Back in 2012 I walked into the @stevenkashergallery to see the first New York exhibition of Vivian Maier's work. I walked past the Weegee photographs and into the corner where Maier’s work was displayed. I took my time in front of each image. There was humor, life, and sadness in them. I stood there alone for a long time before an older gentleman came into the gallery and joined my viewing party. He also took his time examining each photograph. I sensed something different about the way he looked, with an intense personal connection. We struck up a conversation and I learned his name was Ron Gordon and he was the person responsible for printing Vivian’s images. He got to see what she did not, that magical moment when chemicals react and an image begins to appear, ghost-like at first, and then solid and sharp in the chemical bath. Ron toured me through each image, talking about the framing, shading, and how he decided on the printing process, as each print was unique. He told me the trick to Vivian’s style of capturing her subjects: “She was out so much, the moments started to find her. She wore her camera around her neck like jewelry.” It struck me just how intimately he knew this artist without ever having met her. We stood in front of the last image, one I kept coming back to, lingering over. I felt like I could have a conversation with the photograph forever. Endless stories were housed in this 20 x 20 frame and I wanted to know them all. Because Maier wasn't well known at the time (there weren't yet published books of her photographs nor a documentary of her story) I was able to buy that photograph I fell in love with. I still marvel at the fact that this image hangs on my wall. That, in a sense, I became a part of Vivian Maier’s story, and of this moment she captured with her Rolleiflex, of a street hustler gazing directly at her with a face as storied as they come.