Right off the bat, what actually is this craft called photojournalism? (Not to mention, should it be hyphenated?) Is it a subset of art photography, or the visual bastard child of prose journalism?
Henri Cartier-Bresson called slicing time the “decisive moment,” the millisecond when an event reaches its fullest potential as a visual image. This concept matters both in fine photography and in photojournalism, but, motive matters. The why and how an image is captured defines its genre, and this can apply to almost any photograph.
Essentially, it boils down to control. Photographers are there to make an image meant to be viewed one-on-one, photojournalists are there to share the event via visual storytelling, in a package using both words and pictures to reach as wide an audience as possible. Photographers shoot objects and people, photojournalists shoot events and passages; I’ve heard the difference described as “nouns” and “verbs” in subject matter.
The photographer lectures; the photojournalist shares.
Everything beyond that is technical, and both photographers and photojournalists tend to be adept at technology. Even there, however, there is a difference. A photographer’s vision is often defined by his gear; a photojournalist is concerned about the story. Lighting, composition, artfullness all matter to the photojournalist, but they are secondary considerations to telling the story cleanly and accurately. Most good photojournalism may appear less than inspired, but there is no debate about the subject. The subject is what matters in photojournalism, not the technical wizardry of the cameraman. The photojournalist, like the reporter, should be invisible, stepping out of the way of direct contact between the reader and the subject.
Also, what the photojournalist captures is factual. It is the real world.
In college, I majored in phonojournalism, but also took fine-art photography courses. We all used cameras, but both schools loathed each other. Which I thought was rather fun.
Anyway, one day in art-photo classes, we propped up our daily submissions. One kid had a fuzzy photo of a rock. What’s this all about? asked the prof.
I was digging on the concept of finality and weight in nature, and the deal that we’re all on the earth, which is a big ball of rock, so I took a picture of this rock, said the student.
Why is it out of focus? asked the prof.
Because, said the student, I wasn’t sure yet how I felt about the subject.
Brilliant! said the professor, and moved on. My carefully composed, tightly focussed image of a traffic accident didn’t thrill him as much. But I wondered what kind of reception Mr. Fuzzy Rock would get from a newspaper photo editor.
Photojournalism, you see, is all about reality, the world that actually exists. Art and art photography are about interpreting that world. Readers have to trust that what they’re reading and seeing is as true as possible.
The skill of the photojournalist is in capturing the reality of a situation. Photojournalism is a window, but the photographer controls it, and to a lesser, extent, the editor. (We’ll get into that concept later, but in the meantime, journalism is NOT writing or photographing, it is the act of editing.) The photojournalist must have the trust of his readers, and to a great extent, that is why serious photojournalists are on the staffs or freelance rosters of publications — it’s the whole package of writing and editing, in addition to photography, that makes photojournalism work.
Photojournalism is words and pictures together. Like two hands shaking.
I was once assisting in the annual Pictures of the Year competition for newspaper photographers, holding up prints for the judge to mull over. One was of a rough-looking hairy gent, holding up a fragile baby. Nice image, but the judges’ reaction was rather meh. Finally one asked what the caption was on the back of the image.
I read “Charley ‘Bones’ Kah holds up his newborn son, Harley Davidson Kah.” They all laughed, and suddenly the picture had meaning. It became a winner.
I’ve discovered on the Internet an outfit called the Wedding Photojournalist Association. Just their existence causes debate. A wedding is an event, a moment to be captured, and there is a lot of pressure to produce. But I doubt there are many weddings in which the photographer invisibly melts into the scenery. If the photographer is controlling the event, is shaping the appearance of the situation, then he is no longer engaged in pure photojournalism.
He’s involved in recordation, but that’s a subject for another day.

Photographers and artists know this so deeply that it’s unconscious: The world is divided into thirds, creating a field of nine segments. Although the so-called “Rule of Thirds” has been a compositional tool for several hundred years, the popularity of photography has put the ability to make pictures into everyone’s hands — but no one is taught how to compose their images.
The trick is pretty simple. Imagine that the picture is divided into a grid dividing the horizontal and vertical elements into three equal segments. Where the lines cross, compositional hot spots are created. Instead of centering the main subject of the picture smack dab in the middle, placing it near one of these four prime locations creates a composition that is harmonious and balanced.
Look at the landscape above, which I took in Foster City earlier this year, unconsciously dividing the primary horizontal planes into equal thirds, and placing the people roughly in the vertical hot spots. I had no idea I was doing this, but it “seemed right” through the lens finder. After a while, the framing comes naturally, but it always helps to deliberately compose the image into a pleasing balance. Next time you see a landscape photograph, note where the sweep of the horizon is — invariably it’s on the line of the upper third or the lower third.
The rule works even better in portraits. The primary area of interest in any portrait is the eyes — if the eyes are in focus, by the way, the image always looks “right” — and most people aim their cameras like sniper rifles, placing the eyes dead center of their pictures. Look at your family snapshots. The familiar image of George above is not only composed by thirds, the overall shape follows the “Golden Ratio” of proportion. George’s eyes are not only right on the line, with one eye at a junction, the entire composition follows the guide — look at the suggested horizontals of the hair and shoulders, even the way Washington fits neatly in the middle third. This is not by accident. There are plenty of examples discussing the “Rule of Thirds” all over the Internet.
Rules are supposedly “made” to be broken, but this particular rule can be helpful. Now, your next assignment is to look at the way people crop their avatar pictures online. Invariably, they place the their eyes right in the middle instead of the line of the upper third, making everyone look like Kilroy.