Most of us think we see with our eyes.

But in truth, we see with our brain.

The eyes are just light collectors — passive receptors that send raw data inward. The real act of “seeing” happens deeper: in the visual cortex, where signals are interpreted, filtered, prioritized, and turned into a usable experience of the world. Our brain discards most of what the eyes take in. It’s constantly guessing, filling in gaps, focusing only on what it assumes matters.

In other words: we don’t see the world as it is.

We see what we’ve been trained to notice.

Photography as a Way of Rewiring Perception

When I started taking photos, I wasn’t thinking about any of this. But over time, I realized that the camera wasn’t just recording the world — it was helping me relearn how to see it.

Photography became a kind of visual meditation. It slowed me down. It made me notice small shifts in light, movement in the shadows, overlooked objects, unexpected juxtapositions. I started finding patterns, symbols, moods, and emotional atmospheres that I never would have registered before.

And what’s more — I began noticing them even when I wasn’t taking photos.

Neuroscientific research supports this. Studies have shown that repeated visual attention to details — especially through focused, intentional observation — can reshape neural pathways. Just like musicians develop sharper auditory processing, photographers and visual artists develop heightened visual literacy. We train our brain to look differently, not just more.

Seeing with an Open Mind and an Open Heart

Photography didn’t just train my eyes. It trained my mindset. I became less reactive. More curious. More present. I started expecting to be surprised — not in dramatic ways, but in subtle, poetic ones. A stray leaf casting a shadow like a fingerprint. A broken sign forming a new word. A face in the fog.

Importantly, I never went out searching for something interesting. I never forced myself to “go shoot.” I just went about my day — walking, working, commuting — but I stayed open. My camera was with me, my mind was alert, and if something caught my attention, I was ready. There was no pressure to create — only the readiness to respond.

This approach is deeply aligned with mindfulness and the Taoist idea of wu wei — effortless action, or action in harmony with the flow of things. Photography, for me, has always felt like that. Not about chasing moments, but about being attuned enough to recognize them when they quietly offer themselves.

The best images often came not when I was hunting for them, but when I was simply moving through the world with an open heart and clear attention.

Why Black and White Photography Changed Everything

Color photography is beautiful — but when I began working in black and white, something shifted.

Without color, the image becomes more abstract. You lose one of the most immediate and emotional elements of perception — hue — and are left with light, shadow, texture, and structure. This absence forces you to see more symbolically. You have to rely on intuition, form, and rhythm rather than surface pleasure.

Black and white doesn’t imitate what the eye sees. It distills it — stripping away context, noise, and realism until only the essential structure of perception remains.

For me, this deepened the meditative and psychological qualities of photography. I wasn’t just documenting. I was interpreting. I was constructing a personal language of tone and shape that felt closer to emotion, memory, and the unconscious than to realism.

Over time, working in black and white also helped me think more archetypically and symbolically. A figure becomes a gesture. A shadow becomes a metaphor. A cracked window becomes a portal. Without the distraction of color, the mind begins to read images differently — not just for what they depict, but for what they suggest.

Learning to See = Learning to Be Present

When I talk about “learning to see,” I’m not really talking about visual skill. I’m talking about presence.

Photography, especially over years of practice, teaches you to stay with a moment. It trains you to delay judgment. It reveals how much we usually miss — not because the world is dull, but because our minds are full. It encourages stillness, slowness, and attention. And over time, that practice moves from the camera into everything else.

You start seeing people more clearly. You notice emotional tones in a room. You learn to read the world the way you once read light. And maybe most importantly, you start seeing yourself with more clarity too — not through performance or productivity, but through reflection.

Photography as a Spiritual and Psychological Practice

At its best, photography becomes a way of touching the invisible — the emotional, the symbolic, the archetypal. It’s both inner work and outer practice. A mirror and a window.

Some people use meditation. Some write in journals.

For me, this is how I return to myself.

This is how I stay awake to the world.

This is how I learn — again and again — how to see.

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Filip Fejdi 𒀭
Images, Symbols, and Worlds