THE STORY

It all started when my late mentor and hero, Peter Kiar, put his Leica M4 in my hands when I was four. It was the first time I had ever held a camera. Of course, at that age, I knew nothing about name brands or camera functions, but it was so mechanical and cool. He showed me how to use the advance lever and how to gently press the shutter release. He even let me take a photo! I was hooked instantly. Throughout my childhood and into my teens, I was fascinated by photography. In high school, I developed an interest in cinema and eventually went to film school. When I graduated with a passion for both? I decided to make a career out of it. But in my personal time, black-and-white photography captured my heart. It’s all about light, shadow, and composition—you either nail it or you don’t. My passion was born from Peter’s love for the medium. His style was different, but the underlying passion came from the same ideal.

I never knew what Peter did with that roll of film, and I probably never will. He was a true Renaissance man. In his 20s, he raced motorcycles, and he later became an accomplished chef and baker. He spoke conversational French and Italian, was an outstanding graphic designer, and an incredible photographer. Every Christmas, he would bake Italian Panettone and Pandoro and make croissants that Cédric Grolet would lust over. His carbonara was so perfect that I don’t order it at restaurants because nothing compares. As a professional graphic designer, he worked with many clients, and as a fine-art photographr his work was exhibited in galleries from Chicago to New York and Paris. Every Christmas, as far back as I can remember, he would gift beautiful black-and-white prints of photos he had taken over the past year to his loved ones.

Then, in the late 2000s, Peter was hit by a taxi while biking in downtown Chicago. Although he survived, the recovery was difficult, and he suffered from seizures due to brain damage. Thankfully, he managed to control them with medication and resumed his usual life for a long time—but not forever. In January 2021, he had a seizure and passed away. My godparents were his best friends, and my godmother, the executor of his estate, called me later that year with some news: he had left me his cherished and annotated Italian cookbook, his Pandoro pans, and his Leica Monochrom.

Starting in Christmas 2021, I began making Pandoro in his memory, but it wasn’t until mid-2023 that I could bring myself to pick up his camera—his Leica Monochrom. I love how rangefinders make you slow down and carefully compose each shot, a stark contrast to the high-tech cameras we use today with autofocus, auto white balance, and LiveShot. His Monochrom, the first digital black-and-white-only Leica, helped me make peace with his passing. The CCD sensor mimics film in a way that modern CMOS sensors simply can’t replicate. Shooting with it allows me to capture the same grain and imperfections without having to carry rolls of film; Peter’s parting gift to me.

I’ve now been shooting with his camera for a little over a year. After a three-season hiatus, I’m continuing his tradition of gifting black-and-white prints to our family and friends this holiday season. Every time I frame a shot with his camera, capturing moments in a medium we both loved, I feel like he’s there with me. I hope that sharing my work—captured on his camera—gives our family and friends the same sense of connection and cathartic release that I experience through capturing with it.