1 of 100
I have a couple of blogs to catch up on, but before I do, I want to introduce a small, very personal project I’ve started.
It’s called 100 Portraits.
This isn’t just about photographing one hundred people. Each portrait is paired with three questions I ask every subject:
How do you feel seen?
How do you feel heard?
What is one thing we could do to make the world better?
The project grew out of a quiet shift I’ve been making in my own life. I’ve stepped back from social media and have been making a conscious effort to be out in public more, to actually look at people instead of scrolling past them.
A few days ago, I went into Mothership Coffee with a book I’m currently reading. I sat, read, and let myself observe the room. There was a man there who stood out immediately. He was wearing a suit and tie, set his computer down, put on headphones, and got to work. I didn’t know what he was working on, but his presence felt intentional. What really caught my attention was a deck of cards resting in a leather holder beside him. For reasons I couldn’t quite explain, the image of him stayed with me long after I left.
I didn’t have my camera that day, but on the way home the idea for 100 Portraits arrived fully formed.
Today, I went back.
I brought my camera. I brought my book. I hoped he might be there, but when I walked in, I didn’t see him. I ordered a coffee and sat down to read, half resigned to the idea that this first portrait might have to wait.
When I stood up to grab my drink, I noticed him tucked away in the corner.
I moved my things closer and watched quietly. He was editing video, weaving in card tricks. I sat there far longer than I care to admit, wrestling with my own nerves. I could feel the growing list of responsibilities at home calling me back, like a siren song promising productivity and safety.
Before I could surrender to it, I leaned over and asked,
“Hey, can I take a portrait photo of you? I’m working on a project and I’d love to take your photo.”
He hesitated, then agreed.
Nervously and awkwardly, I took the photo. Then we talked. I asked about the cards, about the editing. I learned his name is Armando Lucero, a magician who primarily teaches other magicians from around the world.
After we built a little rapport, I asked if I could record him and ask the three questions. He said yes.
That brief moment we shared was unexpectedly beautiful.
The most impactful moment came at the end of the recording, when he answered the question, “What does it mean to be heard?” His response hit me so deeply that I nearly burst into tears right there.
At one point in the conversation, he mentioned that I had already given him part of the answer. Earlier, I had shared a story with him about sitting with the head monk of a monastery in Nepal. I had asked the monk what the world needed to learn from Buddhism to make it better.
His answer was simple:
“You must love yourself first.
Then your family and friends and animals.
Then your neighbors.
Then your nation and other nations.
Then we will find peace.”
This project isn’t about perfect portraits.
It’s about presence.
It’s about listening.
It’s about remembering that connection still exists, quietly waiting for us, if we’re willing to put the phone down, step into the room, and ask.
For the next portrait, I think I’ll take another photo after the conversation. Something changes when people feel seen and heard, even briefly. You can feel it.
Below is the audio recording
