SpelHouse Homecoming Portraits!

SpelHouse Homecoming Portraits!

I’ll be making portraits of Spelman and Morehouse alumni and students during Homecoming week, celebrating the legacy and pride that live in this community.

This project is personal for me — so this space and its stories mean a lot.

The portraits will be made in studio Oct 16-17 and are part of an ongoing body of work documenting Black life and culture across Atlanta. They may later be used for a self-funded exhibition and included in my portfolio for reviews and publication opportunities (think The New York Times, Smithsonian Magazine, etc.). This project is personal for me and I’m it treating with a special amount of care, I was born and raised in Atlanta, and my grandmother lived and raised my father and his siblings across the street from Spelman/Morehouse campuses. My daughter graduated from Spelman in 2024 and I was born and raised in Atlanta.

If you’re a alum or current student attending Homecoming and would like to participate, I’d love to include you.

Thinking about opening up the project to all HBCU alumni attending SpelHouse Homecoming.. if you’re interested sign a note below.

017: Basketball Reflections: Documenting the Game, Love, and Life Lessons

Walking back into a gym feels like stepping into a familiar hymn, one that hums through my bones, steady and sure. The rhythm of sneakers on hardwood, the echo of a whistle slicing through the airit all pulls me back. There was a time when this was the dream: standing on the baseline, capturing every heartbeat of the game, chasing that shot that could freeze time in a single frame. College courts, NBA lightsI wanted all of it.

But before I ever held a camera, I had hoop dreams of my own. I wasn’t just aiming to document the gameI wanted to live it. The goal was to hear my name echo through packed arenas, to feel the weight of the ball in my hands under the bright lights of the NBA. I wanted to be that player making game-winning shots, chasing championships, leaving it all on the floor. But dreams shift. Injuries, reality checks, and life itself have a way of rerouting your path. Mine didn’t pan out the way I imagined, and that truth hit hard.

But life has a way of teaching you that the loudest stories aren’t always found in the action

Back then, I didn’t understand that the story ran deeper than the final buzzer, hidden in the quiet moments between playsthe sweat tracing down a player’s temple the ice-cold focus in their eyes before a free throw the coach’s quiet heavy pause like a prayer wrapped in strategy and hope That kind of understanding only comes with experience and accessseeing beyond the surface and getting close enough to feel the pulse of it all.

Still, every time I walk into a gym, it feels like coming home. This game my game was the first gift my father placed in my hands. Or maybe it was the camera first, sometimes I wonder which came before the other. I’ve got more pictures of myself as a kid holding a camera than a basketball, but eventually, that ball found its way into my hands too. It wasn’t just leather and air it was legacy language and love wrapped into one Basketball taught me how to move through life: with discipline, focus, and fire. But with that love came bruises toodisappointments that cut deep, pressures that weighed heavy, lessons I had to unlearn just to breathe again.

Yet, the love remains. It runs deep, especially in the Black community. Basketball isn’t just a pastime it’s a way out, a way forward. For some of us, it wasn’t just about crossing up defenders it was about crossing over barriers. College wasn’t promised to everybody, but sometimes that orange ball carved a lane where there wasn’t one before. Generations before me didn’t always see other exits, professional sports felt like the only unlocked door because exposure to different paths was scarce. Opportunities beyond the court lived in shadows, out of reach for many. Every dribble , not just personal dreams but generational hope, a chance to rewrite a family’s future. Each shot each whistle each cheer carried the weight of survival legacy and the belief that maybe just maybe this game could be more than just a game It was a blueprint, a hustle, and a light cutting through the dark, stitched into every net and painted on every hardwood floor.

Now, when I document players and coaches, it’s not about the highlight reelit’s about the heartbeat of the game. It’s about showing what basketball means to us-how it molds character, builds community, and holds space for both joy and pain. I want every image to speak to that truth.

So I’ll keep returning eyes open heart ready Because this game? It’s not just about points on a scoreboard. It’s poetry written in sweat and sacrifice where every dribble is a heartbeat and every shot carries the weight of a dream that refuses to die This game teaches you how to rise after every fall, how to embrace the grind, how to lose with grace and win with humility. It is the language of passion pain and perseverance the kind of love that hurts heals and humbles you all at once This game? It’s life itself raw, beautiful, and brutally honest. And every time I step back into that gym, I’m reminded that it deserves to be seen, felt, and honored for all it truly is.