From a recent photo essay on exile and worship:
Opening: The street had abandoned its usual rhythms and relented to the ecstatic chaos of the day. Buses and cars sat halted in intersections. Passersby slowed their pace, loitering on sidewalks to observe the demonstration. Yet, even as the world peripheral to the procession slowed, the parade continued forward. I watched as men, women, and children shuffled up the road, draped in white and floating up the boulevard like cottonwood seeds whisked away in the breeze.
Closing: The mass of white pressed forward, perpetually transfiguring the black of the asphalt. I ran into M——, who had been gracious enough to endure my questions only a few days earlier as he worked cutting heads in a barbershop. Today, he’d exchanged his clippers for a video camera that he wielded just as deftly. We walked backwards together, our cameras trained on the approaching crowd. I smiled, my friend beside me, the overbright world in front of us, the unseen world at our backs, and I knew that the grace of God would guide our uncertain steps.
From a short animation made for a friend:
From a song I’m working on for a friend: