It dawned on me recently just how much of a privilege it is to work with models as a photographer. We often meet as strangers, spend only a few hours together, and then go our separate ways. Yet the images we create, and the memories attached to them, can last a lifetime. That imbalance of time versus impact is something I don’t think I’ll ever stop being humbled by.

I’m one of those photographers who likes to revisit old work. Occasionally I’ll scroll back through images from a shoot years ago, not with any particular purpose other than curiosity. Almost without fail I’ll find a frame I somehow overlooked the first time, a fleeting expression, a subtle gesture, a quiet moment between poses. With fresh eyes that image suddenly reveals itself as a small gem.

What surprises me most when I do this isn’t just the photograph, but how vividly the shoot comes rushing back. I remember the session, the light in the room, the little conversations and shared laughs. A single frame can unlock an entire afternoon. It’s a reminder that photography doesn’t just capture how something looked, but how it felt to be there.

Sometimes those shoots involve nude or erotic photography. These are often the most misunderstood, yet they are among the most intimate and collaborative experiences I’ve had as a photographer. Two people who may never have met before come together, and within the span of a few hours can create something that feels deeply personal, alluring, and honest.

That kind of work demands trust, real trust, on both sides of the camera. For the model, it means vulnerability, confidence, and an ability to remain present in front of a lens. For the photographer, it means respect, clear communication, and an understanding that the images being created carry emotional weight as well as aesthetic value. When it works, it’s nothing short of incredible.

Modelling itself is an art form that deserves far more respect and recognition than it often receives. It’s not just about posing or knowing your angles. It’s about interpretation. Many photographers, myself included, arrive with ideas that are half-formed or abstract. A mood, a feeling, a vague visual direction. A good model can take that uncertainty and help shape it into something tangible.

They read the room, adapt to the energy, and bring their own creativity into the process. They know when to push and idea, when to pull back, when stillness says more than movement. The best models don’t just appear in photographs; they actively co-create them.

As a black and white photographer, I rely heavily on that collaboration. Without colour to distract, everything rests on expression, posture, light, and connection. The model becomes the narrative. Their ability to emote, to inhabit a moment, is what gives the image its power.

Looking back over years of work, what stands out most isn’t a particular technique or setup, but the people. The shared moments. The fleeting partnerships that produced something lasting. It’s easy to forget, in the pursuit of better images or sharper skills, just how special those collaborations are.

I have enormous respect for those who step in front of the camera, for their courage, their creativity, and their trust. Long may it continue.