Through the Lens of Leica: A Meeting with John Simmons

The weight of a Leica in my hands has always been more than just the sum of its metal and glass—it has been a bridge, a key, a passport. Through its viewfinder, I have encountered the world in ways that transcend the simple act of making photographs. But more than that, it has introduced me to people—storytellers whose lives and experiences have shaped my own.

There are countless stories I could tell, moments etched in time, friendships forged over the click of a shutter. But today, I want to talk about one in particular—meeting John Simmons.

The Call to Selma

It was at the Selma Photographic Nights Festival where our paths crossed. A festival dedicated to celebrating the power of photography, set against the backdrop of a city steeped in history. It was a three-day event, but those three days felt like a lifetime in the best possible way. That is a story for another day.

John Simmons was the guest speaker, and while his reputation preceded him—a renowned cinematographer, a documentarian of life, an artist who captured the essence of humanity in every frame—I had no idea just how deeply our meeting would impact me.

From the moment we were introduced, the conversations flowed effortlessly. Over cups of coffee, meals shared at quiet tables, and long walks through the streets of Selma, we spoke about photography, of course, but also about life, about the responsibility that comes with wielding a camera, about the importance of storytelling beyond aesthetics.

The Hero’s Journey

There’s something special about meeting someone who has walked the path before you, who understands the weight of the moments we chase, the silent poetry of a well-composed frame. John didn’t just talk about photography—he lived it. Every word he spoke carried the depth of someone who had seen the world through the lens long before I had ever picked up a camera.

He spoke of capturing truth, of honoring the stories we tell, of using our work to elevate voices that may otherwise go unheard. He reminded me that photography is not just about seeing, but about understanding.

And as we wandered through Selma, cameras in hand, he showed me—not in words, but in action—how to be present, how to anticipate, how to feel the rhythm of a place before pressing the shutter.

The Leica, in that moment, became more than just a tool; it became a conduit between generations of storytellers.

The Transformation

By the time the festival ended, I walked away with more than just a handful of photographs. I carried with me a renewed sense of purpose, a deeper appreciation for the craft, and the realization that the true magic of photography lies not just in what we capture, but in who we meet along the way.

John Simmons, like so many others I have met through this shared love of image-making, reinforced something I have always believed—the camera is an exceptional tool, but its community is at par. The people behind the lens, those who dedicate their lives to telling the stories that matter, are what make this journey truly extraordinary.

And so, as I continue down my own path, Leica in hand, I do so with gratitude—for the moments, for the lessons, and most of all, for the people.

This is just one story. There are many more to tell. But for now, this is the one I wanted to share. Oh and for John if he is reading this, I am over here chasing ghost.

The Battle with Time

The Battle with Time: How Freedom Can Make Staying Focused a Challenge

Freedom is a gift, but it can also be the greatest distraction.

Having an open schedule, a blank slate to fill with anything I want is both exhilarating and daunting. There’s this illusion that with all the time in the world, I’ll get everything done – work, hobbies, exploration, you name it. But somehow, the hours slip through my fingers like sand. I go from one day to the next, telling myself there’s always tomorrow, always more time, only to realize I’ve done much less than I planned. Maybe that’s why, lately, I’ve been toying with the idea of structure, alarms, and perhaps even a board to keep me on track. Because while freedom is a beautiful thing, it’s also a double-edged sword that can cut into productivity.

Part 1: The Double-Edged Sword of Freedom

Too much freedom can become its own kind of trap. With no set schedule, I can do anything – but that often leads to doing nothing at all. The day starts full of potential, and before I know it, I’m caught up in minor distractions or drifting from one task to another without ever finishing anything. It’s a strange contradiction: I crave this freedom, yet it seems to hold me back. Without deadlines or accountability, it’s easy to let hours slip away, leaving me with this gnawing feeling that I’m wasting something precious.

Part 2: Finding the Happy Medium

So here I am, stuck between wanting to maximize every moment and finding myself unable to keep pace with my expectations. There has to be a middle ground, a balance between discipline and flexibility. Maybe it’s a matter of setting small goals or creating some structure within my days – something as simple as an alarm or a checklist to keep me accountable. A happy medium where I can still savor the freedom but with enough structure to make sure I’m moving forward. I think it’s all about setting up those small reminders that time is precious, even on the slow days.

Part 3: Time Slips Away, So Make It Count

I know I have more years behind me than ahead, and maybe that’s why I feel this urgency. There’s so much to see, do, experience – yet it’s easy to lose sight of that in the day-to-day. Some days, I’m trying to do it all; others, I’m content doing nothing. But if there’s one thing I’m realizing, time will pass no matter what. So it’s up to me to use it wisely. All this to say, life’s short – get out there and enjoy it however that looks for you. Set your goals and find your rhythm, but don’t forget to live in the moment. It’s a balancing act, and I’m still learning, but that’s the beauty of it. These are just some thoughts tonight. I hope they resonate with anyone else on this journey of chasing time and meaning.

