“I Will Never Shoot You” – A Portrait Photographer’s Perspective on How the Violent Language of an Industry That Celebrates Being Seen Also Cultivates the Urge to Hide.

Words carry power.

The English language—wild and wondrous—allows for much depth and creativity as a tool for communication. I’ve always been a huge fan of its rhythm, nuance, and the kind of contradictions that make poets giddy and grammarians grind their teeth.

As a kid, I hopped on a creaky, metal pogo stick in the driveway for hours while reciting Poe’s The Raven. In high school, I gave a presentation on active versus passive verbs that impressed my teacher so much, she borrowed it. In college, I tutored ESL students, helping them decode the quirks of sentence structure and colloquialisms. I once presented a workshop at the International Writing Centers Association Conference in Hershey, PA. My career in Design advanced while I simultaneously applied for copy-editing jobs and wrote children’s literature. Lyricism is my love language.

Though I currently make my living with a camera, studying micro-movements and facial cues keeps me aware of how language shapes what happens in front of a lens. I see shoulders tense… hands tighten… jaws clench… posture weaken… and I know when a person would rather hide than be the focus of a shutter click. I also know that whatever words I say next will curate the atmosphere.

That’s why I call it a photo session. Or “play time.” I will not call that vulnerable space a photo shoot.

I will never shoot you.

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Pho•tog•ra•phy comes from the Greek phōtós (light) and graphé (drawing or writing) to mean “writing with light”—a beautiful and accurate description of what we do when we honor someone’s presence through a lens.

When the camera arrived in the late 1800’s, portraiture quickly became its heartbeat. Ordinary people suddenly had access to something once reserved for oil paintings of the elite—a way to be seen, acknowledged, and remembered. But early on, the grace of the artistry fell into parallel with the language of weaponry. The camera evolved with “cartridges,” “triggers,” and “loaded barrels.” Photographers “aimed,” “shot,” and “captured.”

At first, maybe this matching terminology seems harmless. But language doesn’t only describe—it directs. Words shape how we feel.

Even if no one has ever called out these sentiments before, our subconscious has already picked up on it. Our minds react faster to threat than to logic. And when someone who already feels nervous about being seen hears the same words used to describe violence or combat… their body responds before their brain realizes something’s wrong.

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Here are a few examples of how photography lingo mirrors terms used in weaponry:

Term	Photography	Weaponry
Shoot	Releasing the shutter	Discharging a firearm, often with intention to kill
Capture	Recording an image	Seizing by force
Exposure	Light coming in	Being subjected to harm or danger
Resolution	Detail an image holds (measured in pixels)	A weapon’s sighting system’s sensitivity to detail
Aperture	The opening in a camera lens that lets light in	The opening at the end of a firearm barrel where the bullet exits
Depth of Field	The distance between the nearest and farthest objects in a scene that appear sharp	The range a weapon has to effectively hit a target
Burst	Several photos recorded in quick succession	Rapidly fired ammunition
Bracketing	Taking multiple photos at different exposure levels	Firing rounds at different ranges to increase the chance of hitting
Cartridge	The film canister used in camera bodies before digital	A metal case holding ammunition (bullet, gunpowder, and primer)

While they may not affect the set of an action movie or the response of a landscape, some of these word choices directed towards a human subject impacts harder and echoes louder than we realize.

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Being photographed is intimate. Whether it’s a space of performance or genuine reflection, it’s pressure… and terrifying for a lot of people. I hear things like this every day:

Am I doing this right?

Will this turn out badly…again?

I don't like features about myself, and now everyone else is about to see those features, too.

Our culture tends to drown us in a demand for “perfection.” We’ve been set up so that the moment a camera appears, our brains flood with every criticism we’ve ever internalized. The result is that we forget our images are not about vanity; they’re about visibility. My responsibility—as a photographer and as a human—is to consider the full experience of the environment I create and to help dissolve fear. That includes language signals.

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I will never shoot you.

I will not capture your essence.

I will not take your headshot.

I will photograph you.

I will create images, portraits, and profile photos with you. (Yes—for your LinkedIn!)

I will help you frame the truth of your moments.

My sessions are collaborative, inspiring… and healing from those old stories we tell ourselves. I’m not shooting an image; I’m inviting you to recognize and appreciate yourself in a way that you’ve forgotten how to.

Language matters. I may not single-handedly change the vocabulary of an industry… but in the Silk Studio—my small corner of the world—observance and translation is rooted practice. Feeling cared for nurtures authenticity. And since I place high value on you fully showing up, with every session, every intention, and every phrase I choose… I promise to keep you safe.

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“Spider” Meka Hemmons is an internationally recognized portrait photographer, speaker, storyteller and visual consultant based in Chicago. She helps women heal trauma around being photographed and disrupts the beauty industry with her perspective on vanity and deep-rooted messaging. Check out her podcast and get ready for the wild things about to come through her newsletter: Streams of Silk.

Photo by SpiderMeka