster took three words out of the middle of it and put them on the cover. That is where the most quoted idea in photography comes from.
The two titles describe quite different activities. Images à la Sauvette is about hurry and opportunism and not entirely having permission. It admits that most of what happens in front of a camera is missed, that the photographer is chasing rather than presiding, and that the good ones are snatched. The Decisive Moment describes something much closer to mastery. It proposes that every situation contains one correct instant, and that the photographer's task is to recognise it and act. The first is a description of a working life. The second is a theory about the nature of time.
The theory won, and it is not hard to see why. It is a flattering idea, it is easy to remember, and it turns a scrappy practice into a discipline with a principle at the centre of it. Generations of photographers have been taught it, and a great deal of good work has come out of taking it seriously.
What it leaves out is the failure rate. A contact sheet is mostly a record of getting it wrong. The same street corner, again and again, the figure half out of frame, the head turned a fraction too early, the bus arriving at the worst possible instant. The decisive moment is real enough, but it sits inside a great deal of ordinary, unglamorous missing, and the phrase does not have room for that.
It also quietly excludes whole kinds of photography. A still life has no decisive moment. A portrait built slowly over an afternoon, where the subject gradually stops performing, does not really have one either. A photograph of a landscape has a moment of light, which is not the same thing as a moment of action. Once the phrase becomes the definition, work that does not fit it starts to look like a lesser category, which was never the claim being made.
There is a third assumption hidden in it, and it is the one worth pausing on. The phrase suggests the moment is already out there in the world, complete, waiting, and that the photographer's only job is to be standing in the right place when it arrives. Anyone who has carried a camera for a while knows it is at least partly the other way around. Two people on the same corner do not see the same instants. What you are able to notice is shaped by what you have been looking at for the past year.
Noticing survives all of this better than capture does. It does not promise a perfect instant, it does not imply a hit rate, and it describes what is actually happening when somebody walks around with a camera and comes back with something. The Photo Art starts there rather than with a plan. The photograph is made first, and the Word of Intention comes out of what turns out to be inside it.
The French title is still on the French editions. Both titles are accurate descriptions of the same book, taken from different ends. One of them describes what the work felt like to do. The other describes what it looked like once it was finished and hung on a wall, and it is the one that was easier to say out loud, so it is the one that lasted.
A quiet extension of this idea
Our pieces are built around this principle. A single word, placed so it naturally comes back into your attention during the day. Not something you have to focus on the whole day, just something that stays with you.