Peace,

John

Not every day has to be ‘the day,’ ...

When the Zone Doesn’t Happen: Learning to Walk Away and Just Be

Not every day has to be ‘the day,’ and that’s okay.

There are those days when the drive to capture something extraordinary just isn’t there. Today was one of those days. I hadn’t planned to go out and shoot – I had an errand downtown, so I thought, *Why not? Let’s see if something catches my eye.* Camera in hand, an extra lens in my bag, I set off, ready to dive into the city. But as I walked around, looking for that spark, that invisible thread to pull me into the moment… nothing happened. And while I know I do this because I *choose* to, because it brings me joy, I can’t deny that little voice in the back of my mind: *Will today be the day?* Will I capture the image that changes everything? Will I meet the person who changes the trajectory of my work?

Part 1: The Pressure We Put on Ourselves

It’s strange, really. There’s no deadline, no client breathing down my neck, yet there’s a quiet pressure I sometimes feel when I go out to shoot. It’s the weight of potential – the possibility that the next shot could be *the* shot. The one that captures the magic I’m constantly searching for. But what if today isn’t that day? And even more, what if there’s no such thing as “the shot” at all? It’s a mental game I play, balancing the joy of just wandering with the expectation of discovery. Today, though, nothing felt quite right. The scenes felt flat, the light felt off, and I knew deep down that I wasn’t in the zone.

Part 2: Knowing When to Step Back

As I walked, I realized there’s no shame in stepping back. There are days when inspiration doesn’t strike, and forcing it only drains the joy out of it. When I let go of the pressure to create, I remember why I’m here in the first place: to explore, to see, to just *be.* I reminded myself that photography isn’t my only creative outlet. If the camera doesn’t spark some days, maybe a sketch will. Or perhaps I’ll dive into my zine work, play around with design, or get lost in a good book. Having multiple outlets helps me shift gears and keeps the creativity flowing without the pressure of a perfect result.

Part 3: The Value of Multiple Outlets

I think any creative person must have more than one outlet. Photography is my primary language, yes, but there’s something liberating about letting go of the camera and pouring that energy into something else. It’s a reminder that creativity doesn’t always need to be channeled into one thing. Walking away from a slow photography day doesn’t mean I’m walking away from creativity – it just means redirecting it. And who knows? Stepping back often brings clarity, which might lead me to something even more meaningful the next time I pick up my camera.

So here’s my final thought: some days, the inspiration won’t come, and that’s okay. Walking away doesn’t mean giving up; it means creating room for something new.

Peace

John

Leica & the Red Dot Community

Leica and the Red Dot Community: More Than Just a Camera

It all started with two words: “Nice camera.”

There’s something special about spotting a Leica in the wild – that little red dot, inconspicuous yet powerful, seems to pull people together. As I wandered the city today, I noticed a man with a Leica M around his neck. I couldn’t help myself and tossed him a casual, “Nice camera.” That was all it took. He smiled, nodded, and introduced himself as David. From there, we fell into a conversation that wasn’t just about gear but about shared experiences, community, and why Leicas are more than just cameras.

Part 1: The Leica Choice

David told me he’d spent nearly an hour on the phone with a Leica store ambassador, trying to decide which camera was the right fit. “I wanted something I could grow with,” he explained, “and the ambassador took the time to understand what I was looking for” or something to that effect. We talked about his M model and what led him to it, but the conversation quickly went deeper. For David, the Leica wasn’t just a purchase; it was a commitment to the craft and the community surrounding these cameras. Leica users often share stories like David’s – stories that go beyond specs and features and focus on the journey each camera owner embarks upon.

It’s a journey I knew all too well. I’d held other cameras before, but none had sparked conversations like a Leica. There’s an unspoken bond, a camaraderie that comes with carrying one of these cameras, as if we’re all part of the same club, sharing moments and memories through our lenses.

Part 2: The Leica Fellowship

As our conversation continued, David and I found ourselves diving into the details of the Leica Society and the gatherings that bring photographers together. I mentioned classes, events, and local meet-ups where Leica owners share their work and learn from one another. He said, “People are just as interested in helping you learn as they are in talking about what they’ve captured.”

We crossed paths two more times today, and the encounter felt less like a chance meeting and more like reconnecting with an old friend. Something remarkable about it is that a Leica in hand creates an invisible bond between strangers, breaking down barriers that might exist with any other camera. Leica users, it turns out, aren’t just operators of a high-end piece of equipment; they’re part of a fellowship that appreciates the story behind each shot and values the unique perspective every photographer brings.

