The Way We Learn to See

PHOTO: ©2026, Eric O. Ledermann. All rights reserved. Model: Shayna Peters, Sommerset, Colorado.

I recently read a piece by Samantha, curation director at Model Society, entitled "How Nude Art Changes Us: What this art teaches us about presence and humanity." She wrote in the Model Society’s regular email about figurative fine art—specifically nude photography—but her words caught me in a way that felt bigger than her niche context:

"When we spend time with figurative fine art, the human body begins to feel less like something to measure or explain and more like something to understand."

That sentence has been living in my head.

She's right. And not just about nude photography. I feel like she's talking about something fundamental to how we see ourselves and each other—something that portrait photography, at its best, has the power to shift.

What We've Been Taught to See

We live in a culture that has trained us to evaluate bodies rather than witness them. To categorize faces rather than recognize them. We scroll through images that have been optimized, algorithmically sorted, filtered through layers of commercial intent until what we're seeing isn't really human anymore—it's a product demonstration.

And over time, that changes us.

We start looking at our own reflection the way a critic reviews a performance. We measure. We compare. We find ourselves lacking in ways that feel both vague and urgent. The mirror becomes less a place of recognition and more a site of assessment.

This isn't an accident. It's the logical outcome of spending years immersed in imagery designed to make us feel insufficient so we'll buy the solution.

But here's what Samantha understood, and what I've come to know through my own portrait work: photography doesn't have to do that.

The Permission to Be Seen

The portraits I care about making—the ones that matter to me and, I hope, to the people who sit for them—aren't about evaluation. They're about recognition. Being seen, fully.

They're about creating a space where someone can be witnessed without needing to perform. Where vulnerability isn't a liability but a doorway. Where the question isn't "Do I measure up?" but rather "Who am I when I'm allowed to simply be?"

That's not easy work. It requires trust on both sides of the camera.

It requires me to see past the rehearsed smile, the practiced angle, the version of yourself you think you're supposed to present. And it requires you to let me.

But when it happens—when that moment of recognition occurs—something shifts. The image that results isn't a record of how you looked on a particular Tuesday afternoon. It's evidence of who you actually are. And to me, that is beautiful and priceless.

Replacing Conditioning with Truth

Samantha writes that figurative art "helps untangle inherited ideas about what bodies should be and replaces them with lived, human truth."

Every time someone sits in front of my camera and apologizes for something about themselves, something similar to Samantha's words fills my mind.

Their age, weight, wrinkles, the asymmetry of their smile. They try to hide them or apologize for them. These apologies are artifacts of conditioning. They're the voice of a culture that profits from our self-doubt.

But a portrait made with intention can talk back to that voice.

It can say: This is what you actually look like. Not what you should look like. Not what the algorithm would prefer. Who you are.

And often, that's revelatory.

Because when you see yourself truly seen—not flattered into unreality, but witnessed with attention and care—it changes the conversation. You stop asking whether you're acceptable and start recognizing that you're already whole.

The Way We See Shapes Everything

"The way we learn to see the body," Samantha concludes, "shapes the way we see humanity."

I believe that.

I believe that spending time with images that honor complexity, that make room for imperfection and even relish in their uniqueness, that refuse to reduce people to their marketability—I believe that practice rewires something in us.

It makes us kinder. More patient. Less interested in judgment and more capable of connection.

And it makes us braver about being seen ourselves.

An Invitation

This is why I do what I do.

Not to produce flattering images—though I believe my portraits are beautiful. Not to help people look younger or thinner or more whatever—though I want everyone to feel genuinely good about what we create together.

I make portraits because I believe in the radical act of being truly seen. I believe in creating images that tell the truth about who you are, right now, exactly as you are. Images that celebrate you!

I believe in giving people permission to recognize themselves.

If you've been thinking about having your portrait made—if some part of you wants to be witnessed rather than evaluated, recognized rather than judged—I'd be honored to work with you.

Not because you need fixing. But because you deserve to be seen.

Stay inspired, my friends!

~Eric