From childhood you've been about 'let's go.'About roaming on your horse through open fields in Argentina. As a girl my 'let's go' meant alone time to write in my journal, or printing photos beneath the glow of an amber safelight in a makeshift darkroom in the basement.

In our first week together, during our first walk, you allowed me my first portrait. I promised, "only ever one photo, and only ever with this ancient square film camera, and only when you say yes."

"I don't mind so much," you replied.
But without limits? The surest way to destroy a chance at creating lasting intimacy is to fall in love with an artist who photographs love.

The old Rolleiflex camera demands limits too-each exposure a five-dollar bet. Maybe this time I captured the spirit of our ever-shifting union. And maybe not.

Each exposure hours and hours for processing film and scanning and perfecting tones. Forced to slow it all down. To wait for the mood to match the moment. And as always, to await your yes.

Sometimes the interchange is openness; sometimes the interchange is tolerance; sometimes the interchange is disconnection; sometimes the interchange is love; all are variations for the conditions of intimacy in a long-term relationship.

In our first year you brought home a Serenata de Amor chocolate bonbon - the candy you craved as a kid - and instantly I knew the name for the collection of these shared moments. Song of Love.

A decade later, in the midst of the latest wars and famines and fires consuming the planet I wondered is love enough though? Is beauty enough? We took the day and escaped to our spot on the beach. Perfect sun. Perfect angle. Perfect color. Perfect love. I asked for a photograph. Not really in the mood, you allowed me your back, and the title was forever shifted - Serenata de Amor:The Gratitude Journals.

With gratitude I say yes to your 'let's go'-chase to be with you in the hills, on the dunes, on trains and planes, and to places I hadn't imagined going.