That dog loves her. Left in a pen by his previous "master," Melanie found him and brought him a home. Named him Lucky. He trots confidently throughout the trailer they share, nudging cats and clearing a path to her side. Eager for her. His bed sits in the center of the living room.

“Meet John Loengard and make his image.” I wrote a number of weeks ago in my little black journal. It felt so far-fetched. Meet and photograph the photographer I admire most? It was quite silly, actually. Who am I to dare dream it? I had no connection to him, only his book of famous photographs at the side of my bed and a strong desire to know the man with the vision to see these images.

So I filled out a contact form… which lead to an email exchange… followed by a snowstorm… and a cancelled flight to Laguarda… that sent me on a delayed flight without my luggage… which lead to a series of phone calls and a sequence of subway rides... and one deep step into a puddle of slush on the upper West side… that landed my wet boots and fluttering heart at the foot of John Loengard’s open door. And there he stood. The man I dared dream to meet.

I wish I had words to express how it felt to sit with him at his dining room table. To soak in the reality of his presence and to bear witness to his prints of the Beatles and Georgia O’Keeffe leaning casually against the wall. I wish I could show you what it was like to look deeply into his eyes and hear him wonder “why anyone on earth would want to be a photographer.”

We talked about making images, and technology, and patience, and people, and the power of peculiar moments. I heard myself fumbling unrehearsed phrases about my passion for photography and watched him gently nod his head and look at me in a way that I knew he understood. “I know the fascination,” he said lifting his brow, making me feel so much less alone.

And then he pulled up his chair beside me to look at my images and share his thoughts. And within minutes, he sliced through the clutter of subjects and settings and showed me that elusive, peculiar moment in two of my own images – a dog standing on the edge of a sofa and a young boy posing for a photograph in a paper crown. And that’s when it just clicked. I knew everything he needed to say to me without a word, because we could just see it. That elusive, peculiar moment. The one that attracts me to his masterful images again and again. The one I dare to seek.

Thanks to our cousin, Laura, we met for lunch during my last visit to New York and within an instant he was familiar. Less like a long-lost cousin and more like a big brother. He teaches me things like how to navigate the subway, use the clone stamp tool in Photoshop, and find cool apps for my iPhone. He tracks down my lost luggage and refills my glass of water when it gets low. He suggests the restaurants, asks questions, and guides me over thick chunks of snow along the streets of New York. Observant and full of thought. He makes me laugh so hard that it makes me cry. Had he not been my cousin, I would have picked him for a friend.

It was Sunday, our first full day in Tanzania. Our safari driver pulled off the long stretch of road on our way back to Arusha from Ngorongoro Crater. One the seats in his vehicle had broken at the frame, so in an effort to keep us comfortable for the remainder of the trip, he swiftly identified a group of mechanics in an open-air station to weld it back into place.

We had no idea where we were or how long we'd stay, but we quickly became engaged with a group of young children kicking a make-shift ball around a dusty open space just beyond the mechanics at work. Without hesitation, our friend AJ inserted himself into the game, while eight-year-old Carter moved tentatively toward these children. It was his first opportunity to communicate with African children and he wanted so much to do just that. Flipping through pages in his book of Swahili words, he selected and struggled to pronounce a few. But it was awkward. And frustrating. He didn't have the words, yet his desire to connect was so genuine and strong. I felt for that sweet boy. But he didn't give up. Putting the book down, he ran back to the vehicle... returning with a grin on his face and candy in his hands.

We reconnected a few years ago when I realized that he lived just 30 minutes from my door. Spending time with him in his home with his wife is such a gift for me. Last Friday, we talked about the start of his photography career as a photojournalist and the excitement of being called in the middle of the night to capture news in the making. "Have you ever seen an ole' 4x5?" he asked. I hadn't. And so my lesson began. Within minutes he returned to the sofa with a black box, pieced together his Crown Graphic 4x5 press camera (weighing in at a hefty 8 pounds), and demonstrated the very manual process of making images "on the fly" back in 1953. And giving a sweet glance in the direction of his beautiful wife, he even told me about the time he had to change his film under a sorority girl's lengthy skirt.

I'm grateful for this time with him. The wisdom of his life. He gives me a window into a past I'll never know.

Cross-posted with another image at Shutter Sisters.

I've read this phrase over and over again. It's the first collection of words that preceeds the masterful black and white images of John Loengard in "As I See It." I've been an artist all my life, yet it took forty years worth of moments to really prepare me to see as a photographer. To open up my heart and mind wide enough to fully embrace the significance of human interaction, absent of my involvement. Nothing thrills me more than documenting the magic of life.

Read the story behind this image made at Shepherds Junior School in Arusha, Tanzania.

A close connection between two individuals is fluid. Bending and flexing it forms infinite shapes to fill empty spaces, apart from time. Ignorant of convenience. It seeks depth and creates substance. At times it can be still and silent, yet never motionless. Always lifting, it gently nudges in either direction.

Friends, Betty and Grace, in Kigali, Rwanda.

I'm inspired by confident individuals who embrace their passion, think creatively, and act with courage despite fear and challenges too numerous name. Just seeing this image of Dativa, an entrepreneur and technologist speaking about her fledgling business in Kigai, Rwanda fires me up. This is a woman I admire.

I've been thinking about this space a lot lately. This mingling of business and pleasure. The odd assortment of images and phrases revealing the vast expanse of moments that thrill me. Fill me. Make me think. I've thought about inserting a little distance between myself and this space to see what it feels like to hold back. To not be as open. Yes, I've thought about that. But why should I give you less than who I am?