Matt Cetta, a New York-based photographer diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa, has turned his progressive vision loss into a powerful artistic statement through an innovative collaboration with fellow photographer Christina DeOrtentiis. Their project, titled "Photogenic Alchemy," explores themes of resilience, blindness, and the evolving nature of sight through a deeply personal portrait series that challenges traditional notions of visual art.
Cetta's journey began over a decade ago when he first released his experimental film series "Photogenic Alchemy," which examined transformation through analog and alternative photographic processes. Using chemistry, time, and chance to alter images, the original project celebrated beauty found in imperfection. However, Cetta could never have anticipated how profoundly transformation would later reshape his own life and artistic practice.
After being diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa, a degenerative eye disease that progressively narrows vision and can eventually lead to blindness, Cetta was forced to completely reconsider his relationship with photography. What was once a straightforward act of observation became an exercise in resilience and redefinition. His practice evolved from one built on control and precision to one grounded in intuition, trust, and acceptance of uncertainty.
The collaboration with DeOrtentiis, a portrait photographer known for her intimate, textural work emphasizing emotional connection, emerged from their shared history as alumni of the School of Visual Arts. Together, they created a portrait series that merges Cetta's lived experience with DeOrtentiis's interpretive vision, inviting viewers to consider how photography can translate often-invisible inner experiences.
Adapting to his changing vision has required both technical and emotional adjustments for Cetta. Previously obsessed with sharpness and precision, he has learned to embrace unpredictability and find meaning in moments where control gives way to instinct. "I've learned not to trust my eyes as much," Cetta explains. "I used to shoot everything on manual. In fact, Photogenic Alchemy was made with a modified Holga camera that I focused by estimating distance and aligning the lens with pictograms. Now I rely heavily on autofocus, thankfully camera technology has reached a level that allows me to depend on it."
Retinitis Pigmentosa primarily affects Cetta's peripheral vision, leaving his central vision relatively intact but marked by what he describes as "visual snow." The gradual narrowing of his visual field has made him acutely aware of composition and light, forcing him to approach each frame with meditation-like mindfulness. He has documented this mental shift in a blog titled "I'm Going Blind."
"The best way I can describe it is like watching an old motion picture shot on high-speed film," Cetta says. "The edges of my vision constantly flicker. It's disorienting, but it has also made me more intentional about what I look at." Despite these challenges, his relationship with the camera has become deeply personal, representing a dialogue between capability and limitation, confidence and doubt.
When approaching the camera now, Cetta must overcome internal obstacles. "When I pick up a camera, I have to remind myself that I can still do this. I have to quiet the voice that says, 'You're blind, you can't make art anymore.' Then I open Lightroom, start editing, and think, 'Not bad for a blind guy,'" he explains. Recently, he has returned to shooting, even dusting off his old Holga for new experiments, viewing this return to film not as nostalgia but as reconnection with the tactile and uncertain.
The partnership between Cetta and DeOrtentiis began with honest conversation before any photographs were taken. The artists spent considerable time discussing what it means to see differently, to relinquish control, and to trust another person with one's vulnerability. "We talked a lot about my experiences as someone losing vision," Cetta says. "What led to my diagnosis, what my prognosis is, and what helps me manage day-to-day. When it came time to shoot, I showed up as myself, with my cane and my glasses, and trusted Christina to guide the process."
DeOrtentiis approached the collaboration with empathy and curiosity, understanding that the process would require her to see through someone else's sensory world and let that perspective shape her visual decisions. "The first step was simply listening," she recalls. "Matt was very open about what he was going through. His descriptions were so vivid that I could almost picture what he was seeing. That's when I realized the photographs needed to feel tactile and layered."
Employing a mixed-media approach, DeOrtentiis printed photographs on paper, layered them with thread and translucent materials, then scanned them back into digital form. The resulting portrait series feels tangible, as if touched by the very sensations Cetta describes. Shooting in black and white, she used continuous lighting rather than strobes so he could sense the direction and warmth of light on his skin, emphasizing texture and emotion over precision.
