patience

what i’m practicing lately is patience with myself. the same patience i try to bring to my subjects, the willingness to just sit with something, let it breathe, not force it. i’m applying that to my own rhythm now.

i still see photographs everywhere. that hasn’t left. standing in line, walking to my car, looking out a window, the eye doesn’t turn off. it’s just that the camera isn’t always there. and maybe that’s okay. maybe seeing is still part of the work.

the street work is still there when i get to it. people of atlanta isn’t going anywhere. the city isn’t going anywhere. the work will be there when i’m ready to meet it.

i used to think momentum meant constant output. now i think it means not quitting. showing up when you can. keeping the eye sharp even when the hands are full.

the rhythm comes back. it always does.

i’m just being patient with the process.

Anthony Edwards, AntLand — NBA All-Star Weekend 2026

Los Angeles, California

There’s a difference between photographing basketball and photographing what basketball means.

NBA All-Star Weekend is usually about spectacle. Cameras everywhere. Branded experiences. Controlled moments. But outside the arena, that’s where the real story lives. AntLand was supposed to be an activation built around Anthony Edwards. Instead, it became a gathering. Kids pressed against fences hours before he arrived. Parents lifting children onto rails. Teenagers dressed like they were about to play, not just watch. People waiting not for a celebrity… but for someone they recognized themselves in.

Anthony Edwards wasn’t just appearing. He was being received.

The Arrival

When he walked in, the noise didn’t spike the way you expect at celebrity appearances.

It settled. People leaned forward. Phones came out, but so did smiles. You could feel the difference between fandom and identification. He wasn’t performing. He was present. That’s what I wanted to photograph — not the event, but the recognition. The most important photographs weren’t of Anthony Edwards. They were of the children watching him. Basketball is one of the few spaces where possibility still looks physical. They weren’t just watching an NBA player. They were studying posture, confidence, presence — how he carried himself. That’s what stayed with me. You could see futures forming in real time.

Big events are remembered through small things. Shoes lined up on concrete.

Wristbands.

The way a basketball gets held when someone doesn’t want to put it down. Merchandise turning into keepsakes. Those details matter because memory lives in objects. Years from now, someone will find one of those bags in a closet and remember exactly where they were standing.

Photography isn’t always about the subject. Sometimes it’s about the space around them, the anticipation, the reaction, the reflection. AntLand wasn’t just about basketball.

It was about belief. And the kids understood that before anyone else did.