Blog
Quinton Martin II, July 6, 2018
He got on my nerves freshman year. Always late, barely studied, still passed somehow. Fast forward and he turned into a decent guy. It’s been an honor photographing him over the years.
He was the brother who got on my nerves during my freshman year of college. Always late to class. Barely did the homework or study. Somehow, he passed that class! Fast-forward to now, and he’s somewhat of a decent guy. lol It’s been an honor to photograph him over the years.
Seeing James
That session with James still lingers with me. He carried the quiet chaos of a rock star from another era, and stepping into his space felt like entering a living archive. Seeing him with his son revealed a softer truth. Not just an artist, but a father. I’m still grateful for the trust, the honesty, and everything that lived between the frames.
Looking back, this session with James remains etched in my memory.
For nearly a year, I wanted to capture his essence through photography. There was an undeniable magnetism about his presence: his style, his confidence, and the quiet chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He exuded the aura of a rock star from another era, someone whose posture alone conveyed stories untold.
When I finally stepped into his domain, it felt less like entering a home and more like stepping into a living archive. Guitars leaned against the walls, photographs adorned frames and corners, and messages were scrawled directly onto mirrors, capturing fleeting thoughts that were never meant to be erased. It was an intimate setting, one that could not be staged.
Then, his son burst into the room, brimming with joy and energy. In that moment, I perceived James in a new light, not just as an artist, but as a father, grounded by love. The contrast between his fatherly nature and his artistic persona was striking and left a lasting impression on me long after I had put down the camera.
That afternoon, James shared fragments of his life story. He spoke about personal growth, the challenges of being misunderstood, and a man on the street who seemed to comprehend him better than anyone else had ever done. He delved into the profound meaning of being truly seen, without the need for explanation or defense.
“I used to write on these walls,” he confessed to me. “I thought I was crazy.”
However, it was an expression of survival: a way to navigate moments that seemed devoid of clear exits.
Years later, I am still deeply grateful for that afternoon. I am thankful for the honesty he freely offered and the trust he placed in me. And I am reminded that sometimes, the most powerful portraits are not captured solely through the lens, but in the quiet spaces between words, memories, and the presence of the subject.
Photos taken October 9, 2018.
