Daniel Pacheco didn’t arrive at photography through a single defining moment. His creative identity formed gradually, shaped by movement, performance, and the constant negotiation of visibility that comes with growing up queer. “I always knew I was expressive,” Pacheco said. “I just didn’t know what medium would hold me the longest.”
Raised in Puerto Rico, his earliest exposure to photography was functional rather than artistic. His mother worked at a small photography studio, handling portraits and weddings. While creativity wasn’t emphasized at home, support was. “They weren’t artists, but they never made me feel like I had to hide,” he said. “As a queer kid, that matters more than people realize.”
Dance became his first language. It taught discipline, physical awareness, and how to be seen. Acting followed after college, eventually bringing him to New York City at 21. Photography existed on the periphery, something he admired but hadn’t yet claimed as his own.
Learning Vulnerability From the Other Side of the Lens
Before stepping behind the camera, Pacheco spent years in front of it as a model. That experience profoundly shaped how he understands intimacy today. His first nude shoot, in particular, forced him to confront shame and expectation. “I was terrified,” he said. “But it cracked something open. I stopped seeing my body as a problem.”
For Pacheco, nudity wasn’t about exhibitionism, it was about ownership. As a queer man, reclaiming his body became an act of agency. “So much of queer life is about being told what’s too much,” he said. “That experience taught me I didn’t have to shrink.”
That lesson now informs every shoot he leads. He prioritizes comfort, consent, and communication. “You can tell immediately when someone isn’t fully present,” he said. “I never want someone to feel exposed in a way they didn’t choose.”
Queer Desire Without Apology
Pacheco’s photography often sits at the intersection of intimacy and eroticism, a space that still makes many viewers uncomfortable, especially when the subjects are queer men. He draws inspiration from vintage gay erotica but resists its more rigid or hyper-masculine conventions. “I’m interested in desire that feels human, not performative,” he said.
Rather than chasing shock value, his images focus on proximity: the softness of skin, the quiet tension between bodies, the moments that feel private even when captured. “Sexuality doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful,” Pacheco said. “Sometimes it’s in the stillness.”
That approach challenges lingering taboos around queer male sexuality. “People are quick to label queer nudity as explicit,” he added. “But intimacy isn’t inherently pornographic. It’s about context.”
Reclaiming Creativity After Survival Mode
Financial pressure once forced Pacheco to step away from photography altogether. After moving to Las Vegas to regroup, he sold his camera equipment and focused on stability. “I was in survival mode,” he said. “Art felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.”
Photography returned in 2021 after lockdown and the end of a long-term relationship. The timing wasn’t accidental. “I was rebuilding myself,” he said. “Picking up the camera again felt like choosing myself.”
What began as a personal outlet quickly evolved into a renewed practice. Shooting friends and collaborators allowed him to explore intimacy without expectation. “It reminded me why I loved this in the first place,” he said.
Building Trust Through Collaboration
Today, collaboration sits at the core of Pacheco’s work. Each shoot begins with conversation, not direction. “I always ask people what they’re curious about and what’s off-limits,” he said. Music helps shape the mood, guiding subjects into their bodies rather than posing for the camera.
Visually, shadows and natural light have become central elements, along with outdoor settings that introduce vulnerability in unexpected ways. “Being outside strips things down,” he said. “There’s less control, and I like that.”
As a self-taught photographer, imposter syndrome lingers. “I still compare myself to artists I admire,” he admitted. But affirmations from collaborators and viewers provide reassurance. “When someone tells me they felt seen, that’s everything.”
Looking Toward a More Visible Future
Pacheco is setting goals for 2026 and beyond working toward publishing his first photography book, a dream he’s carried quietly for years. “I’ve always wanted something tangible,” he said. “Something that says, ‘I was here, and this mattered.’”
The hesitation hasn’t been logistical, it’s been emotional. “Believing you deserve that space is hard,” he said. Still, he feels closer than ever to making it real.
If given the opportunity to pursue photography full time, he wouldn’t hesitate. Until then, he continues building a body of work rooted in trust, queerness, and unapologetic intimacy, one frame at a time.
