For many journalists—and especially for countless photographers—Jean-Jacques Naudet was an essential connector in the world of photography. Between the 1970s and the 2010s, he worked successively as editor-in-chief of Photo magazine, as a picture editor at Paris Match within the legendary team led by Roger Thérond, and as a correspondent for the Hachette-Filipacchi group in the United States. In these roles, he played an active part in the publication of some of the most iconic press images of the twentieth century.
In the early 2010s, he launched his own online publication, initially titled La Lettre de la Photographie, later renamed L’Œil de la Photographie. The platform quickly became the world’s first daily publication entirely devoted to photographic news, with a daily newsletter available in both French and English, and established itself as a bridge between American and European visual cultures. Jean-Jacques Naudet invited many of his friends and professional contacts to contribute. Supported by patrons, free of advertising, the publication enjoyed rare independence. Budgets were substantial, the pace demanding—sometimes up to 10 articles published in a single day—and the bylines numerous, bringing together both established writers and younger voices.
It was during this period that I met Jean-Jacques, one afternoon in May 2010, in New York. I was 25 years old, deeply passionate about photography, and had just come from the office of Peter Galassi, then head of photography at MoMA, followed by a visit to Elliott Erwitt’s studio—two meetings I had arranged while covering a major retrospective devoted by the New York museum to Henri Cartier-Bresson. Jean-Jacques had always made a habit of warmly welcoming anyone who came to see him, whether in his office or at his home. He agreed immediately to my proposal. I began writing for L’Œil de la Photographie, quickly became a correspondent in New York, and a few years later took on the role of editor-in-chief.
Jean-Jacques Naudet was above all a remarkable storyteller of photographers’ lives. I believe that was what he loved most: talking about them, recounting their exploits—and, by extension, his own. Above all, he loved to evoke a particular era—especially the 1980s—which he seemed to miss deeply. The golden age of photojournalism, and of the magazine he cherished so much, Paris Match, with its singular tone and its wealth of field anecdotes that today would seem almost unbelievable. It was also the golden age of the paparazzi, whom he liked to describe as adventurers, or big kids in search of thrills—much like himself. His era also coincided with the beginnings of the Rencontres d’Arles photography festival, when it was still run by a handful of photographer friends who met there in a relaxed and friendly atmosphere. It was also a time of friendships with some of the greatest photographers of the 20th century, and of special moments with them that he loved to share with younger generations. With L’Œil de la Photographie, he found a way to keep some of that spirit alive, while fully embracing the possibilities of the web: its event coverage, its infinite pages, direct access to photographers and their images from around the world, closeness with them, and unique editorial ideas, for professional photography but also notably for amateur one.
Jean-Jacques was quick to offer advice once he appreciated the person in front of him. He readily shared his extensive address book, never spoke ill of anyone in private, and placed generosity at the very heart of his working method—qualities that made him widely appreciated in the field, particularly in the United States, where this approach to professional relationships is essential. In that sense, he gave me a lot and taught me a great deal. He also expected loyalty, which could lead to intense exchanges, but sometimes also to disagreements. He often used the expression “photographic father” to describe the bond between a photographer and their student, or between a journalist and their mentor. There is no doubt that he mine.
Jean-Jacques loved France—its Parisian hotel bars—but above all Provence and its olive-tree gardens, where his wife Shiva cooked lamb to perfection for seven hours to the sound of cicadas, where his grandchildren, whom he called his “mini babies,” played in the swimming pool, where he liked to listen to music very, very loud, and where he would pick up his guests in a Renault 4L—well, always comfortably seated in the passenger seat, as he never drove a car in his life. Above all, Jean-Jacques loved New York and its extravagance, where he moved with ease. The city and its inhabitants amused him endlessly and fed the countless stories he loved to tell his guests over legendary lunches, where good food, red wine, and unfiltered cigarettes were mandatory. New York is also the city where he raised his “babies,” Jules and Gédéon Naudet—whom he still called that well into their fifties—and who became famous worldwide on September 11, 2001, for filming inside the Twin Towers as they burned. Finally, it was the city that forged a profound passion for visual arts, through its endless encounters, intense discussions, and exceptional artists. “Formidable,” as he liked to say affectionately.
Jean-Jacques Naudet loved photography deeply—so deeply that one might have wondered whether it bordered on obsession. Since founding L’Œil de la Photographie, he spent most of his time—around 14 hours a day—relentlessly going through the magazine’s emails, filtering what should or should not be published, assigning subjects to his team, leading meetings online or at his home, and, of course, marvelling at photographers’ talent. At an age when most people retire and enjoy the time they have left, he could not stop. Not stop loving photography, not stop discovering it, not stop publishing it. I believe he had never worked harder in his life. A few days ago, he passed away in front of his computer. In a final bow to photography.
