Have you ever been intimate with someone who doesn’t speak your language? Let me ask you, point blank. Not to be crude or vulgar, but honestly – if you haven’t, you’re missing out on an experience that can be both exhilarating and humbling. Spoiler alert – it doesn’t matter a lick (pun absolutely intended). Intimacy has a language of its own, one that transcends vocabulary and syntax. It’s a language of energy, gesture, rhythm, and, if you’re open to it, trust.
Photography, with different goals, speaks that same language.
When I first hit the streets with a camera decades ago, I was as nervous and awkward as a junior high kid trying to reach first or second base. Butterflies galore. I’d shuffle, hesitate, and sometimes even stumble my way toward my subject. But I kept at it. Sorta. I never really got good at it.
But photography was a different story.
Over the years, and through more experiences than I could count, I learned to communicate – through my lens. I learned the language of photography. It’s a dialect, really, a silent back-and-forth that connects photographer and subject, bypassing words altogether.
That brings me to Elena.
Now, I should clarify – Elena and I never met in any official sense. We didn’t have a proper introduction, no polite exchange of names or hellos. Our connection was non-verbal, yet unmistakable. And somehow, we figured it out.
From the moment I started shooting her, I knew this session would be a blast. Elena was pure energy, full of life and joy, and downright thrilled to be alive. She didn’t need words to convey her spirit; it shone through her eyes, her smile, the way she leaned toward the lens, unguarded and vibrant. Her joy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but feel pulled into her world. It was like dancing, where one person leads, but both are equally in sync.
One thing I especially loved about working with Elena was her comfort with proximity. I found myself moving closer, pushing that personal-space boundary – yet she never pulled back or shied away. The closer I got, the more she opened up, welcoming the camera and my presence without hesitation. To me, that was her way of speaking the language of photography. She, too, was learning how to communicate through gaze, body language, and intuition.
It’s remarkable what can be said without a single word. Sometimes, in those tight spaces, the most profound stories unfold – stories told in glances, angles, a raised eyebrow, or the softness in someone’s eyes. Elena and I may not have spoken the same language, but we understood each other in that moment. The result was more than just a set of photos; it was a shared experience, one captured in the interplay of light, shadow, and spirit.
In the end, the language of intimacy and photography are one and the same. And, like any language, the more you practice, the more fluent you become.
So, let me ask you again: have you ever been intimate with someone who doesn’t speak your language? Take it from me – in photography, just like in life, sometimes the best connections happen when words get out of the way. And when that connection clicks, well… it doesn’t matter a lick.
Click.
Jack.
