Atlanta’ish, 2025.
I keep a camera on me at all times.
I make images all the time.
So I’m sharing them, f*^# the need for perfect curation, just showing how I see and feel the world.
One learns by making.
That’s what this is.
Enjoying the process,
protecting my peace,
trusting what happens.
The risk is in showing up,
stepping into the world,
seeing it clearly,
and choosing to respond with love.
developing film and yeah….
a clip from Cuba on VHS …
Dre’ and I at Atlanta Caribbean Carnival, 2025.
Year 4 of documenting..
Atlanta Caribbean Carnival, 2025.
Atlanta, 2025.
i wasn’t taught to archive.
i was taught to remember.
names.
faces.
landmarks.
how my grandma walked when her knees got bad. (this has nothing to do with anything, I just thought of Sara Mae while writing this)..
how the neighborhood sounded before they turned the corner store into a (insert trendy gentrification spot)..
atlanta moves fast but slow at the same time, so i’m documenting what and who they’ll try to forget.
what we live(d).
what we love(d).
what held/holds us together
randoms from the camera roll…
with love!
Atlanta, 2025.
You drive/walk through neighborhoods and realize how much has changed, how much is gone. Places that once felt forever don’t even get a second thought before they’re torn down. New builds pop up overnight. The city I grew up in is shifting fast.
That’s why I carry a camera. Not out of nostalgia, well, maybe a little, but mostly for what’s still here. For what used to be.
For what’s slowly being changed.
At first, I was focused on photographing the people of Atlanta. But the corners, the schools, the gyms, the neighborhoods, they’re changing just as fast. And they matter just as much…
The city deserves to be seen in all its layers,
before someone decides to write a new version and pretend this one never existed… or maybe so those of us who are born and raised here have something to look back on and remember..
Atlanta, 2025.
The streets have been quiet.
Not just empty, but different.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m changing. Maybe the way I see has shifted, pulling me toward something I don’t fully understand yet.
Winter does that.
It slows things down, stretches time,
makes me sit with myself a little longer than I planned to. Makes me wonder if I’m searching for something that’s no longer there or if it’s just waiting for me to catch up.
So I’m sitting in it.
I’m documenting what’s in front of me, even if it isn’t moving or moving me.
I’m starting projects that force me to see beyond what’s obvious.
I’m reminding myself that slow doesn’t mean still.
Because stillness isn’t absence.
It’s preparation.
It’s the inhale before the city exhales again.
And when the light shifts, when my rhythm finds me again, when Atlanta moves the way she’s supposed to, I won’t have to find my way back.
I’ll already be there.
Hoops by Stan. Atlanta, 2025.
I grew up where basketball wasn’t just a game. It was the language. A way out. A way forward. A dream that carried every possibility for something better. And for a while, that dream felt real.
Hoops was supposed to be the way out. Every mid-range pull-up felt like one step closer to a better life for me and my family. Less work for mom and pops. It opened doors I never thought I’d walk through. Got me into college. Gave me purpose when life felt uncertain.
But dreams don’t always go the way you see them. Injuries. Setbacks. Reality checks. And the hard truth. The league wasn’t coming.
But not every broken dream is the end. Sometimes, it’s just a detour.
I aimed to make it to the league with my camera, even if my jumper didn’t. But don’t test it. It’s still ready.
I thought sitting courtside would be the next best thing. Big arenas. Big moments. But somewhere along the way, that vision stopped feeling like mine. I was creating for everyone else, chasing images that didn’t speak to the photographer or the person I knew I could be.
I lost my voice chasing a version of success that didn’t feel true to me.
I had to find my voice again.
To show how every image reflects how I connect with the game. The way I love it. The way I understand it. It’s about capturing what lingers when the noise fades. The focus in a player’s eyes. The weight of expectation in a pause. The story unfolding in the space between movement and stillness. It’s how I tell the truth of the game, my truth, photo by photo.
Atlanta Carnival 2022, 2023, 2024 to be continued…
I first started documenting this celebration in 2022, unaware of how deeply it would pull me in. I didn’t grow up with Carnival, but as my wife and I traveled to the Caribbean, I started to understand its weight, its history, its joy. And then I realized, I had friends who celebrated it every year, right here in my city.
