It was 2006 when I was in my car, stuck in traffic, when the idea for the candor frame popped into my head.

I had just discovered this thing called podcasting, and I was using it as

a diversion while driving to and from work. It was a 60-mile round trip, and I was frequently

spending anywhere between two to two and a half hours five days a week on the road. I listened to the

radio, I listened to books on tape, but it wasn't

until I discovered podcasting that I found something that not only filled the space between my ears

while I was in my car, but found something that really entertained me and inspired me. It wasn't

just about killing time. I immediately gravitated the podcast about photography, but soon found that much of the

conversation revolved around equipment.

Now, I wasn't particularly interested in that because I was already working at a photo

magazine, and that's all I wrote about.

I wrote articles about tripods, about lenses, about camera bodies.

I had my film of Gear Talk, and I really didn't want to hear any more of it after work.

I wanted to hear conversations about photography, from photographers.

But that really wasn't out there.

And I thought, why doesn't someone do a show in which they talk to

photographers about what they love to do best, photography? And then immediately afterwards, I thought,

well, why don't I do it? I know all these photographers. I know how to interview people. Why don't

I just do it? Now, I didn't know anything about podcasting besides knowing how to listen to them.

I didn't know anything about audio recording.

I certainly didn't know anything about audio editing.

But in that moment, I didn't let what I did not know keep me from doing something that I knew would be a success.

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