At a time when photography seems trapped between aesthetic repetition and the pressure to fit into recognizable formats, speaking about an authentic personal project has become almost an act of resistance. Never before have so many images been produced, and yet so few feel truly necessary.
The problem is neither technical nor formal, but conceptual: too many projects are conceived with their future reception in mind, rather than with a clear understanding of why they need to exist in the first place.
A solid personal project does not begin with a camera, nor even with a clearly defined idea. It begins with friction. With something that persists, that unsettles, that refuses to be resolved. Authenticity does not come from consciously searching for a personal voice, but from accepting what one cannot stop looking at. The difference between a generic project and a genuine one often lies there: the former imitates a form, the latter responds to a necessity.
For years, the photographic ecosystem has rewarded easily identifiable narratives. Well-closed series, explicit discourses, images that explain too much. In contrast, an authentic personal project is often ambiguous, even awkward in its early stages. It is not concerned with pleasing or being immediately understood. It allows itself to advance unevenly, to change direction, to contradict itself. That instability is a sign of life, not of weakness.
The choice of subject is not the essential factor. There are no truly “original” themes. Everything has been photographed before. What changes is the position from which one looks. Photographing what is close, what seems insignificant, can be far more radical than approaching major social issues from a comfortable distance. Authenticity is not measured by the scale of the subject, but by the degree of personal involvement. If the photographer could abandon the project without losing something essential, it is probably not the right project.
Another common mistake is confusing coherence with visual homogeneity. A project does not need to resemble itself at all times. The obsession with a recognizable aesthetic often impoverishes the work. True coherence is internal, conceptual, sometimes emotional. There may be shifts in format, rhythm, or tone, as long as they respond to the internal logic of the work rather than to a positioning strategy.
It is also worth distrusting excessive explanation. When a project depends on long texts to sustain it, something in the relationship between image and intention is failing. This does not mean that photography must be mute or self-sufficient, but that it should contain layers, not instructions. The viewer is not a student to be guided, but an interlocutor who deserves space to think and feel.
Building an authentic personal project requires time, something increasingly scarce in a culture driven by immediacy. Time to look, to doubt, to discard images that “work” but say nothing. Editing is, in this sense, an ethical act. Deciding what to leave out is just as important as deciding what to show. A project is defined as much by its absences as by its presences.
Finally, there is the question of context. A personal project does not exist in a vacuum, but it should not be shaped solely to fit festivals, open calls, or social media. When visibility becomes the primary goal, the work turns predictable. The paradox is that the most personal and least accommodating projects are often the ones that generate the deepest and most lasting impact over time.
Building an authentic photographic project is neither a formula nor a replicable method. It is a process of personal exposure, risk, and honesty. In a landscape saturated with correct images and prefabricated discourses, the real difference is not marked by style, but by necessity. And when that necessity is real, it always shows.