Atlanta Carnival had existed in my backyard, but I never knew to look for it. Until I did. And once I started documenting, I knew it was something I had to return to, year after year. The energy, the culture, the resilience, it’s something that can’t just be observed, it has to be felt.
Now, this journey is taking me even further. I’m planning to visit the islands that first put Carnival on my radar, returning to St. Lucia, exploring Antigua and Barbuda, and eventually moving through more of the Caribbean to capture this tradition at its source.
For me, photography is about honoring the moment, but also about learning. Carnival is more than costumes and music, it’s history, resistance, and celebration in motion. And every year, I’ll be there, documenting it.
Atlanta, Ga 2025.
I needed to see again, to move without the weight of expectation, to document without chasing an outcome. What draws me in, what speaks to me, what am I open enough to receive.
Am I preserving something, capturing something real, something that will last? And if the moments I document don’t seem to carry meaning on the surface, do they still matter? Yes, because I am the one documenting, because I am the lens, because this is the world as I see it.
I pulled back, not to disappear, but to listen, to let the work speak to me instead of the noise. And in that quiet, I was reminded why I do this, why I pick up the camera, why I keep looking. The work is revealing itself, the projects are forming, the connections are becoming clear.
Sometimes, when you stop searching, the answers find you..
East Atlanta, Westside and Downtown (Atlanta, Ga) 2024 - 2025.
A city of millions, yet some days it feels like I’m walking through its ghost.
A place where freeways run like veins, pulsing with cars, but the sidewalks remain still.
I’ve been thinking a lot about where I want to take my photography, what it means to document a city like this. Atlanta is unlike anywhere else, ever evolving, constantly shifting, people coming and going like seasons. Capturing its essence isn’t just about making images; it’s about finding its rhythm, its heartbeat, even in the quiet moments. Born and raised here, I yearn for that “old Atlanta” but that may now only exist via word of mouth … or maybe old Atlanta is now the “subculture”?
Lately, I’ve been trying to slow down, be more intentional.
Researching, studying the work of great photographers and artists, and finding inspiration in images I might have overlooked before. Because the stories are here. Always. It’s on me to find them, to feel them, and to bring them to life.
Atlanta, 2025 and 2022.
Snow in Atlanta doesn’t happen often, but when it does, the city comes alive in a different way. Atlanta always has something to give when you’re open to receiving it. The first image is from 2025. A man, his dog, seeking warm shelter but like the rest of us excited and embracing the rare snow day.. The second image, from a snow day in 2022, carries a quieter energy, but together, they remind me of what I love about documenting Atlanta. Different years, different people, but there’s a rhythm that connects them, connecting us all as strangers.
Not every roll of film brings back what you hope for, though. One of my rolls from this snow day came back completely underexposed. The frustration hit me hard for a moment, it’s hard not to feel like you’ve lost something when you don’t see anything on the negatives. But I try not to let those feelings win. I’m focused on what did come through. The portraits, the stories, the joy of being out there, documenting life as it happens. That’s why I keep coming back to this process because I know it’s not about perfection, but about being present enough to see the beauty in what you do capture.
These two images, years apart, show me what happens when you stay open to what the city gives...
Everywhere, 2021-2024.
With the new year here, I’ve been sitting with my work, digging through my archives to see where I’ve been and where I want to go. At the moment, one thing stands out are these moments I’ve documented of young Black boys. Every frame feels like looking in a mirror, seeing pieces of myself. The curiosity, the joy, the quiet strength, and sometimes the weight of the world on your shoulders.
These boys remind me of who I was and who I’m still becoming. There’s beauty and resilience in every glance, every gesture, every moment of their/our world. It’s a privilege to be able to document that, to hold up a mirror to them and to see myself.
I’m still sitting with these images, still trying to figure out what they’re saying and what they mean. It’s a process, but I’m here for it, diving deeper and listening to the stories my work is trying to tell me… to be continued…
Atlanta, 2024.
September thru December, 2024.
a certain moment, in a particular place in 2024.
images from an ongoing photo essay about my visits to “Waffle House” … 2021 to present..
