Tintype Photography and the Art of Truly Seeing People

Tintype photography has changed the way I see. Not just the way I frame an image, but the way I sit with another person. The way I pay attention. The way I slow down.

When someone steps into my studio, it isn’t about taking a picture. It’s about being present with them. Fully. Nothing else exists in that moment. The light, the plate, the person in front of me. That’s it.

Giving Someone My Full Attention

We live in a world that rewards speed. Back-to-back meetings. Quick replies. Moving on to the next thing before the current one has even settled. Tintype photography doesn’t work that way. And over time, neither do I.

This process has forced me to slow down and give someone my full attention. Not in a performative way, but in a real, quiet, sustained way. It hasn’t always come naturally. But the camera requires it. The plate requires it. The person sitting in front of me deserves it.

And I’ve found that I do, too.

This work has become a kind of teacher. It reminds me how often I move through life half-present. Checking my phone while someone is talking. Thinking about what’s next instead of what’s here. But in the studio, there’s no room for that. There’s only this person, this moment, and the choice to show up for both.

I’m still learning. Hopefully getting better. Hopefully carrying that attentiveness into the rest of my life. Into conversations with my family, my friends, and even strangers I pass during the day. This isn’t just about photography. It’s about a way of being. A way of honoring people with time and focus, instead of rushing past on the way to the next meeting, transaction, or deadline.

The Moment the Light Hits

My studio camera doesn’t have a shutter. When it’s time to make the image, I fire strobes and the burst of light exposes the plate. That moment is everything.

Because there’s no shutter to hide behind, I’m not clicking away hoping for a lucky frame. There’s only one plate. One chance. And that means I need to be with the person, not just looking at them.

They feel that, too. You can see it in their expression. Open, still, aware. Not posed in the traditional sense, but grounded. A little raw. And deeply human.

Honoring the Imperfect

Tintypes have a way of revealing more than just someone’s face. They show the weight they carry. The curve of time. The tension in the hands. A slight softness in the eyes.

Sometimes a plate comes out with streaks or swirls or little imperfections in the chemistry. And those often become my favorites. Because the image feels alive. Honest. Unpolished in the best possible way.

I’ve learned to see people like that too. Not as problems to solve or roles to define, but as whole beings. Beautiful in their complexity. Worth honoring just as they are.

Sometimes that moment of recognition happens right in front of us. A plate slips into the fix bath, and slowly, the image appears. Watching someone see themselves this way, often for the first time, is something I never get tired of witnessing.

A Practice of Seeing

Tintype photography taught me how to see. Not just through a lens, but in life. It taught me to slow down. To notice. To focus. To stay present with someone long enough for them to unfold.

The studio is a quiet space. The camera is patient. The process asks something of both of us. And when we meet it with presence and trust, something timeless comes through.

Not just a portrait, but a connection.