Homeland - A family trip and the beginning of sometime new.
Words and Photography by John Hendrick
A Return to the Beginning
In 2017, I walked into a Leica boutique in Washington, D.C., not to chase legacy or join a photographic community but simply to find a camera that made me feel something again.
I wasn’t looking for heritage. I wasn’t even aware of the weight the red dot carried in the world of photography. I was just tired of automation of cameras doing too much of the work for me. I wanted to slow down. To take control.
I was ready to be a student of the craft again, so when the salesperson asked if there was anything else she could help with after I purchased the Leica M240, I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I said. “How do you focus with this?” I had no idea what I was getting into. And no idea how far this desire for manual control would take me.
The First Trip
A few months later, I found myself boarding a flight to Peru, my parents’ homeland, on a family trip that marked another kind of return. It was my first time traveling with my Leica M, and the first time my dad, my little brother, and I would explore the country together, alongside my own family.
I packed light. Just the M240 and a single lens, a 50mm Summicron. I wasn’t chasing perfect frames or portfolio-worthy images. At that time, photography hadn’t yet become an artistic pursuit. It was a way to remember to hold onto family moments, candid gestures, and places that meant something to me. I wasn’t thinking about composition, light, or visual identity. I was thinking about memories.
And yet, as I look back on the images from that trip, I see something forming beneath the surface.
The Spark of Intention
Most of the frames from that trip are what you’d expect: quick moments, snapshots of the people, massive structures, market stalls, and family. But there’s something else buried in them, too, something that feels like a spark trying to catch.
Even though I wasn’t aware of it at the time, those frames flirted with the language of reportage, with a quiet sense of documentary. I wasn’t chasing fine art, but somehow, it was already chasing me.
That’s the beauty of photography: sometimes your voice shows up before you know you have one.
Roots and Rangefinders
Peru was the beginning. Not just of many trips back to my family’s homeland, but of a relationship with a camera system that continues to shape the way I see the world. The Leica M was a revelation not because of its reputation, but because of its restraint. It forced me to slow down, to think, to engage.
It also brought something else into focus: legacy. Family legacy. Creative legacy. A connection to the past not just in Peru, but in my evolution as an image maker.
And now, years later, I find myself still chasing that balance between documenting life and translating it into something more. Between capturing moments for memory and building something larger with meaning.
Looking Back, Looking Forward
If you had asked me in 2017 what I thought would come from that walk into the Leica store, I would have had no idea. I was just looking for a different kind of camera. I wasn’t expecting a different kind of life.
Today, I find myself circling back to that origin story, preparing to package it all into something tangible a body of work, a reflection, a tribute. I’m still walking this road camera in hand. Still learning. Still exploring.
And I can’t help but wonder what the 2027 version of myself will say when he looks back at this chapter. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.