What you don’t see...
- Nico Quinteros Photography Official
- May 21
- 2 min read
Getting into the fashion world wasn’t easy. No one knew who I was. Maybe I didn’t even know where I wanted my photography to go. But I showed up. I knocked on doors. I insisted. I got frustrated. And little by little, some of those doors started to open.
Now, here I am in Amsterdam, starting all over again. Knocking on doors once more. From scratch. With the same hunger, more scars, and one certainty: I will make it. Or at the very least, I’ll keep trying until I have nothing left.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I believe there are moments that even an image can’t fully hold. That’s why today, I want to give you a glimpse into what happens when the camera isn’t clicking.
The photos you’ll see in this post are intimate, honest—seemingly simple, but charged with humanity. Men letting their guard down. Eyes drifting beyond the lens. Bodies at rest, far from the pose and closer to being.
Every profession has its own world, and photography is no exception. Over the years, I’ve crossed paths with people I deeply connected with… and others where the spark just wasn’t there. Some models have been a source of pure inspiration, others simply couldn’t open up. It’s all part of the process.
There have been flops too. Shoots that didn’t work out. Ideas that never took shape. Creative blocks. Fatigue. Disconnection. Moments when I even got bored of my own craft. And still, I come back. I always come back—to the camera, to the search, to that moment where, unexpectedly, something aligns and the perfect image appears. Not because it’s flawless, but because it’s true.
I’ve had to step in when I saw parents pushing their kids during sessions, demanding things they couldn’t even articulate. And I do it, because my studio is not a place to feed anxiety or pressure. Nothing good grows from that space. That’s not my language.
I’ve also seen models who look like they were sculpted as the Adonis by Michelangelo walk into my studio full of insecurities. And that’s what makes them human. That’s where I point my camera.
All those trained poses they carry—those stances they know work—they’re useless to me. Because I’m not looking for what they already know. I’m searching for what lies beyond.What happens when you forget, even for a second, that you’re “the perfect model”?That’s where something more valuable emerges: humanity. A story.Your story.And that’s what I need.
Because for me, photography is about creating a space where someone can simply be.No expectations. No pressure. No performance. Just presence.And if I’m lucky, within that presence, truth reveals itself.
To all those who’ve let me into their world over the years—thank you.What you’ve given me, I return in the form of light, composition, and memory.
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