A few years ago, I was photographing a music festival. In the media tent, there was a guy playing on a tiny stage. He was wearing ripped jeans and a beat-up green sweatshirt. He was barefoot, and some of his toes were taped together. I didn't pay much attention to the music, and I had no idea who he was.
Later that day, I was photographing him on one of the main stages in front of 7,000 people. They listened as if he had a special message for each of them.
After his set, a line of fans formed near the stage. He came down to greet them. Each person had a story about how his music had changed their life. But what struck me wasn't the fans; it was him.
He engaged each person completely. He didn't rush them. He let them talk for as long as they wanted. As he spoke to each of them, it was as if there was no one else in the world at that moment. As each person wrapped up, they exchanged a heartfelt hug and walked away.
I found out later his name was Brett Dennen. But in that moment, the music and the fame didn't matter. What people were actually lining up for wasn't an autograph. They were lining up for the incredibly rare experience of being completely, undeniably seen by another human being.