One particularly striking image shows Cetta standing slightly blurred with his cane, surrounded by soft, linear distortions resembling the light arcs and floaters he experiences. "We were trying to make visible something impossible to show," Cetta says. "The constant flickering of my vision. Christina found a way to capture that chaos and make it poetic."
For both artists, the collaboration became a reflection on authorship, vulnerability, and creative respect. It wasn't merely about documenting Cetta's experience but about merging two distinct perspectives into one shared language of expression. "Too often, photographers use illness as a prop," Cetta observes. "They turn someone's condition into an emotional device for clicks or sympathy. Christina did the opposite. She listened with an open mind and an open heart. It was a true partnership, not a spectacle."
DeOrtentiis echoes this sentiment, reflecting on the delicate balance between interpretation and representation. "My role was to translate what he described into something that could be felt by others. I wanted the images to hold both the fragility and the strength of his story. This was never about photographing blindness. It was about photographing Matt."
The challenge of representing something as abstract as vision loss required both creativity and restraint. Both artists had to navigate the tension between literal storytelling and emotional truth, deciding what to reveal and what to leave ambiguous. "Honestly, I didn't set out to depict resilience," Cetta says. "I set out to show grief, loss, and adaptation. But when I saw the finished portraits, I realized they also reflected resilience. They showed me that I'm still here, still capable, even on days when I struggle."
DeOrtentiis balanced literal and figurative techniques, allowing emotion to guide her craft as much as composition. "I knew I wanted the photos to feel alive," she explains. "I used charcoal, thread, and translucent overlays to echo the distortions Matt described. I even incorporated warm yellows, because he mentioned that his tinted glasses make edges more defined. Those small choices gave me a way to honor his perspective."
Both artists agree that the process deepened their understanding of how photography can function beyond sight, evolving into a practice rooted in empathy and connection rather than pure observation. "We often think of photography as something that belongs only to the eyes," DeOrtentiis says. "But this project reminded me that vision is also emotional and sensory. You can feel an image without fully seeing it."
Since releasing the project online, the response has been deeply personal, with many viewers moved not only by the images but by the conversations they sparked around disability, identity, and creativity. The series invited audiences to confront their own assumptions about what it means to see and create. "One of Christina's friends also has RP and is a photographer," Cetta notes. "That connection meant a lot. What I really hope is that the series reaches other artists with low vision and lets them know they're not alone."
For Cetta, light has taken on new significance, becoming both a source of frustration and fascination, a symbol of clarity and distortion. "I have a love-hate relationship with light now," he admits. "I'm extremely sensitive to brightness during the day and need sunglasses even when it's cloudy. At night, I rely on strong lighting to see. I wear brown lenses because they help accentuate edges and contrast. My world is literally tinted warm."
Despite these changes, he remains deeply connected to his craft, finding new meaning in the act of creation itself. "Composition hasn't been affected much because my central vision is still intact," he says. "But I think more now about how fleeting vision is. Every photograph feels like a record of something I might not see clearly again."
Cetta hopes the series encourages other artists and audiences to think critically about representation, understanding that disability and creativity are not opposing forces but intertwined forms of perception. "Blindness isn't an identity. It's a condition some of us live with," he explains. "There are people in this world who are doing amazing things and just happen to be blind. What matters most is how we tell those stories. Christina's approach was grounded in respect. That's what makes the work powerful."
Both artists plan to continue building on this project, expanding its reach through exhibitions, talks, and future collaborations. For Cetta, the work represents both a personal milestone and a message to others facing similar challenges. "I just want it to reach people who might see themselves in it," he says. "If it helps someone else with RP feel understood, that's everything." DeOrtentiis hopes to photograph others who experience visual impairment or disability, broadening the narrative beyond one story to a shared collective of perspectives.
