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.

Black Boy Joy on the Atlanta BeltLine | A West End Street Photography Story

Atlanta (West End), 2026.

I saw four young boys riding the Atlanta BeltLine and for a moment, I was back on my bike with Worm, Bug, Trav, JJ… and sometimes NeNe, when she made us let her ride with us, even though she was the baby.

For a second, the city folded in on itself.

This felt like us wandering from our grandparents’ house.

The headquarters.

Where the day started and the night always found us.

The sidewalks were our maps.

The streets were our classrooms.

And the world felt wide, but still ours.

This is what freedom looks like before it learns fear.

Before the world hardens you.

Before survival becomes the loudest voice in the room.

Just young Black boys exploring Atlanta.

Searching for joy.

Searching for purpose.

Searching for themselves.

Why the Atlanta BeltLine Still Holds Black Childhood

These boys reminded me of a time when the only rules were the ones we made. When laughter carried farther than fear. When the city was a playground and not yet a warning.

And that is worth remembering.