Seeing James
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.