Part 3: Final Thoughts – The Power of the Red Dot

By the end of the day, I told David I’d see you at the next Leica event, I am sure, and all because of that little red dot. Leicas are more than just cameras; they’re conversation starters, community builders, and connectors of like-minded souls. I’ve used other cameras, but nothing else has led to conversations about classes, community events, or friendships. There’s something almost magical about meeting another Leica photographer—a feeling of shared purpose and mutual respect.

As I walked away from our last encounter, I realized that a Leica camera doesn’t just capture moments; it creates them. It brings people together and builds bridges. For those who know the weight and wonder of carrying one, the red dot isn’t just a logo – it’s a symbol of connection, community, and the endless stories we’ll capture and share.

This, of course, is just my thoughts, but they seem to be a shared theme throughout.

Peace,

John

The Journey: Chasing the Next Shot

Every photographer knows the thrill: waking up, camera in hand, wondering what stories today will reveal.

There’s an endless pursuit in photography, a journey about much more than just snapping a great picture. It’s about searching for that next frame, sometimes endlessly, that moment that might eclipse everything that came before it. I once read a quote that’s always stayed with me: "My best shot is my next shot." (comment below if you remember who said it) The idea that the most powerful image is the one you haven’t yet captured is both exciting and humbling. Every morning, I feel it deep in my bones – the possibility that today could hold that “next shot.”

Part 1: The Itch to Create

It all starts with the itch that needs to capture something new, something unseen. Each time I step out with my camera, it feels like I’m on a treasure hunt. But instead of gold or jewels, I’m searching for fleeting fragments of time. Photography is unique in that way – it’s all about capturing a moment that only happens once. A specific ray of light, a certain expression, a movement that, when still, tells a story in a way no words could. And that’s the thrill: knowing that if I let my guard down, I might miss it.

I think every photographer has this constant awareness, like radar, scanning for something they can’t even describe until it’s in the frame. It’s a relentless drive, an insatiable hunger, and the more we shoot, the hungrier we get. Some might call it obsession, but for me, it’s closer to purpose.

Part 2: Chasing the Shot

As a photographer, you learn quickly that not every shot will be *the* shot. You spend days chasing light and shadow, watching the way people interact in the streets, listening to the rhythm of the world around you, hoping it’ll align with your vision. There’s beauty in the hustle – in catching a shot on the fly or spending hours waiting for the perfect frame to unfold at the same location. This journey isn’t about capturing perfection; it’s about immersing yourself in life’s details and catching them as they happen.

But the chase also brings something deeper. It teaches patience, resilience, and respect for the process. Photography is raw; it pulls you into unexpected places and guides you through quiet moments and chaotic streets. It connects you with your surroundings in ways you can’t experience from the sidelines. And with each click, I’m reminded of that saying: “My best shot is my next shot.” There’s always room to grow, to see differently, to improve. And that’s what keeps the journey alive – that insatiable curiosity about what comes next.

Part 3: The Final Thought – A Never-Ending Journey

So, what does it mean to pursue the next shot? For me, it means there’s no end in sight. It’s a journey of seeing, not just with my eyes but with a sense of wonder. Every day offers a new perspective and a chance to see the world through a different lens.

When I think about my best shot being the one I haven’t taken yet, I’m reminded that photography isn’t about reaching a destination; it’s about constantly moving forward. It’s about embracing the unknown, seeking moments that will never come again, and honoring them by capturing them. And in the end, that’s the journey: it’s endless, unpredictable, and undeniably fulfilling.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and wonder again – what will today reveal?

Peace,

John

Daily Blog

Not working always Shooting!

Recently (today), someone told me they don't like shooting on vacation because it feels like work; I was like, “I get it. " Then I sat there and thought about it, and frankly, I get it, but at the same time, it made me think.

Let me explain: for me, photography is always about wanting to make images. I take my camera everywhere, and yes, I know everyone says that, but I do. Before I go any further, this is not a jab at the comment; it just made me think. What’s my relationship with photography? Is it work?

Also, something of note: I am retired from the military, so I have a pension. I don't rely on photography for income, so it is never considered work, which I don't and won't take for granted. This might be why I kept thinking about what my relationship with photography is all about.

I was sitting there thinking about photography and “work “ while holding my camera at my daughter's swim meet. As I rushed up to capture a moment with the team, I realized that, at the current moment, photography is not working or at least doesn’t have an association with the word work (yet.) It's just what I do and a part of who I am (at least currently); if I am lucky enough to make some money along the way, that would be great, but then I have to think about, is getting paid for doing this suddenly make it “work?”

As I have said, follow your dreams, always create for yourself, and do it because you love it. Shout out to all the photographers doing this for income, whether full-time or the hustle you all are the real ones.

Peace everyone