Almost from the moment I picked up a camera, my photographs have contained narratives, attempting to tell my stories and those of people I encountered. Many of my images revolve around jazz music and communities of color - their resonance and vibrancy; the linkages, or call and response, between the two. But the tales contained in many of my photographs may not be easily coherent; I feel compelled to pick apart and fragment images, the way a jazz musician can dissolve a melody almost beyond recognition.
My mother was a jazz vocalist, and some of my most vivid childhood memories are of her getting me impeccably dressed up in my camel hair top coat and matching cap when I was around five or six, and bringing me to her nightclub shows, where I would watch and listen from the front row. My recollections of those times, and of my mother, are both joyful and sad, and mysterious. That’s maybe one of the reasons why, over time, I’ve developed an acute sensibility towards the low end of the tonal scale. I’ve become increasingly more intrigued with the tender nuances, depth, and grace found within the darkness. My visualization and my printing have become more subdued, to bring out moments in time without speech or noise, moments that explore the luminosity of shadows.
When I brought these photos together, I saw that my jazz images often show moments when darkness — both real and metaphorical — manages to give darkness shape. This darkness often threatens to overwhelm the figures in the photographs, but ultimately, I hope my images honor the complexity of the subject and that this complexity shines through with brilliance and clarity.
