
On a run through Cuba with Aceyalone. We were shooting in this local bar, when I stepped outside to get out of the shot. I saw this beautiful little girl in her school uniform hustling down the street. I imagined at first she was bringing her little brother one, but the second I asked if I could take her picture she looked incredibly guilty. And once I started popping off, the neighbors stared yelling at her, and teasing her in Spanish for something I can only imagine was about two ice cream cones in a communist state…but probably not. The people there are fucking amazing, so warm and open hearted, and about living in a present moment, content. They show so much love, especially when they find out your from Nueva York. People always say it’s so sad how Cuba’s going to go to shit after Castro dies. I think thats so racist, everyone there is too ill to let that happen. Fuck off, viva la revolution.




Brazil. Rio de Janeiro. Being mad famous as an artist means you must really be talented. Which means you really must be sensitive. Which means it must be really weird to be really talented and really famous. I often found Pharrell inside of a complex bubble. A strange almost debilitating safety bubble that somehow traps him inside his own little world of art. Everyone deals with this differently, I always loved Pharrell’s attitude of reverse wonderment. This photo is a personified instant of mutual momentary wonderment.
BABA WHITE BOY
Pashupati. River-side in Nepal. The smoke filled the morning air as multiple human bodies burnt beneath stacks of flowers, hay, and wood on the stone banks. Smoldering ashes and unburnt larger remains swept into the flowing river below. A continuation of an unbroken journey everlasting. BABA WHITE BOY is one of a group there, who every morning, in a reflection of death, life and impermanence, cover their entire bodies in fresh human ashes and river water.
He also charged me the equivalent of 10 bucks for a few flicks. Savage.