I have a confession to make: before my time with RM Sotheby's, I had a few ideas about the sort of person who blew their money on a fancy car.

There are moments in life where, even when I am alone, I am embarrassed by my own hubris. I remember exactly where I was standing, what I was wearing, and the sun's position in the sky when my eye caught the curve just above the front driver's side wheel of a forest green 1971 Mercedes Cabriolet.

There was something about how thoughtful it was — how perfectly it complemented the car's shape. And noticing it led me to notice that the same thoughtfulness had been applied everywhere. I did a slow walk around the vehicle, lingering on details so small they could only have mattered to the person who made them. Someone had pored over every ridge, every slope, every textile — the enamel on the shifter, the way the shade of the stitching and the leather varied almost imperceptibly. Whoever designed this — this was their life. This is what they cared about.

Because they cared so much, I began to care. I began to feel something about these vehicles and the culture that appreciates them, and it transformed my experience working on this project. I felt a duty to capture them — visually and narratively — with the same respect that had been poured into making them.

I started thinking about the people who choose these cars. What the experience is like. What it means. And that's what led me to the idea of legacy.

So I started thinking about who that person is — too young to have acquired the wealth necessary to hold a set of RM keys but ambitious enough for it to be inevitable. Someone who sees an ad for the first time and knows that this is something that will motivate hard work.

He chooses colors in his mind that change depending on the scene: sunset revealing sparkles hidden in the oil black shine as he takes the long way . A puppy lifted off of the sandy interior of one so red it the paint looks like it’s still wet. A hand dangling over a dark brown console, morning light dancing along the edges of a diamond he spent months agonizing over.

The car as silent witness. The supporting character you can't take your eyes off, wondering what other stories it could tell.

A moment is a memory that still has the color in its cheeks.

Legacy isn't passed down. It's driven forward.