By Joannie Surette, assistant to Marion Warren.

Marion Warren bought his first camera in 1938 when he was 17 years old. Our paths met in the summer of 2001 as a retrospective exhibit of his photography was being put together. I'd moved to Maryland from New England 25 years ago and gotten a sense of place from seeing Marion's pictures of the Chesapeake. The exhibit was quite a success, and Marion told me he'd like to continue working together.

And I said yes. He was 81 years old and following his instincts, he still had work to do and he needed help. Richard Olsenius a photographer. Entered Marion's life about a year later with the renewed interest in Marion's photography, He also needed help printing. Marion once told me that throughout his life, people had always appeared at just the right moments.

I asked him why he thought that had happened. He just grinned and said the result of good, clean living.

Family and friends would sometimes gather at the farm where I live on the edge of the Chesapeake Bay. I saw a widening circle of people drawn to Marion. There was still a wonderfully infectious twinkle in his eyes despite the number of serious health issues he had. We were riding a wave and it was cresting. The clock was ticking.

He simply wanted more time. With our help, he’d deal with each health crisis as it arose and then get back to work. He lived in the present tense more than anyone I've ever known. Perhaps all those years waiting for the light to be just right before he clicked the camera shutter had taught him that simple truth. Marion said the key to successful collaborations was to surround yourself with people who were good at what they did and then just leave them alone.

Marion's love of photography and printmaking was still his life. He was still eager to learn. As a young man, he had received encouragement from Edward Steichen. He had met Ansel Adams. He knew the power of a good photograph. Marion still headed for his darkroom most days. He focused on going back into his drawers of prints and negatives and slides, his life's work.

His body was slowing down, but his spirit was still strong. He was still printing, but he was also focusing on the future. He was passing the torch to Richard. They worked side by side. The two photographers, the two master printers in search of the perfect print. Each learning from the other. Marion entered the digital age and was astounded at the detail new technology brought to his pictures.

He said it brought out secrets that had been hidden in his negatives for more than 50 years. He loved it. I don't know that he ever imagined his prints would start being sought after by collectors during his lifetime. But they did. To still be able to work in his darkroom, where he had stood so many years, still brought great satisfaction to Marion.

We watched him make some of his last prints, and he was a master. Those hands shaded and burned and focused countless negatives. It was maybe the most important and private time for him alone, with his negatives in the solitude of his darkroom.

He was content. The countless hours spent listening to the seconds tick off his hands wet, turning the prints over and over each second, the valuable one. And it all comes together at the last moment and the picture emerges.

Marion was quite matter of fact about his own mortality. He wanted his pictures to stay alive when he was gone. His need to be productive in his work kept him alive. So the work continued.

Marion Warren was a clear and plainspoken man. He loved his Chesapeake, the watermen, the farmers, the land, the water, the light. There was beauty enough in the world as he saw it. No need for special effects or fancy embellishments. He spent a lifetime photographing what he saw, leaving a beautiful vision behind for the rest of us and the generations to come.

He once said, I know I've left the world a better place than the one I was born into. I say, Well done.